Caleb grinned at the warning. "Don't worry, Don Rafael. I won't let anything happen to your adelantado mayor."
Gray Wolf huffed in mock indignation. Chuckles eased the occupants' tension somewhat.
Jean-Marie's fingers flashed over his PC. "We should probably scale back the Fourth of July picnic. It's also a First Saturday, so there'll be large crowds coming in for the music. We don't want our prosaicos wandering about when Beau and Devol are nearby."
"Agreed," Ethan seconded immediately. "It's also the only public event at which you, Don Rafael, are scheduled to appear at next month. Those two rabid wolves are certain to be lying in wait."
"Then you will simply have to chase them off," Rafael retorted. "I will not forego the Fourth of July. I am an American and this is my national holiday."
"You cannot risk yourself so foolishly!" Gray Wolf erupted, as Ethan slammed his fist into the fireplace. Jean-Marie and Caleb, both normally amiable, came to their feet yelling. Luis cursed Rafael in a steady stream of Galego, their mother tongue.
Rafael endured their tirade for a minute before putting his foot down. "¡Silencio!" he roared at the top of his lungs.
Small items on his desk trembled and slid sideways. Even his sword vibrated. He looked around the room, forcing each of his recalcitrant hijos to meet his gaze.
They growled deep in their throats, baring their teeth slightly, but stopped talking.
"You will obey me in this," Rafael ordered, enunciating every word. "I gave my word to the mayor that I would light the fireworks and so I will."
Jean-Marie snarled deep in his throat. Rafael's eyes flashed to him but his heraldo spoke nothing in words.
"Your duty is to secure the area—by whatever means necessary. Do you understand?"
"Sí, Don Rafael." Every syllable was pulled from Ethan's reluctant throat. "We can pull vampiros and compañeros from the commanderies to form a perimeter around San Leandro that weekend."
"Which will leave the borders very thinly protected, if many bandolerismo try to sneak into Texas," Gray Wolf pointed out, his fangs showing in a rare display. The courage to openly challenge Rafael on behalf on Texas's people was one of the virtues that had made him Rafael's heir.
Rafael nodded decisively. "For one night, we'll take the risk. What else?"
Gray Wolf inclined his head in acknowledgment and began to tick off points on his fingers. "Roving patrols of all likely vampiro hunting grounds. Parks, nightclubs, hotels…"
"And honeypots, of course. Using entrapment to pull 'em in, not just guns," Caleb added.
Rafael paced in front of his desk as he listened to their plans.
"And thin out the nightclubs in Austin and San Antonio, along the Riverwalk, to make it harder for vampiros to feed close by," Luis put in, pulling out his smartphone. "We can yank their ABC licenses and get half of them closed down within a week or two."
"Before the Fourth, kill every foreign vampiro who's entered Texas without a passport," Jean-Marie suggested. He shared a bloodthirsty smile with Ethan.
"I want to eliminate the criminal element too, especially the prosaicos who'd help Devol for money. Those bastards have enough guns to be dangerous, even if they're not vampiros." Ethan's eyes were as cold and deadly as a rattler readying to strike.
There was a murmur of agreement.
"Careful," Gray Wolf warned reluctantly. "Start in on them and you risk publicity."
"I'm sure you'd never hurt innocent bystanders, either," Rafael remarked.
Ethan flung up a hand in acknowledgment.
"If you'd like anyone in particular taken out," Jean-Marie drawled, "or more—just let me know. I'm not traveling much these days."
Ethan brightened, thoughts revolving behind his hazel eyes. Rafael watched and waited, patient and amused. What next?
"If Jean-Marie really does have some extra time," Ethan said slowly, drumming his fingers on the mantel.
Rafael raised an eyebrow. "What do you wish investigated?"
Ethan's head came up and he met Rafael's eyes across the room. "Something my mesnaderos and I can't handle, according to the code. One of the Houston federal prosecutors has been acting strangely recently, especially when smuggling and New Orleans comes up. It could be that he's recently divorced and has been burning the candle at both ends."
"But you don't think so."
"No, Don Rafael, I don't. But I can't dig deeper, since we've worked with him before."
And vampiros like Ethan, who enforced vampiro law, never punished prosaicos who assisted them. The code was similar to an old-fashioned prosaico cop's attitude: the worst cop was one who ratted on another, someone like the guys from Internal Affairs.
"I'll speak to him," Jean-Marie said smoothly. "I have to visit Houston in the next day or so, anyway. As I remember, this particular prosecutor had a variety of fine bourbons, which he once offered to show me."
Ethan laughed, a cold bark of amusement. "Just once, I wish I could watch when you speak to a dirty informer."
Rafael changed the subject, judging this topic closed. "Your target, Ethan?"
Ethan smiled, his eyes' intelligence startling as always in that incredibly handsome face. Too many people saw only his beauty, forgetting to look under the skin to their own downfall. "I'm personally concentrating on refrigerated warehouses, sir. Especially the meat lockers by the railroad yards."
A vision stirred behind Rafael's eyes. "Really?" he queried, waiting for it to clarify.
Ethan shrugged. "It's where I'd hide. No scent can escape from within those heavy walls. Or, at least, damn little."
The image blazed before Rafael, of a warehouse full of meat lockers. Vampiros raiding it in full disguise, with compañeros and prosaicos outside guarding them from being disturbed. Rafael blew out his breath, acknowledging his foresight's accuracy. "When you're ready to raid a warehouse, tell me. I'll be coming with you."
"Don Rafael—" Ethan began.
Rafael lifted a quelling eyebrow. "¿Sí? I'm the oldest vampiro in this esfera, with the best sense of smell, as well as being the single best fighter. Does anyone else have a chance of finding, or fighting, a seven-hundred-year-old vampiro? Given that the older a vampiro becomes, the fainter his smell becomes."
Ethan looked around the room for support and found none. Even Gray Wolf shrugged.
Rafael sighed inwardly. Everyone here was trained to obey him absolutely, no matter what, and never question a strict order. Once that had meant safety—why did it now mean loneliness?
Ethan yielded reluctantly. "Certainly, Don Rafael."
"Excelente."
Abstracted, Rafael rose to show them out.
Perhaps he should seek simplicity and ease, by excusing himself from seeing Grania tonight and stay at Compostela. After all, this morning he had not felt a cónyuge's closeness with Grania, as he had the night when he danced for her.
Or perhaps he was looking for it too hard. Tension would block a new conyugal bond as completely as if it had never existed.
On the other hand, there was no good reason for them to be cónyuges: they had known each other for only a few days and their acquaintance had undergone no great stresses, which might have speeded up the bond's formation. It was sheerest insanity for them to be cónyuges, especially since his heart had died centuries ago with his wife.
And yet. And yet, he could not deny that, in that cramped room at the center, he'd been as close to Grania's mind and body as to his own. He'd known her thoughts as if they were his own, felt her heartbeat in his body and the perfectly matching ripples of orgasm's aftereffects flowing through both their groins. He'd had the certain knowledge that if he'd wished her to stroke his hair, she'd have done so—because his wish was as deep in her bones as her own.
As a veterinarian, she might be an additional advantage to his esfera because of her detailed knowledge of animals. Donal O'Malley had once told him that if two vampiros were cónyuges, they even shared all mental and physical knowledge. If one was a g
reat knife fighter, then the other would be as well, if the bond was open between them. Or one could shift into a shape the other had mastered, a valuable ability since alternate shapes were extremely difficult to gain.
Vampiro duels were fought hand-to-hand, with no man-made weapons. Kicking, gouging, clawing, biting—any of that and more—was entirely acceptable, all done at a speed and viciousness far greater than a prosaico could hope to comprehend. Shape-shifting—to a predator's form, of course—was priceless. With a cónyuge for a second set of eyes and ears, a vampiro was unbeatable in a duel.
But even if Grania was his cónyuge, she was still a prosaica. If he turned her into a vampira, the odds were excellent she'd go insane and die. He'd sworn an oath never to give El Abrazo to a woman; how could he break that oath and risk destroying his cónyuge to protect himself? ¡Nunca! It was a knight's duty to protect women and damsels, not the other way around!
So the best he could hope for, should Grania be his cónyuge, was fifty years. Or perhaps seventy, if Dios santo was generous. A pittance but better than destroying her.
He should think only of tonight, when there would be no interruptions and he would finally become her lover. When he would explore her as completely as she'd explored him, with eyes and tongue and hands, and claim her femininity for their mutual pleasure.
She would be just another lover, during a long night of pleasure. His heart had died centuries ago with his wife—his petite, sweetly curved, black-haired darling.
Rafael knocked politely on the front door of Grania's little house, then waited, ignoring Emilio and his cadre of vampiro bodyguards. No amount of studying her movements for the past week (except for the night Beau and Devol had slipped into Texas when she went unguarded), of searching her tiny house, or watching her neighborhood since sundown could adequately assure them this wasn't a trap. She opened the front door and smiled up at him. "Rafael." "Grania." He kissed her lightly on both cheeks, a greeting she returned in similar fashion. Best to keep their relationship publicly formal, in case there were any watchers.
Tendrils were slipping free from her usually severe braid, and her eyes were a bit heavy as if she'd just woken up from a nap. Bien. She should have the energy for a long night of love play. An organized woman, she did not waste time by inviting him in but simply stepped outside, small purse in hand.
His libido saw her attire and promptly roared to life. A slim-fitting blue dress emphasized the superb lines of her long body and matched her brilliant eyes. Her only accessories were hoop earrings and simple, high-heeled sandals. She should be wearing the best of Paris and Milan, even if these thrift-store finds looked superb on her.
She closed the door, locked it, and came up beside him. His hand automatically, possessively, rested on the small of her back. She froze briefly and swallowed hard, before stepping off her porch. He matched steps with her, their hips brushing. She moved a little awkwardly, as if she'd never walked so closely with a man before. He allowed himself to strut a little, with a private smile, before handing her into his Mercedes. A moment later, his bodyguards had resumed their seats and the cars rumbled back onto the road, one of his helicopters flying guard overhead.
For a moment, Grania's pure profile was outlined against the dark bulletproof glass and the twilight sky beyond, then she turned to look directly at him. "Are you planning to feed from me tonight?"
Rafael froze for a moment, startled by her courage, before giving her the courtesy of honesty. "Sí, but only a few drops."
She tilted her head, considering his answer. "You took more from Brynda."
Why had he ever hoped la doctora might treat him solely as an amante, not a science project? Rafael resigned himself to conversation, at least until they reached his apartment. At least he'd never planned to seduce her in the back of a sedan. "She knows what I want and has agreed to it."
"In exchange for sex."
"Masturbation only," he corrected.
"Why the limit? She seemed ecstatic in your arms."
"Her choice, which I respect. Plus, a vampiro's bite increases the emotion felt."
"Really." Grania settled back against her seat, clearly thinking hard. A few minutes later, they turned off the ranch road and drove into a well-tended pasture where dozens of fat, sleek Angus cattle ignored them, intent on strolling down the valley toward their dinner. There his sleek, private helicopter waited, blades spinning rapidly.
Grania spun around to look at him. "A helicopter? Where on earth are we going, Rafael?"
Rafael allowed himself a private congratulatory smile at having surprised her for once. "To my apartment, of course."
"What?"
The two cars came to a stop and Emilio ran to open Rafael's door. Rafael deftly scooped Grania up onto his lap. She choked, slid her arm around his shoulder, and tucked her head against him. He lifted her out of the Mercedes and ran to his personal helicopter, his men surrounding them protectively. He set her inside, careful to preserve her modesty.
She buckled her seat belt, all the while glancing around the interior. "Leather recliners? Plush carpets—and a bar? I should have known," she muttered.
Rafael kept a straight face.
A minute later, they were strapped into their seats and his helicopter took off, hurtling upward like a hunting falcon thrown into the sky. The other helicopter followed an instant later, protectively carrying the rest of his bodyguards.
Grania raised an eyebrow at Rafael. "Is this mode of travel really necessary for your safety, oh powerful administrator of the Santiago Trust, or are you just trying to impress me?"
He threw back his head and laughed. "How should I answer that?" he teased. "One answer would make me sound conceited, while the other would seem clumsy."
Her eyes danced as she laughed with him. They threaded their fingers together, sharing a companionable silence, while the bird flew fast and low over the quiet landscape.
"How soon will we arrive?" she asked, considering a herd of visibly sleepy cattle.
He kissed her hand, watching her face. "Very soon, querida."
She blushed an endearing shade of scarlet.
A few minutes later, the helicopter swept around a hill, revealing his favorite resort nestled among the hills. It was designed to fit into the natural landscape as much as possible, with natural limestone for the building materials, and surrounded by native plants and graceful watercourses. Even the marina, marked by the delicate masts of sailboats, looked as if it had occupied the lake for centuries. Just above the lake rose the resort itself, bordered by golf courses and nature walks. Saturday-night crowds gathered around the restaurants and nightclub, while others partied aboard their boats or frolicked on the shore. Farther back were villas and the single high limestone spire of the condominium tower, overlooking the entire complex.
Grania's fingers tightened on his, but she said nothing, her eyes scanning the scene below in between sideways darts at him. Her pulse beat high and fast in her throat, her breasts rose and fell rapidly. If he placed his hand on her knee, he could slide his fingers under her skirt…
The helicopter circled to the resort's rear, behind the villas. A helipad came into sight, guarded by more of his compañeros. A laconic all-clear signal was exchanged and the helicopter landed gracefully.
Five minutes later, he and Grania were alone in his penthouse apartment at the top of the condominium tower. He kept it primarily for meetings with business executives from outside Texas, who'd be comfortable in the resort setting. The furniture was accordingly casual and masculine—leather, massive, and practical—scattered across Native American rugs. A glass-fronted bookcase lined one wall of the great room, filled with some of his favorite adventure books. The longest wall was a sheet of bulletproof glass, its usual veil of white curtains pulled back now to show the famous lake view with Austin's high-rises barely visible in the distance.
Most guests never looked further than that window or the terrace outside.
"Oh, books," Grania cooed
and headed for the other wall.
Rafael frowned and went after her. Inexperienced she might be, and therefore skittish, but there was too much unfinished business between them to allow her to escape now.
He wrapped his arms around her and breathed a kiss into her hair. "Grania, querida, are you running from me now?"
She gasped. The bookcase's door shook in her hand. "I, ah, was looking at your collection…"
He laid his cheek against hers, delicately. She closed her eyes, shivering, her pulse thudding. No scent of fear, thankfully.
He kissed up her spine and explored that fascinating point behind her ear. She sighed so he repeated the caress at some length, both there and on the other side.
When he lifted his head, her head was lying against his shoulder, her eyes half shuttered as she watched their reflections, her long red braid trailing against his arm. He caressed her, enjoying how his hands glided over supple midriff, spanning her with his thumbs on her ribs and little fingers almost reaching her hips. While all sizes and shapes of women had their attractions, there was an elegant simplicity in making love to a woman whose strength and size was such that he needn't worry overmuch about harming her.
He rumbled his approval. "Ah, querida, you are a marvel. So superbly shaped. Curved, with sweet long lines. Strong and smooth skinned…"
He kissed her neck again, sliding the zipper slowly down her back. She shuddered against him, whispering his name. He unhooked her bra and kissed down her spine, awakening those wonderful hidden spots in a woman. All the while, watching and learning her responses.
Rafael bit his lip, forcing himself to slow down. He had to stay in command of himself. He was a vampiro, who could easily break a prosaica if he forgot himself in the throes of passion. But, ay, mierda, how she tempted him!
He hummed his triumph when she rose up on her toes, gasping and crying, when his teeth first marked her at the top of her buttocks, next to her dimples.
Bond of Blood Page 18
