Craved: A Vampire Syndicate Paranormal Romance (The Vampire Syndicate Book 2)

by Rebecca Rivard

  But something in me recognized him. Heart to heart, soul to soul.

  Realization slammed me in the chest. I’d fallen in love with him. A Kral.

  I was so fucked.

  It was bad enough I was helping Rafe. But falling in love with him? Victorine would disown me.

  “Karoly Kral staked your father. Remember that when you yearn for his so-charming spawn.”

  Rafe scowled. “What about your mother? We don’t know for sure she hasn’t contacted him. What if Philippe tries to keep you here? I’m not going to stand by and let him take you prisoner.”

  “Yes, you are. That’s between me and Victorine. I can handle her.”

  I hoped.

  The iron gate swung open. “No interference,” I hissed. “If you can’t promise that, then tell me now. Or I’ll leave you out here.”

  A muscle in his jaw worked, but he gave a curt nod. “You have my promise. I’m just here for my brother.”

  “If he’s here,” I muttered.

  “He is. Or he was.” Rafe eyed the three-story mansion. “I can feel it.”

  My heart sank. “You can’t know that.”

  He shrugged.

  I took a deep breath. “Okay.” I turned up the brick walk.

  Rafe touched my lower back, quick and light. “You’ve got this.”

  And I tumbled a little deeper.

  Because he was doing this with me.

  Because he trusted my judgment, had worked with me to hash out a plan, and then agreed I should take the lead because it made more sense.

  And because he’d somehow seen beneath my emotionless exterior to the real woman, the one who needed warm touches, encouragement. Love.

  Philippe’s dhampir butler opened the blue door. “Mademoiselle Zoe.” Aubin inclined his head stiffly as if he hadn’t known me since I was in diapers. “It’s good to see you. And you, Jean-Michel.”

  Rafe nodded without speaking.

  I smiled at the butler. Beneath the formal manners, he had a soft spot for me. “Comment ça va?”

  Aubin unbent enough to give me a small smile in return. “I’m well, thank you,” he replied in French. “And you?”

  “Good, thanks.”

  “Come in. M’sieur is expecting you.”

  “Merci.”

  We followed him into the foyer and down the stairs. The mansion’s three aboveground floors were for human business and Philippe’s famous parties. His private quarters were safely underground; he was old enough to recall when humans had hunted vampires with fire and stakes.

  The first level held Philippe’s apartment, the one below that was for Syndicate business, and the lowest held five cells, which I only knew about because as a ghoulish ten-year-old, I’d begged Aubin to show them to me.

  If Zaquiel Kral was here, he’d be on the lowest level.

  Aubin stopped on the first level and ushered me through tall doors into the salon.

  Rafe remained in the hall. A bodyguard wouldn’t be invited into Philippe’s inner sanctum.

  The salon could’ve been lifted straight out of an 1800s French chateau. The walls were papered in dark red silk dotted with gold fleurs-de-lis, and the polished oak floor was covered by a hand-knotted Persian rug. The furniture was early nineteenth-century antiques that Philippe had probably bought new—curved settees, gilded wood chairs, a carved buffet and matching side tables.

  “Would you like a drink?” Aubin crossed to the buffet, where an open bottle of my favorite blood-wine waited.

  “S'il vous plaît,” I said, and the butler handed me a glass and faded back against the wall.

  On the opposite side of the salon, Philippe appeared in the doorway, dressed for the evening in an elegant suit. His jet hair was touched with silver at the temples and a narrow mustache adorned his upper lip. If you ignored his cold brown eyes, you might mistake him for the maître d’ at a posh Saint Germain café instead of one of Paris’s top enforcers—which was exactly how he wanted it.

  “Zoe.” He came toward me, hands outstretched. “How lovely to see you.”

  I set down the wineglass to take his hands. We air-kissed each other’s cheeks, European-style.

  “Happy birthday, my dear.” He pressed my fingers and released them.

  “Thank you.”

  “My felicitations. I hear you’re taking a mate.”

  My nape tightened. “Nothing’s been decided.”

  “No? But Victorine said you and Étan are—”

  “Did she? Perhaps she misunderstood. As I said, nothing’s been decided.”

  “Ah.”

  I formed my mouth into a flirtatious smile. “You’re not mated, are you?”

  He didn’t want me in that way and we both knew it, but it was never a bad idea to stroke Philippe’s ego.

  He chuckled. “You tempt me.” He glanced at Aubin. “Leave us.”

  The butler nodded and left, closing the door behind him. I winced inwardly. Rafe wasn’t going to be happy about being left on the other side of the door.

  Philippe drew me to a silk brocade sofa and sat down nearby. “Is Victorine pressuring you? I can speak to her for you.”

  “No, no.” The last thing I wanted was for Philippe to contact Victorine. “Everything’s fine.”

  He nodded and laid an arm along the sofa back. “So, what brings you to Paris? You must have boarded a plane the moment the ball ended.”

  “Not really. I arrived last night.”

  “You came alone?”

  I darted a look at him. Why all the questions?

  But he gave me a relaxed, just-making-conversation smile.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Except for Jean-Michel, of course.”

  “Of course.” A wary tingle touched my spine, like an unseen trap was closing around me. I got to my feet and retrieved my blood-wine.

  Philippe crossed one leg over the other and watched me, still relaxed. But it was starting to feel like the stillness of a tiger about to pounce.

  I sipped my wine and told myself not to be so jumpy. “No party tonight?”

  “I have a few people coming in. You’ll stay?”

  “I’d love to. But—” I indicated my T-shirt and jeans—“I’m not dressed for a party.”

  “I’m sure Aubin can find you something in your size.”

  That’s what I’d hoped he’d say. It would give me a chance to sneak into the lowest level.

  “Then, of course. Anyone I know?”

  “A young pianist, very talented. Five or six others. They should be here in a few minutes. I wanted some time alone with you first.”

  “Oh?” My uneasiness increased. The high ceilings felt like they were lowering.

  I crossed to the buffet to top off my glass, then stopped to study a painting. Over the years, Philippe had amassed an impressive collection of art he’d commissioned from artists ranging from Michelangelo to Warhol, all of which showed vampires with humans.

  Vampires hunting humans. Vampires drinking. Vampires making love.

  Instead of returning to the couch, I strolled from painting to painting until I was a few feet from the exit. I could almost feel Rafe listening on the other side.

  I took another sip of wine, wondering if I dared leave.

  Knowing I couldn’t.

  I paused in front of a Degas. “I always liked this painting.”

  Philippe came across the salon to stand by my side. “Ah, yes. The little dancer is so young and sweet, n’est-ce pas?”

  “She is.”

  The dancer was all soft and creamy-skinned in her pink tutu. She sat on a stage a little apart from the other dancers, tying the ribbons of her ballet shoes. A shadowy man watched from backstage—a vampire, hunting.

  “She was a favorite of mine,” Philippe said. “It’s a shame that they leave us so soon.”

  “That’s you?” I looked closer.

  “Oui. I commissioned it myself from Degas.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “Mm
. Sometimes,” he said, his gaze still on the dancer, “I forget how young you are. You still think in terms of a human lifespan, don’t you?”

  I jerked a shoulder. “I suppose.”

  “You’re good for us. For me, for your mother.”

  “I am?” I turned my head to see if he was serious.

  I’d only ever felt inferior around them both. I was too naïve, too unseasoned, too emotional. My sole purpose was as clay to be molded into the perfect successor to Victorine, and to one day produce another spawn to carry on the Tremblay line.

  Philippe nodded. “Oh, yes. You remind us of what it is to be young, to feel strongly. But Zoe?” Dark eyes bored into mine. “A vampire isn’t a human. We live a long, long time. Love is for humans or the weak. In the end, power is the only thing worth having. The only thing that lasts.”

  The trapped sensation had become almost unbearable.

  What had Victorine told him? Did he know I’d left Montreal without her permission?

  And why was he talking about love?

  I licked my lips. “That’s what my mother says.”

  “Ah.”

  A tap-tap on the salon door made my nerves jangle. I tightened my fingers on the wineglass, certain it was Victorine.

  “Entrez,” said Philippe.

  I squared my shoulders and forced myself to face the door, but it was only Aubin.

  “The pianist, m’sieur.” He gave her name, and she entered, a petite American in a blue evening gown.

  Philippe introduced us and we chatted for a few minutes. The pianist was followed by a thrall in a flirty pink dress, who made a beeline for Philippe. He set a possessive hand on her ass and she smiled up at him.

  A couple of men from the Paris Syndicate arrived soon after, along with two more thralls. I nodded to the vampires, both of whom I knew slightly, and tried not to watch the door.

  “Princess Zoe,” the larger man said. “A pleasure to see you again.”

  I smiled and fished his name from my brain. “And you, Samir.”

  I exchanged air-kisses with him and the other man, keeping a wary eye on the door. When my mother still didn’t appear, I released a slow breath.

  “You are traveling by yourself?” Samir asked. Something about the way he looked me up and down made me believe that news of my supposed mating with Étan had reached him as well.

  Anger pushed through my uneasiness. Victorine had promised the choice was mine. If this subtle pressure was her way of making me accept Étan, she was going to be disappointed.

  “Shopping,” I returned coolly. “Paris has the best selection, n’est-ce pas?”

  “But of course.”

  The pianist seated herself at the grand piano. I excused myself to Samir and moved to where Aubin was pouring drinks.

  I waved a hand at my jeans and T-shirt. “Is the magic closet still where it used to be?”

  “It is. If you’ll wait a moment, I’ll escort you.”

  “Thanks, but I know where it is.” I escaped into the hall.

  Rafe waited, hands behind his back, the perfect bodyguard. But his eyes were alive with excitement, his body practically vibrating with tension.

  I blew out a breath. A cowardly part of me wanted to call everything off and get the hell out of the mansion, but I was committed now. I wasn’t leaving until I knew one way or the other.

  I needed to know the truth.

  “Philippe has invited me to stay,” I said, “but I need a dress.”

  I headed down the hall. Rafe would understand.

  So far, things had gone as planned. To get to the lower levels, I had to evade security, and the only way to do that was in the shadow dimension. But security couldn’t see me disappear.

  The plan depended on me entering the shadows undetected in a room with no cams, such as a dressing room. Then I’d leave through the open door, leaving Rafe standing guard. To anyone monitoring the security cameras, it would appear I was still in the dressing room.

  Most visitors couldn’t have gotten away with it; someone would’ve been assigned to accompany them everywhere in the mansion. But I was Zoe Tremblay. Philippe’s people would never suspect me of evading security.

  The “magic closet” wasn’t actually a closet. It was more like an exclusive boutique with clothes for both men and women in a rainbow of colors and sizes.

  More importantly, it had two dressing rooms.

  I selected a couple of short black dresses in my size and took them into the nearest dressing room, leaving the door ajar. I knew I didn’t have much time. I hung the dresses on a hook, faded into the shadows, and sprang into action, darting through the open door past Rafe and down the hall to the staircase.

  I made it down the two sets of stairs to the lowest level in under three seconds. The door at the bottom was closed, but I’d expected that.

  I flicked out of the shadows and slapped my hand on the door, tripping the sensor. A fraction of a second later, I was back in the shadows.

  A uniformed guard appeared, a gold griffin embroidered over his heart. I plastered myself to the wall, praying he wouldn’t sense me.

  The guard glanced around, eyes narrowed. I dug my fingers into my palms, willing him to open the door.

  “Nobody’s here,” he said into his earpiece.

  “Better check anyway,” came the reply.

  I watched over his shoulder as he keyed in a five-digit code. The door swung open and he entered, me on his heels.

  The five cells were in a row. Four of the doors were ajar, the cells empty except for a toilet and sink partially concealed behind a concrete-block wall.

  The guard unlocked the closed door. A feral hiss emanated from the darkness.

  I steeled myself to look, but it wasn’t Zaquiel. It wasn’t even a man, but a beautiful woman with soulless eyes, a vampire who’d lost herself to the blood craving and had been confined for her own good. It wasn’t easy to see, but it wasn’t uncommon. Philippe must have held a special affection for the woman. Otherwise, he would’ve just staked her.

  I continued to the middle cell, and froze. A pair of silver cuffs dangled from the concrete block wall. In my mind’s eye, I superimposed the photo of Zaquiel against the wall.

  It fit. Perfectly.

  Right down to the bloodstain on the concrete blocks about where his throat would’ve been.

  No.

  The hallway swooped around me. I took a step inside the cell and stared at the silver cuffs. My heart gave a single hard, disbelieving beat.

  Rafe was right. Philippe was behind his brother’s abduction. He’d kept Zaquiel Kral in this cell, and either fed from him or allowed his people to.

  I pressed a hand to my stomach. A syndicate prince, and they’d treated Zaquiel like a blood slave. They hadn’t just kidnapped him, they’d set out to humiliate him.

  I shook my head slowly from side to side. Arguing with myself.

  This wasn’t proof Victorine was behind Zaquiel’s kidnapping. Maybe Philippe had seized him for his primus.

  But the Paris Syndicate wasn’t at war with the Krals. In fact, the Paris Primus had pushed for the truce.

  I backed out of the cell, gaze still locked on the silver cuffs.

  The guard came out of the cell next door. I jolted and forced myself to move before I got trapped on this level.

  Three minutes had passed by the time I returned to the dressing room. Three minutes that felt like a lifetime.

  I dragged off my jeans and T-shirt and chose the first dress I set my hand on. Dropped it over my head, zipped it up.

  Deep down, I hadn’t believed Rafe. Not really. Even knowing what my mother was capable of, I hadn’t believed she’d sink this low.

  I’d figured I’d do this one thing for Rafe and it would wipe out that night two years ago. Or if not wipe it out, at least balance the scales.

  But it hadn’t balanced the scales. What I’d discovered had made things even worse, and I didn’t know what I was going to do about it. Because when pus
h came to shove, my loyalty was to my mother—wasn’t it?

  Zaquiel’s image swam before my eyes. That feverish, strained look on the face that looked so much like Rafe’s. His bruised, wounded throat.

  She wouldn’t. She signed a treaty.

  But she would, if she could get away with it.

  I dragged a hand down my face. Don’t think about it. Just get through the rest of the evening.

  Then I’d figure out what to do about my mother.

  I pulled on my boots, shoved my phone into the top of the right one, and left the dressing room.

  Rafe’s eyes blazed with questions, but he fell in behind me, maintaining his bodyguard persona.

  “Well?” he asked in an undertone.

  “Not here,” I said out of the side of my mouth.

  “Answer me. Is he here or not?”

  We were almost to the salon. I turned and nodded as if directing him to wait in the hall.

  “No. There’s no one down there but an old, blood-crazed vampire—a woman.”

  Rafe’s eyes narrowed. Like he wasn’t sure whether to believe me.

  My chest squeezed, but how could I blame him? I had every reason to lie.

  I licked my lips, and added, “But he was here.”

  Rafe deserved to know, even if it implicated my mother and Philippe. If that made me a traitor, then so be it.

  I think I already knew I’d never be my mother’s lieutenant.

  His heartbeat kicked up. He leaned in. “You’re sure?

  “Yeah. I saw the cell—the one in the photo. The concrete had the same blood stain.”

  He stepped back and lowered his gaze. “Leave as soon as you can,” he told the floor. “I have a bad feeling about this. We need to get the fuck out of here.”

  I gave a helpless shake of my head. “I can’t. I have to stay for at least a couple of hours.”

  “Damn it, Zoe.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  In the salon, the pianist was playing a moody piece by Rachmaninoff. The vampires had their eyes half-closed, entranced by the dark, erotic melody, their thralls snuggled up to their sides.

  I fought the music’s pull on my senses, afraid that if I gave into any emotion, even the soothing darkness, I’d crack wide open.

  Philippe nuzzled his thrall’s throat, teasing her tender skin with his fangs. He lifted his head and eyed me as I rejoined the group.