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

by Rebecca Rivard

  I smiled and nodded at him, pretending everything was all right. It wasn’t even hard, I was so used to hiding behind my princess mask.

  Nobody would guess my chest was a tangled knot of emotions. Guilt that my own mother had probably been behind Zaquiel’s abduction. Horror that Rafe had been right; Victorine had broken the truce. And a growing fear for both Rafe and myself.

  The music grew darker, more intense.

  My gaze was drawn once more to the Degas painting.

  The young dancer would’ve known what Philippe was. Back then, many dancers signed thrall contracts. It was a win-win—in return for blood and sex, the dancer got money and the prestige of being a powerful vampire’s thrall.

  That was how the world worked. The pretty ballerina had probably done everything she could to attract his attention.

  But tonight, it creeped me out. I knew Philippe. I’d bet my favorite orchid that he’d manipulated things so the dancer had no choice if she wanted to eat.

  Philippe’s hand settled on his thrall’s nape. She leaned into him. He kissed her temple and met my eyes.

  He knew.

  Suddenly, I was certain Victorine had contacted him. That when I’d arrived, he’d already known I’d sneaked out of my own birthday ball and gone missing.

  But what did he know?

  I’ve never been so thankful that vampires can’t read each other’s emotions. I gave him a slight smile and focused on the music.

  He doesn’t know about Rafe. You can still bluff your way out of this.

  The music approached its climax. Dramatic, haunting arpeggios that crashed over me like a breaking storm. If I hadn’t been so on edge, the loud music might have drowned out the footsteps coming down the hall.

  But I did notice. Several people, with the tap-tap of high heels ringing out like a warning bell above the others.

  My shoulders inched up. The walls and ceiling of the salon closed in on me.

  Fear tightened my nape.

  I took a step back from the group. Not to run—it was too late for that—but to give myself some space.

  The song ended and the room went silent. Philippe released the thrall and took hold of my upper arm.

  “Zoe,” he said with a sorrowful shake of his head. “I think you’ve been very bad, n’est-ce pas?”

  18

  RAFE

  I eyed Philippe’s aristocratic profile through the partially open door and fingered my switchblade. The desire for revenge writhed, hot and black, in my gut.

  Mess with one Kral, you messed with us all.

  Me and my brothers weren’t called the Dark Angels simply because we were named Gabriel, Zaquiel and Rafael. That nickname had started in the vampire world. The Kral brothers fought as a unit—and we didn’t show mercy.

  My fangs pricked my gums. It would be so easy to slip into the salon and stake the Paris enforcer. A quick, surgical strike. I’d never have a better opportunity than now, when he was under the music’s dark spell.

  But there was that promise I’d made Zoe, and besides, she’d stuck her neck out to sneak me in as her bodyguard. I couldn’t repay her by making her an unwitting accomplice to Philippe’s assassination.

  Footsteps came down the steps. Victorine and Étan, escorted by a member of Philippe’s staff. Bringing up the rear was a woman and the real Jean-Michel.

  Holy hell.

  I instinctively started the fade, but it takes a few seconds. Both Victorine and Étan saw the fake Jean-Michel.

  Étan reacted first. His good-looking face twisted. “Thrice-damned Kral bastard.”

  He leapt forward, but I made it into the shadows just in time. His hands closed on empty air.

  I grinned into his furious face. “Missed,” I mouthed, even though he couldn’t see me.

  Victorine raised an imperious hand at a security cam. “Lock down,” she ordered.

  I took off down the hall. Just as I reached the stairs, a solid steel gate slammed down from the ceiling. I skidded to a stop and shot a glance over my shoulder. The other side of the hall was blocked as well.

  Trapped.

  “Madame?” The butler appeared in the doorway of the salon. “May I be of assistance?”

  “Shut the door,” she rapped out. “Now.”

  I was already inside the salon. I raced across the room. Zoe stood alone, shoulders tight, the masklike expression on her face.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  Behind me, the piano music stopped. There was an excited murmur.

  I kept going.

  “Victorine?” Philippe cut through the questions. “What’s wrong?”

  “That man in the hall wasn’t Jean-Michel,” said Victorine. “We believe it’s a Kral.”

  “Ah, bon?” said Philippe in a cold voice. “Well, don’t worry, he won’t be leaving. All exits have been secured.”

  I found that out for myself as I dashed through the rest of the apartment. The library flowed into a dining room and then a kitchen. Three bedrooms, including the master bedroom, were down another short corridor. The only other exit had also been blocked by a solid steel gate.

  I muttered a curse and returned to the library. Étan, Jean-Michel, and the two Paris Syndicate men had fanned out to search the other rooms. They couldn’t find me while I remained in the shadows, but every moment I spent here drained magical energy.

  Worse, I already felt light-headed. It wouldn’t be long before I’d pass out and return to the physical world.

  Étan reentered the library. His nostrils flared, trying to track me by scent, but my run through the apartment had spread my scent wide enough that he’d have trouble finding me that way, and even if he did, he wouldn’t be able to touch me.

  Although he could box me into the library by closing both doors.

  “Come out, you connard.” He glared around the room.

  “Go to Hades,” I mouthed.

  Then I went cold all over as I remembered what Étan had spat at me in the hall. “Thrice-damned Kral bastard.”

  How had he known it was me beneath the glamour? And Victorine had said something about me being a Kral, too.

  “Talk.” Victorine’s voice, low and vicious. “Who is he?”

  I moved to the salon doorway. Victorine had Zoe by the arm, her pointed red nails digging into her daughter’s skin. The pianist and thralls had been herded into a corner of the room by one of the Paris men. They looked everywhere but at the two women.

  Zoe’s mask was firmly in place. “A friend,” she said in a tone as flat as her expression.

  Victorine’s nails dug deeper. “It was Rafe Kral, wasn’t it?”

  Tiny beads of blood appeared on Zoe’s arm. We all smelled it.

  Zoe looked at her arm, raised her gaze to her mother’s face. “Let me go,” she said coolly. “And then we’ll talk.”

  “You little—” Victorine raised a hand to slap Zoe.

  Zoe seemed to pull inside herself, tortoise-like. She still held Victorine’s gaze, but it was like she’d pulled her vulnerable parts inside, the things that made her Zoe, leaving nothing but an impassive outer shell.

  My muscles bunched.

  The hell with my promise. Victorine Tremblay was going down.

  I leapt forward, but Philippe reached her first. He grabbed Victorine’s arm, stopping her in mid-swing.

  “Allow me, cherie.”

  I halted, stopping myself from leaving the shadows just in time.

  Victorine drew a slow breath through her nostrils. “Be my guest,” she told Philippe with an icy look at her daughter.

  “My dear.” Philippe took Zoe’s hand. “Tell us what’s this about. You’re already in trouble. Don’t make it worse.”

  Zoe shook her head but didn’t answer.

  “Sit, if you please.” Philippe guided Zoe to a couch at one end of the salon and sat down beside her.

  “Lainey.” Zoe eyed the woman who’d come in with Victorine. “I should’ve guessed you were part of this.”

  It was
Lainey Q, the silver-haired woman from Pigalle. It figured. That story of hers about just happening to stumble upon Zoe had been too pat.

  “I didn’t really compel you, did I?” Zoe asked. “Are you even human?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Lainey’s smile was smug. “But I’m immune to compulsion. I’m good at faking it, though.”

  Zoe shook her head, then her eyes widened. She looked a little sick.

  “She’s with Slayers, Inc., isn’t she?” she asked her mother. “He was right. You are working with them.”

  “Who was right?” Philippe asked.

  Zoe set her mouth stubbornly.

  I looked from Philippe to Victorine. Neither seemed surprised at Zoe’s statement. They’d all but admitted that Father’s suspicions had been correct. Victorine Tremblay had formed an alliance with Slayers, Inc. to take out me and my brothers.

  Now I just had to get Zoe and myself out of here in one piece so I could let him know.

  Étan had returned to the salon and taken a stance next to Victorine, making it clear whose side he was on. “Rafael Kral,” he spat out like I was Public Enemy No. 1. “She left Montreal with him.”

  “You’re wrong,” Zoe said. “I haven’t seen him in two years.”

  “Zoe,” Philippe said softly. “I have a fondness for you. But if you lie to me, I will be very unhappy.”

  A tremor went over her.

  Étan crouched down and stared into her face. Trying to intimidate her with his larger body.

  Zoe lifted her chin and stared back.

  Pride surged up in me. That was my vampire princess.

  That’s it. Don’t let them push you around.

  “The petit salopard is here,” said Étan. “We know he’s got a gift for glamouring. Man’s a fucking chameleon. He pretended to be Jean-Michel so you could sneak him in here.”

  Zoe’s mouth flattened. “If you’re so smart, then tell me why I’d bring Rafe Kral to Paris. Why not just run off to New York with him?”

  “Because his brother was here,” Victorine said.

  Victorine had admitted it. And they had to suspect I was listening.

  I gripped my switchblade. I had no chance of escape. Better to leave the shadows before I was completely drained of energy. But should I show myself as Rafe Kral or someone else?

  “Enough prevarication,” Victorine said. “We have intel that you were on your way to Paris with Rafael.”

  Zoe balled her hands in her lap. “Who told you that?”

  “Answer me.” Victorine crossed her arms over her skinny chest. “Is he with you or not? I want the truth.”

  She stared up at her mother. “I feel like I don’t know you at all. Any of you.” She looked around the room and shook her head.

  Philippe expelled a breath. “Zoe,” he warned.

  “I saw the cell.” Her gaze accused him. “The one where you kept Zaquiel Kral. Does your primus know about that?”

  What the fuck, Zoe? I grit my teeth. The more she talked, the worse she made things for herself. She must know that.

  “Now how would you know it was Zaquiel Kral’s cell?” Philippe asked.

  Zoe went still as a hunted animal. “I sneaked into the lower level.”

  “Then you know he isn’t here.”

  “Are you telling me you didn’t kidnap him?”

  “I’m not telling you anything,” Philippe returned, and went in for the kill. “But if you went down to the lower level, then you know Zaquiel’s not there. And his father has kept his disappearance quiet. No one outside of the Kral Syndicate knows Zaquiel was kidnapped but the slayers and the people in this room.”

  “So you’re all in on it. Even Étan.” She shot the blond vampire a look of loathing.

  And suddenly, I understood. Zoe was asking questions because she assumed I was listening. She wanted me to have the truth.

  Étan growled. “He got to her. That Kral bastard got to her. It’s the only explanation.”

  “You little fool.” Victorine bent down and gripped Zoe’s chin. “So you came to Paris willingly. He didn’t force you.”

  I held my breath, waiting for Zoe’s answer. She had everything to gain by lying.

  “No, he didn’t force me.” She pushed her mother’s hand away. “I came because I wanted to see what was going on for myself.”

  Victorine’s mouth formed a tight, harsh line. “You’re helping him. A Kral.”

  “Tell me he’s wrong,” Zoe shot back. “Tell me you’re not working with Slayers, Inc.”

  “You ungrateful child, I did it for you. To keep you safe. Do you really think we can trust the Krals to keep the truce?”

  “A dhampir.” Étan shook his head. “They’re weak, all three brothers. It was me who coordinated Zaquiel’s kidnapping. It was almost too easy. The man’s soft, a pushover for a sob story.”

  Bastard. My fangs pricked my gums. How dare he mock my brother’s big heart?

  I’d heard enough. I prepared to leave the shadows. I was damned if I’d let her face them alone.

  But when I reappeared, I wanted the maximum element of surprise. And it wouldn’t hurt to keep them guessing as to who I really was.

  Always do the unexpected.

  They were so sure I was Rafael Kral? Maybe I could shake them up.

  I smiled grimly and started to change my appearance.

  “I told him you wouldn’t break the truce,” Zoe said to Victorine. “I came here to prove he was wrong, that you weren’t involved in it.” She glanced at Étan. “That we weren’t involved in it.”

  Étan plucked Zoe off the couch. “You’ve gone too far.” He shook her like she was a child. “You’ve betrayed your mother and your coven, and embarrassed your syndicate.”

  A killing rage filled my head. Étan had put his hands on Zoe. Again.

  I dropped out of the shadows, switchblade in hand, as he backhanded her across the face so hard her head snapped to the side.

  Then he did it a second time.

  My vision clouded. A guttural sound ripped from my chest. “You sonofabitch.”

  All eyes swung to me. My glamour was apparently letter-perfect. Even Philippe did a doubletake.

  No one had expected to see my brother Zaq.

  Etan shoved Zoe away from him and started to turn toward me.

  But I had the element of surprise. It bought me the time I needed to plunge the long silver blade into Étan’s chest and up through his heart.

  19

  ZOE

  Zaquiel Kral.

  His face bloodied, eyes hollow. Silver burns on his wrists and a vampire bite on his neck.

  But it couldn’t be.

  Rafe?

  I blinked and shook my head, trying to see past the pain and humiliation of having my face slapped twice in front of Victorine, Philippe, and a roomful of Paris soldiers and thralls.

  Rafe lunged at Étan. There was a flash of silver. Étan grunted and lurched into me, and I instinctively caught him. We stared into each other’s eyes, then I pushed him away.

  Time slowed.

  Étan’s hand went to the silver handle sticking out of his chest. His face stretched in shock.

  My eyes widened, my shock mirroring his.

  Étan had been staked. By Rafe.

  The blond lieutenant stumbled backward. Reached into a pocket, turned toward his assailant. “You—”

  Victorine shrieked, a fierce raptor sound that sent chills up and down my spine.

  Étan opened a switchblade and pushed it weakly at the man with Zaquiel’s face, who easily avoided it.

  The switchblade fell from Étan’s hand. A bubble of blood formed on his lips. He crumpled to the Persian rug at my feet.

  “Zoe.” He stretched out a blackened, smoking hand to me. “Help…me.”

  I looked at him, my face still stinging from his blows, then crouched down. The acrid, stomach-turning scent of smoke and burning flesh filled my nostrils. I touched his chest, pretending sorrow for our audience.

  Only
he heard my muttered words.

  “Of course, I helped Rafe. And I fucked him, too. And Étan?” I peeled my lips in a smile only he could see. “It was awesome. The earth freaking moved.”

  He opened his mouth, but there was nothing but a smoking black hole clear to the back of his skull. Whatever he wanted to say, he never got it out as the final death consumed him like a fast-moving fire.

  His eyes glazed over. He jerked and went still. He’d entered the final transition. His blackened skin flaked off onto the rug. Soon he’d be a pile of ashes.

  May he rot in a light-filled hell.

  I stood back up.

  Time returned to normal. Philippe was on his feet, rapping out orders. The two Paris soldiers leapt for the intruder. More vampires poured into the salon.

  Rafe’s glamour sloughed away like a snake’s skin. He dropped into a fighting crouch, lips stretched in a cold grin, a second switchblade in his hand.

  My hero. My heart. My destruction.

  “Damn it,” I rasped. “You promised not to interfere.”

  Two soldiers came at him from either side with long silver stilettos. He leapt back and nearly crashed into a third man. He spun and slashed out with his blade, catching the man a glancing blow.

  “Fuck that.” His gaze caught mine for an intense, heart-rending moment. “No one treats you like that. Not when I’m around.”

  Then the soldiers surrounded him. He drove them off with the switchblade, but he was outnumbered. A blow to the back of his head sent him to the floor.

  The soldiers fell on him, slashing at him with knives and daggers.

  I drew a jagged breath. “No.”

  I darted a glance around for help, but Philippe and my mother weren’t going to jump in to save him, and Jean-Michel wouldn’t dare. The three thralls were huddled in a corner, their pores literally leaking terror. Philippe’s female had a fist pressed to her mouth and was making high, keening sounds behind it. The pianist was pounding on the locked salon door, begging someone to let her out, and Lainey leaned against the buffet, arms crossed over her candy-pink T-shirt, her expression unreadable.

  “Don’t stake him,” Philippe ordered. “I need him.”