Pursued: A Vampire Syndicate Paranormal Romance (The Vampire Syndicate Book 1)

by Rebecca Rivard

  Her full mouth compressed. The words Fuck you formed on her lips, but she bit them back.

  My suspicion ratcheted higher. Since when did Mila hold back? She was one of the most honest, straightforward people I knew. If she was happy, you knew; and if she was pissed off, you knew that, too.

  As the limo wound its way through Brooklyn traffic to the Long Island Expressway, I took out my laptop to handle a few Syndicate issues that had cropped up during the night.

  Questions burned in my mind. But I could wait until we got to my locked-down, secluded beach house.

  Mila wasn’t going anywhere.

  7

  Mila

  I slanted a glance from beneath my lashes at Gabriel. In the limo’s dark interior, the light from his laptop screen cast his face into sharp relief.

  He looked very much his father’s son. A ruthless, top-of-the heap predator. And so damn sexy you just didn’t care.

  I curled up in my corner, staring out the window—and was thrown back five years to the day we’d met.

  It was the summer after my junior year in college. That afternoon, I’d gone hiking in a nearby state park on the Chesapeake Bay. When I lost the path, I wasn’t worried; I’d grown up in these woods. Getting lost in them was my favorite hobby. I simply had to walk toward the bay, then follow the shoreline south to the park entrance.

  To the west, the sun had begun its lazy slide down the sky. Keeping it behind me, I headed east for the bay. But when I emerged from the trees, the bay was still a hundred yards away, and I was on the edge of a large, lush garden.

  It was like I’d stepped into a dream. I stared around me, entranced by the wild tumble of flowers. Peach-colored roses and sweet-smelling lavender. Spiky blue salvia and magenta coneflowers. Honeysuckle and black-eyed Susan and other flowers I couldn’t name, all touched with gold by the setting sun.

  Small stands of trees shaded the winding paths, and in a nearby stream, water flowed around moss-covered boulders. Several hundred feet away, a stone mansion perched on a cliff above the bay like a great gray hawk, its windows glowing faintly through the tall oaks surrounding it.

  My breath hitched. I’d heard of Black Oak Manor, of course, but the rich people who owned it didn’t mix much with the locals. The three sons didn’t even attend school—they had tutors instead. I knew their last name was Kral, and that was about it.

  But the locals knew to stay away from Black Oak. Come too close, and security would hustle you away with a sharp warning. Nobody was stupid enough to try it a second time.

  I’d started inching back into the forest when a movement to my left made me whip around, heart pounding. In the shade beneath a wisteria-draped pergola stood a man dressed all in black from his T-shirt to his close-fitting jeans. Even his hair was as black and shiny as a raven’s wings.

  When he stepped out of the shadows and into the slanting gold haze, it seemed like part of the dream.

  I caught my breath. He had a face like a fallen angel, seductive, sinful. Later, I’d learn that his dad was Slovak, his mom French Cajun. He had his dad’s high cheekbones and long-lidded eyes, and his mom’s proud, even features. But that sensuous mouth was all his own.

  “You’re trespassing,” he said in a voice like dark brown velvet.

  “I’m sorry. I got lost and—crap, I’ll just get going.” I inched backwards. “I promise I’ll never come back.”

  He put out a hand. “Don’t.”

  I stilled. From the roses nearby came the hypnotic hum of bumblebees, and from the Chesapeake came the far-off whine of motorboats crossing the bay.

  “Don’t—?”

  “Don’t leave.” He strolled closer. In the dusky light, his irises were the same bright green as a new spring leaf. “You like gardens?”

  “I like this one.” I waved an arm at the colorful blooms, talking fast and nervously. “It’s like a faerie garden. Something magical—like it exists out of time. You know what I mean?”

  He glanced around. “I never really thought about it. Come.” He tipped his head at a path through the flowers. “I’ll show you around.”

  I nibbled my lower lip. “I’d better not. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

  His smile creased his right cheek. “It’s okay. I live here.”

  “You’re not with security?”

  “No. It’s my mom’s garden. She’s right inside.” He nodded at the mansion.

  “Holy shit.” I’m sure my eyes went round as saucers. “That’s your house?”

  He held out his hand. “Gabriel Kral.”

  I took it. An electric jolt shot up my arm. I blinked. His face didn’t change, but I somehow knew he’d felt it, too.

  “Or I can show you the way out of here.” He smirked, but not nastily. No, it was a wicked, dare-you-not-to-run-away smile.

  I grinned back. I never could resist a dare. “I’d love to see your gardens. And my name’s Camila, but everyone calls me Mila.”

  “Mila.” He repeated my name slowly, as if tasting each syllable. “I like it.”

  He reached for my hand again. This time, I was prepared for the jolt. He interlaced his fingers through mine, and proceeded to give me an impromptu tour. By the time he called an Uber to take me home, he knew all about me—that I was an ag major, that I dreamed of someday owning an organic flower farm—and I’d agreed to meet him for coffee that Friday.

  It took me a whole month to realize he wasn’t human. Karoly Kral was too canny to plaster his name on his hotels and casinos, and this was before the Dark Angels had become a thing. It’s not like I didn’t know vampires and dhampirs existed, but they were rich and powerful, and lived in New York penthouses or French chateaus or Singapore high-rises.

  They didn’t wear shorts and baseball caps and hang out with smart but awkward twenty-one-year-old women.

  Sure, Gabriel was different, but in a good way. His family obviously had money, but he didn’t make a big deal about it. Panty-melting good looks. And so into me I could hardly believe my luck.

  By the time it dawned on me I was seeing a man with fangs and superhuman powers, it was too late. I was crazy in love with him.

  On the seat beside me, Gabriel closed his laptop and put it away. My heart sped up.

  Would he touch me?

  Did I even want him to? He was angry and suspicious, not that I blamed him. If I were him, I wouldn’t trust me either. If he put his hands on me, would I be able to handle it without being torn apart by guilt?

  But oh, it had been so long…

  I shot him another glance. He met my eyes. His grass-green gaze seemed to penetrate clear to my soul.

  I shifted uneasily. Why the hell had I pestered him about where we were going? It wasn’t even necessary.

  The mic in my left earring was matched by the G.P.S. in my right earring. The security at Ruby’s had examined them, but they were apparently state of the art, because while the vampire on duty had taken my purse, she’d allowed me to wear the earrings into the club.

  Which meant Andre and his thugs were probably right behind us.

  The scotch sat heavy in my stomach. My mouth felt as dry as sand. I licked my lips. “Do you have any water?”

  He touched a button, and the minibar slid out again. “Help yourself.”

  “Thanks.” I selected a bottle of Evian and gulped half of it down before stowing it in the cupholder beside me.

  The minibar was more like a minikitchen, with a couple of refrigerated compartments filled with drinks, ice, and sliced lemons and limes. Other compartments held both cold and warm snacks.

  I fiddled with the bottles, checked out every compartment. Gabriel’s head rested against his seat, but I felt him watching me from beneath partially closed eyelids.

  My skin prickled. The small space seemed to shrink even further. His heady scent was everywhere, teasing my nostrils, dredging up memories I’d tried to forget.

  I took a slow breath and closed the mini-bar.

  We were in Queens n
ow. It was close to midnight, but the expressway was packed with cars heading out to Long Island. According to Andre, Gabriel owned a beach house in Montauk that he never took his women to. Andre had been sure Gabriel would take me to his Upper East Side penthouse.

  Was it good or bad that he was taking me to his beach house instead?

  I hugged my knees to my chest, digging my bare toes into the buttery leather seat.

  The Krals kept a low profile, but they hadn’t become so powerful by playing nice. Karoly Kral was one of the most ruthless men in the world, and Gabriel was his eldest son and heir. And I was at his mercy.

  I gripped my legs harder and buried my face in my knees.

  I was in un bel pasticcio—a nice pie—as my Italian nonna used to say, a polite way of saying I was in deep shit.

  Worse, Joey had been dragged into it. I didn’t know if I could ever forgive myself for that. Anguish squeezed my chest. By now, my parents must be frantic with worry. If only I could text them, let them know he was okay. But Andre hadn’t given me a phone, and even if he had, I wouldn’t have used it. He’d made it clear that Joey’s freedom—and maybe his life—depended upon my complete cooperation.

  We pulled off the highway. I set my bare feet back on the floor and sat tall, fingers interlaced on my lap, face smooth and unconcerned.

  You can do this.

  We passed through several small, pretty towns before reaching the outskirts of Montauk. My nape tingled with the certainty that we were being followed. But I didn’t dare sneak a look behind us—not with Gabriel’s watchful gaze taking in my every move.

  A short while later, we turned onto a private drive. The property was surrounded by tall black fencing topped with barbed wire. At a word from the driver, the gate opened as we approached, then slid shut behind us. As we continued up the driveway, we passed two wolf-like dogs and a pair of leather-tough vampires, all four pairs of eyes shining in the dark.

  No wonder Andre was searching for a way through Gabriel’s security.

  We passed through a hedge of boxwoods taller than me and halted in front of a cedar-shingled beach house. As soon as the door locks popped, I was out of the limo. I couldn’t see the Atlantic, but I could hear it crashing somewhere beyond the house. To the east, a lighthouse flashed, and the air was heavy with brine.

  On the dark road, a car drove slowly past. I cast an uneasy glance through the boxwoods, but if it was Andre, he was too smart to slow down.

  The wind off the ocean tugged at my updo, teasing out more strands of hair and whipping them around my face. I swiped the strands away from my mouth, but they immediately whipped back. I’d left my shoes in the limo, and somehow, in scrambling out, I’d ripped a hole in my dress over my hip.

  Gabriel rounded the limo. I slapped a hand over the rip.

  He looked down at me expressionlessly, but I could’ve sworn his mouth twitched up. “Hold still.” He removed a long hair from the corner of my mouth.

  “Thanks.” I gave him a tentative smile.

  He stared at me another long moment, then his gaze went past me. “Airi. This is Mila. She’s not to leave the grounds without permission. When she’s outside the house, you’ll put a guard on her at all times. See that security is informed.”

  I glanced over my shoulder. The bodyguard from the limo had been replaced by a woman with short, water-straight black hair and the dark, tip-tilted eyes of a Japanese ancestor. Like the other guards, she wore a crisp black uniform with a silver wolf embroidered on the pocket over her heart.

  “Of course.” Airi bent her head over her phone to send the message. Her short hair swung forward to reveal a snarling wolf tattoo.

  Every muscle in my body went rigid. I swallowed queasily.

  For three years, I’d been hounded by Kral Syndicate enforcers. Now, I was surrounded by them.

  Gabriel gripped my upper arm. “Inside.” He marched me up the front steps.

  The door opened as we reached the top of the steps. A large woman in a gray dress waited in the foyer, her wiry salt-and-pepper hair in a bun, her skin a smooth light brown. At the sight of Gabriel, a grin split her face.

  “Welcome home, M’sieur,” she said in a Cajun accent. “And you, Mam’selle.”

  “Bon soir, Lougenia.” He smiled back.

  I blinked. For a few seconds, he’d turned into the old Gabriel, not the steely-eyed Syndicate prince who’d ridden silently in the limo with me for over two hours. Then he glanced at me and the prince was back.

  He moved his hand to my lower back, a not-so-subtle statement of ownership that sent a tingle up my spine. Heat pooled in my core, my body remembering how good it had been between us.

  I mentally shook myself. Don’t be an ass, Mila. That was then, not now.

  And I was here to help bring him down.

  Guilt filled my mouth, an acid, hopeless taste.

  “This is Mila,” he told Lougenia. “She’ll be staying with us for a while.” To me, he said, “Lougenia is my housekeeper. If you need anything, she’ll get it for you.”

  The housekeeper gave me a warm smile. “Don’t hesitate to ask, sugar pie. Anything at all.” She glanced back at Gabriel. “She’ll be with you in the master suite?”

  My muscles locked. Because however ready my body was for him, the rest of me was all tangled up: terrified for Joey, and almost as terrified for Gabriel. His security was good, but Andre had a secret weapon—me.

  Plus, there was Gabriel’s coldness. Could I have sex with a man who so obviously distrusted me? Hell, I wasn’t even sure he liked me anymore.

  Underneath it all was the constant awareness that Andre or one of his people were listening to every word we spoke. I was afraid to even ask too many questions in case it gave him some crucial piece of information.

  Gabriel felt my tension, of course. He couldn’t read my emotions, but my taut body gave me away. He frowned down at me, his fingers tightening around my waist.

  Sadness clogged my throat. I knew he thought I didn’t want him, and I hurt for us both.

  “Put her in the rooms next to mine,” he said in clipped tones. “She’ll need the basics—a toothbrush, hairbrush. And clothes—she didn’t bring any luggage. Shoes, too,” he added with a glance at my bare feet.

  Curiosity flickered across the housekeeper’s broad face, but she simply dipped her head. “Very good, M’sieur. If the young lady will come with me…”

  The foyer was all tile and polished wood, with a high ceiling and a brushed-steel chandelier. It opened into a living room with wall-to-wall windows, that like the foyer, was built on clean, open lines, with glossy modern furniture and more brushed-steel fixtures. Cobalt vases stuffed with wildflowers—sky-blue cornflowers, cheerful daisies, ferns, Queen Anne’s lace—perched on the slim steel-and-wood tables.

  Lougenia explained that the beach house was on a cliff, its main rooms in a straight line so that they all had a view of the ocean. “This is the upper level,” she said, leading me past the living room down a hallway a good twenty yards long. “There are four suites on this level. The kitchen is on the lower level along with the dining room. There’s a gym down there, too, and a more formal room for entertaining. Not that M’sieur Gabriel ever has anyone out here to entertain.”

  “No?” I gazed around, head spinning. It was so big, and magazine-perfect.

  “He doesn’t come here often. He bought the house three years ago and then…” She moved a sturdy shoulder in a shrug.

  We passed two closed doors before stopping at a third. “This is your suite, and the master’s rooms are there.” She nodded at the closed door at the end of the hallway.

  As we entered my rooms, I sucked in a breath. I’d half-expected a small, bare cell. This was anything but. It wasn’t a suite; it was an apartment, big and gorgeous, with white walls and a polished maple floor. The furniture was pure beach house: a large, comfortable-looking couch and chairs in a blue-and-white striped fabric.

  “This is your bedroom.” Lougenia opened th
e door to a cozy-looking space with the bed set into a nook with sloped ceilings. This time, the colors were reversed, with the walls sky-blue and the bed made with an embroidered white coverlet and a mound of plump white pillows. The side facing the ocean had a large bay window with a window seat that invited you to curl up and dream.

  “And the bathroom is here.” The housekeeper indicated an open door on the opposite side of the bedroom.

  I poked my head inside. There was both a walk-in shower and a tub the size of a small pool. Fancy soaps and creams were arranged on a tray on the granite counter, and a small table held a large vase of sunflowers. I fingered a fluffy towel, feeling like I’d been plucked out of my real life—the one where I had to steal food to survive—and dropped into a fairy tale.

  From the doorway, Lougenia’s smile was satisfied. “It will do, Mam’selle?”

  “Oh, yes.” I beamed at her. “Thank you.”

  She shrugged a beefy shoulder. “It’s as M’sieur requested. Now,” she said, bustling into the bathroom, “everything you need tonight is here.” She opened a linen closet to show all the supplies anyone could need for a month’s stay—brushes, toothpaste, shampoo, lotion, and so on.

  “You’ll find a bathrobe in the bedroom closet,” she continued, “and if you give me your size, I’ll have your new clothes here by morning.” She cast the red dress a dubious look. “You’d like more dresses like that?”

  I winced. “God, no. A pair of shorts and a couple of T-shirts are fine.” I glanced toward the dark bay window and the ocean I could hear beyond. “And a bathing suit, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  “Of course. The currents in the ocean here are too dangerous for swimming, but we have a pool on the grounds. What about shoes?” she asked as we returned to the living room.

  “Sneakers, please, and maybe a pair of flipflops?” I gave her my sizes and she noted them on her phone. “Oh,” I said, “don’t forget underwear.”

  Something made me turn my head. Gabriel stood in the open doorway, watching me through hooded green eyes.