“She goes to the post office,” Jeremy was repeating. “And the grocery store. I’ve never gone with her. I don’t generally go into town at all. My business is at home, mostly via computer or phone. The truth is, unless they’re Vampire, I very rarely meet anyone in person, not even my clients.”
“What is your business?” she asked. Raphael had seen her do this before, using routine questions to relax the subject.
“I’m an accountant, a CPA. I do taxes mostly.”
“How well did you know Marco? Or Preston?” Cyn asked, naming the two dead vampires.
Jeremy shook his head. “I knew them, naturally. We’d met a handful of times, I suppose, here at the compound. I didn’t do their taxes or anything, if that’s what you’re asking. They did their own. Computer geeks, you know,” he gave a half smile. “They’ve got a program for everything.” His smile fled. “Or they did.”
“Okay.” Cyn was still sitting next to him, close enough that Raphael felt her draw a fortifying breath before continuing. She was no more eager to hear the details of this outrage than Jeremy was to tell them, but she would do what needed to be done. He rested his hand lightly against her back, offering his support.
“I need you to tell me what happened during the attack, Jeremy. I’m going to ask that you leave nothing out, no matter how ugly, no matter how painful. I’ll try not to interrupt you with questions; I’ll save those for later. Just take your time.”
Jeremy glanced from Cyn to Raphael and back, then nodded and began talking.
* * * *
By the time the story had been told in full, with Jeremy’s voice breaking over and over again as he was forced to remember his mate’s agony, the anger of Raphael’s vampires was a sharp, bitter tide of emotion in the room. He scanned them slowly, sharing their outrage, but mindful, too, of the potential for disaster. Their anger would be useful once they began hunting their prey, but that would not happen tonight. He was aware of Duncan standing next to him, hyperalert and as watchful as Raphael himself. From across the room, Juro met his gaze silently, shifting slightly to block the closed doors.
And sitting beside him, tears overflowing her eyes as she listened to the story, her hands fisted in a frustrated anger of her own, was his Cyn.
“I’d recognize their voices,” Jeremy was saying, his voice all but a whisper now. “But I didn’t see any of their faces. They kept those black ski masks on the whole time. And when I woke at last, they were gone. When I saw her . . . I was nearly mad with grief. The only thing keeping me sane was the need to get help for her. I knew she was alive, barely, but alive. Colin was trying to help when I—”
Cyn straightened abruptly. “Colin?” she repeated. “Who’s Colin?”
Jeremy blinked. “He’s, I guess—”
“Colin Murphy,” Loren provided. “He’s sort of the police in Cooper’s Rest.”
Cyn scowled. “Sort of? How can someone be sort of the police? I thought you guys were under the County Sheriff’s jurisdiction.”
“We are,” the security chief agreed reluctantly. “But we’re a long way from the nearest Sheriff’s station. They’re not eager to drive all the way out here, and frankly, we’re not that eager to call them. And it’s not just us either,” he added, indicating his fellow vampires. “The human locals here about tend to be loners for the most part. There’s probably more than a few survivalists among them, although not all will admit to it.
“Colin Murphy’s a former Navy SEAL. He did more than ten years before he decided to get out while he still had a few bones intact. The stories he tells . . .” Loren shook his head admiringly, before looking around and cleaning his throat. “That is, he’s a skillful guy. Knows weapons, martial arts, tactics, and a bunch of other stuff I’m sure he can’t talk about. He came here with a buddy when he got out, a guy named Garry McWaters. McWaters grew up here, but he didn’t stay long. His family were all dead or moved away, and he couldn’t take the weather anymore.
“But for some reason, Colin stuck. He’s a good guy. Takes care of nuisance calls, checks on the old ladies, hustles the drunks out of town, that sort of thing. If someone suspected something bad was going on over at Jeremy’s that day, Colin would be the one they’d call.”
Cyn returned her attention to Jeremy. “So this Colin was there when you woke up?”
Jeremy nodded. “I think he was calling an ambulance or something. He had his phone out, and I knew even then that he was trying to help, but . . . I kind of went off on him anyway.” He looked away uncomfortably, still young enough to be embarrassed by what he saw as a loss of control.
“Your mate was under attack,” Raphael reassured him. “You lay there for hours, knowing what was happening, and unable to come to her aid. And then you woke to find a human with his hands on her.” He shook his head slightly. “This Colin Murphy is lucky to be alive. I don’t know if I could have shown such restraint.”
Jeremy flushed with pleasure at Raphael’s praise, then drew a breath and continued more strongly. “Colin backed away as soon as he saw me. I picked up Mariane and brought her here.”
“I should talk to him,” Cyn said, turning to Raphael. It was more of a statement than a suggestion, but Raphael hesitated. “I need to know what he found when he got there, Raphael,” she added in a low, urgent voice. “It’s possible he arrived soon after the attackers left. He might have seen something more, something Jeremy didn’t notice because he was so focused on Mariane. Besides, if he’s the law in town, it might be useful to have him on board with our investigation. If nothing else, he knows the people and that gives our own hunt the imprimatur of the local authorities, such as they are.”
Loren was watching Raphael, waiting for his decision.
“Arrange a meeting for tomorrow night,” Raphael told him.
“I’ll see to it,” Loren said immediately.
Raphael stood and everyone stood with him. “Thank you, Jeremy. I know this was painful. Return to your mate, now. She needs you.”
Jeremy bowed briefly. “Thank you, Sire.” The vampire was visibly exhausted. Even with Raphael’s assistance, the depletion of Jeremy’s strength would be severe, his mate’s need a constant drain. He paused for a few seconds, long enough to steady himself before walking slowly out of the room.
Raphael raked his gaze over the remaining vampires. “An outrage has been perpetrated on us, and it will not stand. No one . . . no one touches what is mine and lives. Prepare yourselves, gentlemen. Tomorrow, we hunt.”
Chapter Six
Vancouver, British Columbia
True to Larissa’s word, the cottage was already warm by the time Sophia made her way through the garden. Given the size of Lucien’s manse, she was certain there were plenty of guest rooms in its basement. But she preferred the privacy of these old cottages, and this one in particular. Although spacious enough for comfort, it was nonetheless the smallest of the three guest houses and the farthest from the main building. But it was also the most secure. Like all the others, the windows were for show only, completely blocked by sealed metal shutters inside. That alone made it safe enough for most vampires. But this particular cottage also had a basement level, accessed through a hidden door beneath the floor of the generous closet. Decades ago, Lucien had shown it to her, the last time she’d visited him here in Vancouver.
Sophia opened her suitcase and began hanging up the few clothes she’d brought with her, delaying the inevitable moment when she’d have to open Lucien’s envelope. She held up a wrinkled silk blouse, wondered if it was worth getting the thing cleaned and pressed, when there was a knock on the cottage door. She listened carefully first, then reached out with her vampiric senses. It was a human male, probably one of the servants with her blood.
She dropped the blouse and crossed the room, verifying before opening the door that no one but the single human waited on the other side. The cottage’s low light cast a yellow square of illumination on the man who stood on the narrow porch step. He was taller than
she was—most men were anymore—although this one was not by much. She judged him to be in his late twenties, pretty, slender and boyish in the way she liked her men to be these days. His dark good looks and soft brown eyes reminded her of the lovely young men so common to the cafes and clubs she frequented in Rio de Janeiro. She eyed him appreciatively, up and down, frowning when she saw that his hands were empty. Maybe this wasn’t her blood delivery, after all.
“Mistress,” he whispered, those big eyes lingering briefly on her face before dropping submissively.
Sophia barely managed to hide her grimace of distaste. She’d forgotten Lucien’s penchant for blood slaves, which meant he rarely had bagged blood on hand. Not that his slaves weren’t willing donors—Lucien didn’t keep any other kind. And it wasn’t that she objected to taking blood from the vein. Quite the contrary. All of her young men in Rio were very much aware of what she was and more than willing to spend a night, or longer, with her. It was a rare thing that she resorted to bagged blood anymore.
But none of her lovers were blood slaves, either, those men and women who existed solely to be used by their vampire masters, humans who hungered for the sexual release that such use provided. It was an addiction every bit as powerful as the drugs sold in dark alleys all over the world. And like any addiction, it could be used as a weapon against the addict, forcing them to perform unspeakable acts, to endure horrific treatment that too frequently crossed the line into torture.
Lucien’s slaves were all well cared for, however. She gave him that much. Abuse was never tolerated, not in this house. Even so, his slaves were so . . . pathetically eager. With an emphasis on the pathetic.
She sighed. It was too late to arrange for something less personal, so it was either this lovely young man or she’d have to wait until tomorrow night. She suspected tomorrow would be even worse than today because the one thing she knew, there would be nothing good in that elegant envelope of Lucien’s.
She stepped back. “Come in, gato.”
* * * *
The slave was certainly skilled. Sophia wondered if Lucien had perhaps trained this one himself. Her Sire was quite the hedonist when it came to his lovers, choosing men and women equally. And always the pretty ones.
Aurelio—probably not his real name, but one chosen to appeal to her—moaned softly as she pulled him away from her naked breast, fisting a hand in his dark hair and tugging lazily. He twisted his head away obediently, baring his neck in a fine, taut line of golden skin. There wasn’t time for a true seduction, but she had played with him a bit, letting him earn his pleasure, building the anticipation. She might not keep any blood slaves of her own, but she understood them, understood their need to earn their reward. An odd sort of reward in her mind, but, as the French were wont to say, chacun ses goûts. Although she was fairly certain that not even the most esoteric of gourmands had actual blood drinking in mind.
Pretty Aurelio whimpered when she teased him, rolling him over until he was beneath her, licking a long line down his neck and breathing against it softly, smiling when the skin prickled with goose bumps. Her fangs punctured the soft velvet of his vein without warning. He groaned, a guttural sound of pure pleasure as his already stiff cock hardened even further against her thigh. Sophia drank deeply, relishing that first hot rush of blood down her throat, feeling it spread throughout her body, replenishing tissues dehydrated by the long flight and the stress of everything that had happened since. She was suddenly glad Lucien kept his stable of blood slaves. She’d needed this; no bagged blood could have nourished her so completely.
One more long draught and she began to slow, careful to take only what she needed, only what the human male could afford. A few more delicate sips, savoring the bouquet of his blood, untainted as it was by alcohol or drugs, and she withdrew her fangs slowly, pausing to nip playfully as his flesh before licking his skin clean and closing the small wounds.
Sophia closed her eyes, sated and ready to rest, the long journey catching up with her at last. But there was Aurelio to tend to. He lay perfectly still beneath her, so careful to make no demand for his own completion, but she could feel his heart pounding, could hear the heated thrumming of his blood as it headed in a single direction. Toward that ever hardening shaft between his legs.
Sophia let her gaze travel along his sweat-sheened body, always willing to admire a beautiful male form. She trailed her hand slowly over the curve of his collarbones, down past the flat, hairless planes of his solid chest until she encountered the silky line of hair arrowing straight to his groin. She purred quietly in approval as her fingers closed around his straining erection, feeling him tremble beneath her as he struggled to remain still.
She stroked him slowly at first, admiring his discipline, admiring even more the fine piece of flesh she held in her hand. As hard as marble, it was satiny smooth and elegantly shaped. Long and thick with a well-formed head, the narrow scar of his circumcision so exquisitely sensitive that he shivered every time she touched it, which she did again, delighting in his moan of entreaty, begging her wordlessly to release him.
“Sssshh, Aurelito,” she bent to murmur against his ear. “Are you ready to come for me?”
His eyelids fluttered, his cock jumping in her hand. “Yes, please, mistress,” he whispered.
Sophia tightened her hold on him, squeezing and releasing as she played her fingers over the warm, golden skin. “Then, come for me, gato. Come now.”
Aurelio’s eyes flew open, rolling back in his skull until only the whites were visible, grunting low in his throat as he thrust uncontrollably against her hand, his long-delayed orgasm spurting between her fingers, onto his thighs and belly until he was spent.
Sophia remained still, giving him time to recover, letting his heart and breathing slow to something approaching normal. She waited as long as she could, but the sun was very close now and she wanted to be underground before it arrived.
“Aurelio,” she said softly.
His eyes opened, cheeks flaming red with embarrassment. “Forgive me, my lady,” he said immediately. “I didn’t mean—”
“Be calm. You served me well.”
“Thank you, my lady,” he said fervently. He grabbed the loose, linen pants he’d worn to the door and wiped himself quickly before standing and pulling the now sticky garment up his legs and tightening the drawstring closure.
Sophia eyed his tight ass appreciatively as he did so, wishing she’d had longer to play tonight.
But it was not to be.
She stood, barefoot, but still fully dressed, except for her shirt, which gaped open, her breasts displayed, the nipples flushed and hard after Aurelio’s dedicated attention. The blood slave cast surreptitious glances at her, but Sophia made no move to cover herself. She took pleasure in the knowledge of her body’s appeal to males, whether human or vampire.
“Thank you, Aurelio,” she said, opening the door to the garden. “I am very pleased.”
“Thank you, mistress. It was my honor.”
Sophia watched him hurry into the cold night, shivering in sympathy of the few clothes he wore. Perhaps one became used to these temperatures if one lived here long enough. Closing the door quickly, she locked and bolted it, then turned and stared at Lucien’s envelope where it sat on a charming antique bureau.
Sighing impatiently, she shook off a curious sense of foreboding and crossed immediately to the bureau. She picked up the letter, taking it with her as she hurried to the closet and its secret entrance. Taking the few steep stairs downward, she closed and locked the door behind her, then sank onto the thick mattress which served as a bed in the tight quarters.
Legs crossed beneath her, she slid a scarlet fingernail beneath the seal and sliced it open, withdrawing a single, folded sheet of paper. A photograph tumbled to the floor and she bent over to pick it up, frowning at the three people pictured there. Two men and a woman. None of whom she knew.
Laying the photograph aside, she unfolded the piece of heavy linen writing
paper and found it covered in Lucien’s handwriting. Sophia’s heart sank as she began to read.
Chapter Seven
Raphael sighed as the vault door closed behind him and he listened as Cyn locked them in with a series of muted thuds. This room was below ground, accessed by a private elevator and reserved for his exclusive use when visiting the Seattle compound. All of his vampires here slept their days underground, secure in a state-of-the-art vault like this one, which, once closed, could be opened only from the inside, except by Raphael or the nest’s leader or security chief. Within the larger vault, each vampire had a private sleeping chamber. Raphael’s private room was in a separate wing, more spacious and better appointed, but it was no more or less secure than those of the other vampires in the compound.
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