D.B.Reynolds Relentless -VAMPIRES in AMERICA(Cyn and Raphael)(ang.)

Table of Contents Praise for D. B. Reynolds’s Vampires in America . . . D. B. Reynolds Vampires in America Relentless Copyright Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Epilogue Please visit these websites for more information about D.B. Reynolds About the Author

Praise for D. B. Reynolds’s Vampires in America . . . TOP PICK! 4-1/2 Stars. “This is a power read, and fans will not be disappointed in the latest installment of Reynolds’s tantalizing series.” —RT Book Reviews on LUCIFER “Captivating and brimming with brilliance, CHRISTIAN is yet another defining addition to the ever-evolving world of Vampires in America created by D. B. Reynolds.” —KT Book Reviews “Did I mention that the sizzling sex factor in this book is reaching the combustible stage? It is a wonder my Kindle didn’t burn up.” —La Deetda Reads on DECEPTION “D. B. Reynolds has outdone herself with this exhilarating story; and VINCENT is a worthy addition to Reynolds’s always excellent Vampires in America series.” —Fresh Fiction “Terrific writing, strong characters and world

building, excellent storylines all help make Vampires in America a must read. Aden is one of the best so far.” A TOP BOOK OF THE YEAR! —On Top Down Under Book Reviews “In one of the most compelling vampire books I’ve read in a while, Reynolds blends an excellent mix of paranormal elements, suspense and combustible attraction.” —RT Book Reviews on LUCAS “Move over Raphael, there’s a new Lord in town.” —Bitten by Paranormal Romance on JABRIL

D. B. Reynolds Vampires in America Raphael Jabril Rajmund Sophia Duncan Lucas Aden Vincent

Vampires in America: The Vampire Wars Deception Christian Lucifer

The Cyn and Raphael Novellas Betrayed

Hunted Unforgiven Compelled Relentless

The Stone Warriors The Stone Warriors: Damian The Stone Warriors: Kato

Relentless by

D. B. Reynolds ImaJinn Books

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is entirely coincidental.

ImaJinn Books PO BOX 300921 Memphis, TN 38130 Ebook ISBN: 978-1-61194-825-7 ImaJinn Books is an Imprint of BelleBooks, Inc. Copyright © 2017 by D. B. Reynolds Published in the United States of America. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review. ImaJinn Books was founded by Linda Kichline. We at ImaJinn Books enjoy hearing from readers. Visit our websites ImaJinnBooks.com BelleBooks.com BellBridgeBooks.com 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Cover design: Debra Dixon

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Prologue Nice, France—two months earlier “THE FUCKING German blew it.” Laurent Pierre picked up an exquisite Chinese vase and threw it across the room where it hit the wall and smashed into a thousand tiny pieces. That vase was worth around 9000 Euros, $10,000 US. It was one of a matched pair. Not anymore, he thought viciously. There was a certain satisfaction in destroying some of Mathilde’s fucking antiques. Sure, he was her child, and he’d damn well destroy the vampire who’d killed her. But that didn’t mean he had to preserve every damn vase in the place. It was time for him to put his own stamp on this territory, time to establish himself as a power to be reckoned with. “Berkhard didn’t do enough recon,” his lieutenant, Jourdain, commented, ignoring the shattered porcelain. He was Laurent’s oldest child, had been with him for over a hundred years, and he knew that his Sire’s tendency to vent his anger by breaking things was nothing to worry about. Laurent had a temper, but he was a good lord. Better than Mathilde. He protected his vampires.

He didn’t suck them dry and throw them away. “He underestimated Sophia’s power,” he added, referring to Berkhard of Germany’s recent attempt to seize the Canadian lord’s territory. “Hell, it wasn’t only Berkhard,” Laurent conceded, leaning back in his chair with a resigned sign. “Mathilde and Hubert before him . . . they all made the same mistake. It wasn’t only Sophia they underestimated. It was all the North American vamps. Fucking Raphael has brought them into a real alliance. You go after one, and you take on them all.” Jourdain nodded slowly. “That’s it, then? We leave them alone, they leave us alone?” “Hell, no.” Laurent glanced up to see his lieutenant’s puzzled frown. “I mean, yeah, you know me. I have zero interest in invading North America. I’m perfectly happy killing off my neighbors right here in Europe and stealing their territories. But . . . damn it, Jourdain. What if someday they decide that defending their continent isn’t enough? Or maybe they simply want more territory. A fucking world empire. What if they bring the war to us?” “You think if we kill Raphael, they’ll go back to squabbling with each other.” Jourdain said it as a statement, not a question. “Exactly. He’s the power behind the North American alliance. He’s also the fucker who killed

Mathilde. The crazy bitch was my Sire. I can’t let that go. I kill him, and I get two for one. Stop the threat, and avenge my Sire at the same time.” “So, should I pack for California?” “Fuck, no. I’m not taking on North America. I’m just going to kill the one vampire who makes them tick. Get Tristan in here. It’s time for Mathilde’s pet assassin to earn his keep.”

Chapter One Malibu, CA—present day LENNY PULLED the silicon plugs from his ears as he started down the back hallway. It was fucking noisy out in the blood house’s huge main room. Between the thumping music, the dull roar of conversation, and the screams and grunts of couples having sex on the dark dance floor and in even darker corners . . . Was it a bad sign that it bothered him? Was he getting old? Sure, vampires didn’t age physically, but the thoughts and feelings of an intelligent man . . . those had to change over time, didn’t they? Maybe it was time for him to ask Raphael for a new job assignment. He pursed his lips in thought, contemplating the kind of job he might like as he walked his usual round of the private rooms. It was still busy, despite the late hour, every room occupied behind sound-proofed walls and doors that muted all but the most fervent screams of ecstasy. He passed one of his managers,

who gave him a respectful nod. “Full up tonight, Len,” the vampire said. “Upstairs, too.” Lenny nodded. “Winter tourists,” he commented. “We get them every year.” His manager grinned. “Nobody likes frozen blood.” Lenny chuckled and kept going, taking the back stairs to avoid the noise out front. He’d just reached the top floor, one foot still on the last stair, when the first shots rang out. Santa Monica, CA ZOYA HELD HER young man’s hand as they walked through the parking garage after the movie. He was not really her young man. It was only their second date. But he was handsome and vital, and he didn’t care that she was a vampire. She was beginning to suspect that it was her vampire nature which had attracted him to her. She was young enough to believe in true love, young enough to still hope to find it for herself. She would have preferred to be wanted for something other than her bite, but all great love stories started somewhere. “Did you like the movie?” he asked, dropping her hand and pulling her close with an arm over her shoulders. She wrinkled her nose. “It was violent, but the love story was nice.”

He laughed. Such an appealing sound. He really was a handsome man. “They do that on purpose, you know. Throw a love story in there for the women, to increase the take at the box office.” Zoya tilted her head curiously. She’d only been in this country two years, and American colloquialisms still confused her sometimes. Box office? She pondered asking him what it meant but decided to look it up for herself later. She didn’t want him to think she was stupid. She was a vampire, after all. A better version of humanity, according to the older vamps on Raphael’s estate. She looked up at him. “Shall we—?” The first shot pierced her heart, the second a centimeter from the first. She was already dead when the third shot hit, already sliding from under her young man’s arm. Too young to dust upon death, she fell to the cold concrete floor, while her young man hid behind a pillar and dialed 911. Beverly Hills, CA “CAN WE GO home now?” Maleko Turner—Mal to his friends and the beautiful woman walking next to him—struggled to keep his voice even, to sound like the homicide cop he’d been and the tough-asnails security specialist he currently was, instead of the footsore lover who just wanted to go home, fuck his woman, and sleep for eight hours.

“In a hurry, big guy?” Elke gazed up at him with deceptively innocent blue eyes, her lashes fluttering. He didn’t fall for it. She was a century-old vampire and member of Raphael’s inner security team. What spoke even more to her toughness was that Raphael trusted Elke to safeguard his mate, Cynthia. That vampire loved his woman. If anything happened to her on Elke’s watch, Elke’d better die right alongside her, because Raphael would kill her. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am,” he said bluntly, answering Elke’s teasing question with the truth. “This is my day off. I want to spend it with you, not with you and a few hundred other shoppers.” Elke stared up at him, seeming startled by his announcement. She still had trouble sometimes, seeing herself as a desirable and sexy woman. She was a female vampire in a world of males, and she’d chosen to compete on their terms, becoming a warrior instead of an accountant, or a lawyer, or any number of socially acceptable roles. The males she worked with acknowledged her skills and strength, but the corollary was that they treated her as one of the guys, so to speak. They saw her as an asset, not a woman. And she’d been with Raphael’s security team a very long time. “Babe,” he said, pulling her into his arms. “Let me be clear. I want to go home, strip you naked,

and fuck you ‘til you scream.” Her pale cheeks pinked with embarrassment, making her eyes seem even bluer. “Don’t be shy, Mal,” she murmured, striving for cool. “Tell me what you really want.” He grinned and bent his head to kiss her, but saw someone move in the shadows. If the shooter had waited ten seconds more, he could have killed them both. Chicago, Illinois “GENTLEMEN,” Raphael said. “And ladies,” he amended, glancing at Sophia and at Rajmund’s lieutenant, Emelie. He looked around the room, drawing the attention of every lord and lieutenant, before continuing. “Fuck this,” he said sharply. “No more waiting for the next invader from Europe. It’s time for us to take the war to them.” He cast his gaze around the room one more time, then sat back, prepared to listen. He’d already decided to go after the Europeans, with or without his North American allies. But it would be easier with them. Besides, these were powerful, intelligent vampires. He’d be a fool to ignore what they had to say. Especially since, if they decided to fight at his side, their people were just as likely to die as his. Duncan, who was his former lieutenant and now Lord of the Capital Territory, was the first to speak, nodding his agreement with Raphael’s

pronouncement. “It makes sense. If we do nothing but sit around, waiting for the next attack, we look weak. And there will be another attack, and another one after that. They won’t succeed, but more vampires will die needlessly. That’s reason enough, but humans will inevitably be killed in the crossfire, and we don’t need that kind of exposure.” Duncan spoke quietly, but the others paid attention. He was their liaison to the human government. If anyone understood human politics, it was Duncan. He also happened to be closer to Raphael than any other vampire. Except possibly one. “Going after them at home sounds good to me. I never did like fucking Europeans,” Lucas agreed. He was sitting next to Raphael, slouched in his chair as always, looking every bit the lazy, indolent creature he pretended to be. It was all an act. Lucas ran his territory like the finest clockwork, and his skills on the battlefield were second to none. He bathed in blood when necessary, and didn’t mind the smell. He was also Raphael’s first child, the first vampire he’d ever created, and he’d been with him for years before that. Raphael understood Lucas’s hatred of all things European. There were good reasons for it. But he couldn’t let it drive this decision. “Old hatreds burn hot,” Christian agreed. “But I broke away from Europe once. I’m not going to

let them determine my fate now. I’m more than happy to spill European blood. But we’re going to need a damn good strategy.” His glance at Lucas was almost apologetic. Christian had only ruled the South for a few months, but he and Lucas had forged a friendship of sorts. Driven initially by their shared border, they’d discovered a lot more than that in common, including a love of the battlefield and a taste for their enemy’s blood. As the most recent arrival from Europe, he probably knew the situation there better than any of them. “Well, there’s nothing old about my hatred,” Sophia responded. “I lost a lot of people against Berkhard last month, and there were plenty of human casualties, too,” she added with a nod in Duncan’s direction. “If you want to stop the bloodshed, we need to stop the constant attacks. If that means killing them where they live, I’m all for it.” Lucas shifted restlessly, and Raphael knew if he looked over, he’d see him rolling his eyes. Lucas was very human at times. Unfortunately, his humanity seemed stuck in the teenage years. “I say we start with Britain,” Rajmund suggested. He was Lord of the Northeast Territory, with his headquarters in New York City. “Britain’s an island, which means it has clear boundaries, and there could be no easy reinforcement from friends and allies.”

“European vampires don’t have friends or allies,” Christian commented. “You want ancient hatreds? The European vamps have raised it to an art form. There’ll be no help coming from that side. If anything, we’ll have to worry about incursions from vampires trying to take advantage of our success.” “If we’re aiming for an island, why not Ireland?” Lucas said. “I own ancestral lands there, thanks to my bastard of a grandfather. My vampires pay lip service to the Lord of Ireland, but their true loyalty is to me. That gives us a base of operations with allies already in place. And I wouldn’t mind finally claiming what’s rightfully mine.” “I’ve no ancestral lands in Ireland, or anywhere else,” Vincent said, chuckling. “But the idea of a foothold makes sense. We all know how much vampires hate crossing water, so why not an island?” “Well, I’m loathe to help Lucas claim his lordship—his head is big enough already—but I support Ireland as a first target,” Aden agreed, with the ease of old friends. “Lucas’s allies would give us a good chance of success, and once Ireland is ours, we could use it as a base. Bastien,” he said, addressing his lieutenant, “you’ve more military experience than I do. What do you think?” Bastien was slow to respond, clearly pondering the question from all sides, which Raphael found

refreshing. Vampire Lords tended to default to their baser natures, which wasn’t always conducive to logical thinking. Bastien had been an officer in the French Foreign Legion when Aden had met him and made him Vampire, and he still had a strong military mindset. “I think a vampire can’t invade successfully from a few thousand miles across the ocean,” Bastien said finally. “Vampire battles aren’t fought over months or years with millions of soldiers on field after field. Our battlefields are personal, mostly one on one, with as few as ten fighters helping to hold the line. We’d have to spend sixteen hours flying to Germany through daylight, and then fight our first battle within hours of landing. Less, if they were waiting for us. It might work once or twice, but soon enough the Europeans would be shooting our planes out of the sky. I’m not saying it has to be Ireland, but we need a closer base, and Ireland would do.” “Ireland it is, then.” Raphael had to fight back a grin. He’d decided on Ireland before they’d even agreed on this meeting. He knew about Lucas’s foothold on the island. He even knew how many vampires were sworn to Lucas, rather than the Lord of Ireland. Lucas was his oldest child. He had few secrets from Raphael. Which was why Raphael also knew that Lucas thought he’d be leading the invasion. But that wasn’t going to happen.

“We need a general,” Duncan said into the silence, reading Raphael’s thoughts. Not literally, but from more than 200 years of loyalty and friendship. “A vampire powerful enough to take Ireland from its current lord.” Lucas made a gesture, as if to say, “I’m right here.” But Raphael ignored him, saying instead, “We all have vampires within our territories who are strong enough to pull off something like this. Most of our lieutenants could do it easily, but I, for one, am not willing to lose another lieutenant just yet,” he said with a nod at Jared, who’d replaced Duncan as his lieutenant. “You have two days to send me your suggestions,” he said to the others, “and then, we’re going to war.” Raphael was about to say more when pain, sharp and woeful, struck his heart and reverberated in his soul. Vampires were dead. His vampires, children of his blood. And they’d met a violent death.

Chapter Two CYN WAS SITTING cross-legged on the bed, typing furiously on her laptop, when she heard the distant ding of the old-fashioned elevator. It was a small hotel, only 12 rooms. The kind of boutique hotel favored by vampires, like the ones who’d taken over the entire building for the last few days while they’d met on super-secret vampire business. Raphael and his people—being the most supersecret of them all—had claimed the two top floors. Which meant the arriving elevator would be bringing the one person she cared most about in all the world. His deep voice confirmed it for her a moment before the lock beeped on the hallway door out in the sitting room of their suite. The door opened, and Raphael’s rage rolled ahead of him like a physical wave, battering at her senses, filling the room with stinging energy. She jumped off the bed and met him as he entered the bedroom, his hard strides silenced by the thick carpet. She was struck, as always, by his beauty, even with fury making his eyes spark, and his

clenched jaw accenting chiseled cheekbones. She’d been sensing his growing anger for the better part of an hour and had worried that the meeting was going badly, that the powerful vampires had come to blows. Seeing him now, being close enough to feel the electric charge of his rage against her skin, she knew it was more. It was almost like battle lust, as if he was ready to kill someone. But underneath that . . . She looked up, searching his face. Her heart seemed to still in her chest, and she forgot to breathe. “What happened?” “There was a shooting at the blood house,” he said, his deep voice almost a growl as he visibly fought to contain conflicting emotions. “My people are investigating, but it looks—” “Who died? Is Lenny okay?” she demanded. She started a mental roll call of the people she loved, tallying what they were supposed to be doing tonight, and where they were supposed to be doing it. “Lenny was unharmed. But two vampires, both mine, are dead. Marvin Figueroa—” She shook her head. She didn’t know him. “—he was a mechanic, working mostly in the garage.” Raphael paused, and Cyn knew the next name would be one she recognized. “Davis Atwell.” “Oh, no,” she breathed. Davis had been an

instructor at the estate’s training center. An Olympic gold medal winner in Judo in the ‘60s, he’d been turned a few years later and had changed his name when he’d joined Raphael’s staff. Cyn had trained with him at least once a week, though her skills were nothing compared to the vampires he usually worked with. She blinked back the tears filling her eyes, focusing on anger instead. “Why? Who?” she demanded. “Early indication is a hate crime. The shooter was careful. Only vampires were hit, even though the house was full.” “How’d he manage that?” “The shots came from a boat, probably 500 yards at sea. Single shooter.” “Video?” He nodded. “You know the set-up there. We have extensive video from multiple angles, but our best witnesses are several vampires who heard the shots and saw the boat. Even for them, it was too dark to pick up details, however. Especially at that distance.” “We need to get home.” She knew it was late, knew how much Raphael hated flying in daylight. But she also knew what he’d say next. “We’re leaving within the hour.” Her vampire didn’t fuck around when it came to his people. She went up on her toes to wrap her arms around his neck and hug him, then felt his

powerful arms come around her and hold on tight. Her vampire didn’t fuck around, but he did hurt when his people died. Especially when they were his children, vampires he’d turned with his own blood. She pulled back enough to brush her lips over his. “We’ll get them,” she whispered. “Yes, we will.” THERE WERE SEVERAL hours of darkness left when Raphael’s jet took off from Chicago. They’d gain even more as they flew west, but not enough to avoid spending the day sleeping on the plane. Juro was receiving updates as they flew, spending most of his time huddled with Jared at one end of the jet’s main lounge. Occasionally, one of them would join Raphael and Cyn, updating them on the latest details. But there was little they could do until they were on the ground. Raphael’s people in L.A. knew their jobs. They’d be handling everything. Cyn was thinking of the day ahead, hours spent on the plane, waiting for sunset. She could leave at any time, but she never did. Not with Raphael lying vulnerable inside an aluminum tube in an airport hangar. Steve Sipes would have the place covered inside and out with security, but, in the final analysis, she really only trusted herself to protect Raphael.

She had her laptop open, trying to stay busy, reminding herself that Raphael’s people were trained to handle this sort of thing. She was on-line, checking open cases for her limited private investigations, dealing with a few new inquiries, when Jared and Juro both made their way down the wide aisle of the private jet. Cyn watched them come and felt her heart squeeze in fear. Something had happened, something more. She glanced at Raphael. Without a word, he picked up her laptop and laid it on an empty seat across the aisle. He wrapped his fingers around hers and rested their joined hands on his muscular thigh. He already knew what they were about to tell him, she realized. Something had happened, something even worse than two dead vampires. RAPHAEL SQUEEZED Cyn’s hand where it lay on his thigh, taking comfort from her touch, from the press of her thigh against his. He watched Jared and Juro approach, but didn’t need them to tell him there’d been more attacks. Within moments of the initial shock, the agony of losing two of his children at the blood house, he’d known there would be more. He’d sensed pain and death, the blows coming one after another, a coordinated assault. But he hadn’t known who had died, and who’d survived. Until now.

“Sire,” Jared said, with a glance at Cyn’s pale face. “Just say it,” she insisted, her hand gripping Raphael’s so tightly that her fingers were more bloodless than her face. “One more dead. A young female named Zoya. She’s fairly new to the household—” “She worked for Irina,” Raphael said softly. “They had cousins in common.” Zoya had been sworn to him, but not of his making. He’d felt her death, but it hadn’t carried the same anguish as that of his own children. “How did she die?” he asked. “Shot in the heart as she left the movie theater with a human male. Not a lover, as such, but, according to Irina, someone she’d dated more than once. We don’t think he was involved.” “Who was injured?” Raphael asked quietly, more for Cyn’s sake than his own. He knew which of his vampires had been injured, though not the specifics. Jared glanced from Raphael to Cyn, and said, “Elke—” “No,” Cyn breathed. She turned wounded eyes on Raphael, knowing that Elke was his, and he’d have sensed her death. “Is she—” “She’s alive,” he assured her, then asked his vampires, “What happened?” “She was at the Beverly Center, with Mal—” “Mal?” Cyn asked, her voice tense, expecting

the worst. “Also alive,” Juro said, “but both were injured. Mal was shot in the shoulder. He saw the shooter at the last minute and covered Elke, taking them both to the ground. The bullet passed through him and hit her, a grazing wound on her scalp. She’s pissed as hell and out for blood. She says there were two more shots fired in close succession, but none of them hit the mark. When Mal knocked her to the ground, it was between two cars. Elke thinks the vehicles got in the way. The shooter escaped.” “I want to talk to Elke,” Cyn insisted, bending to retrieve her phone from the computer case at her feet. But Raphael closed his hand over hers, stopping her. “She’ll be with Mal,” he said quietly. Juro nodded. “She’s helping him heal, despite her own injuries. Her wound isn’t serious, but she will need healing of her own.” “She’ll be mainlining blood, and won’t be happy about it,” Raphael said. “Tomorrow night will be soon enough, lubimaya.” Cyn looked like she wanted to fight him on it, but then nodded. “Okay. What do we know?” “The three attacks happened within moments of each other,” Jared said, his words crisp and businesslike. The time for grieving was over. It was all about vengeance now. “The blood house was hit first, but the other two attacks were almost

simultaneous. Single shooter for each, although, there was most likely a second person to pilot the boat at the blood house assault.” “A professional hit, then,” she said, putting into words what they were all thinking. “Any idea who?” “A European backer seems most likely, given the current state of hostilities,” Raphael commented. “We’ll know more once we catch them.” He turned to Juro, “I want the blood house shut down—” “Already done,” the big vampire said immediately. “—and the estate on lockdown. All leaves cancelled.” “Already done, Sire,” Jared said quietly. “Standard operating procedure. Although, in this case . . . that might be exactly what they want. One big, fat target.” “You’re probably right,” Raphael agreed. “But I’d rather have them come at me on the estate than pick my people off, one at a time, until I give them what they want. Juro, your team needs to comb through all intel received in the last month. It’s possible the shooters were human, but I’d put my money on them being vampire. Whoever’s behind this wouldn’t trust humans to do all the work. And if the attackers are vampire, then they must be feeding. Someone knows something. Find out

who.” “Yes, Sire.” He turned to Jared. “Davis had no family, no mate, but Marvin had a lover. They weren’t mated, but they’ve been together for years. Make sure she’s taken care of financially, and cover whatever else she needs. Zoya was very young. She almost certainly had family still alive.” “I’ll check with Irina,” Jared said, making notes on an iPad. He looked up. “You must know, Sire, that Elke is out for blood. She won’t want to sit this one out.” “There’s no reason she should. Whatever happens, I’ll want her with us. What about the arrangements for our arrival in L.A. later this morning?” “I’m coordinating with Steve. The daylight guards were locked down on the estate along with everyone else the minute the blood house was hit, so we have a full roster available. Steve’s doubling the usual number of guards at the airport, and—” “And I’ll be there,” Cyn added softly. Jared nodded in her direction. “And Cyn will be on the jet.” In fact, she’d be the only person awake on the aircraft, the only human allowed during daylight once they landed and the human pilots exited the plane. Steve Sipes could enter if the emergency was dire. But Cyn was the only sure thing. Raphael had

counted on her before, and would count on her again. His mate was both beautiful and deadly. They all looked up as the jet’s human crew suddenly got up from their seats at the front of the jet and made their way to the cockpit, getting ready to switch out with the vampire crew. They’d gained a few hours of darkness because of their westward flight, but sunrise was looming. The cockpit door opened and there was a general shuffling of bodies before the door closed again, and the vampire crew retired into the vampire-safe sleeping bunks in the same section where the human crew had been waiting. “Anything else, Sire?” Jared asked. “Any final instructions for Malibu before we hit daylight?” “That’s all for now. Rest. We’re all going to need it tomorrow.” CYN CRAWLED INTO bed next to Raphael, rolling into his warmth as he wrapped his arms around her. She wanted to cry. For the dead vampires, especially Davis, whom she’d thought of as a friend, but for the others, too. It was one thing for a vampire to die in battle, in a stand-up fight for their lord, or for their own lives. Cyn herself had killed her share of vampires, when they’d threatened her or someone she cared about. But it was something else entirely when a vampire was murdered, attacked from the shadows, purely

because they were vampire, or even just to make a point with Raphael. Vampires weren’t strictly immortal. They obviously could be killed. But the waste of such a life . . . who knew what they might have accomplished in the future? “You’re thinking too hard, lubimaya.” Raphael’s deep voice shivered over her breasts where they were crushed against his chest. “I can’t help it.” “Then at least think of ways to catch the killers. There’s nothing you can do about the rest.” “I know. Do you think this has something to do with your meeting?” “I don’t see how. No one knew what I was going to say until I said it. Except for Jared and Juro. And you. I doubt the three of you leaked it to our enemies.” She sighed unhappily. “More likely,” Raphael continued, “it’s payback of some kind. Mathilde certainly left children behind in France, and she had a talent for inspiring devotion. I didn’t know Hubert or Berkhard as well as Mathilde, but I’m certain they had followers who might seek revenge for their deaths.” Cyn petted Raphael’s muscled chest and wished the European vamps would stick to their creaky castles and leave the rest of the world alone. “How’d the meeting go, anyway?” she asked,

though she had a strong suspicion the previous night’s deaths might change everything. “Did the others agree that something has to be done about Europe?” “Of course,” he muttered, his hand rubbing absent circles on her back. She smiled at his arrogance. It was one of the things she loved most about him. “Of course,” she repeated. “So, what’s the plan? Are we sending harshly worded postcards? Or storming the strongholds?” “Closer to the second option. We’re moving into Ireland first, then using it as a base of operations.” “Ireland? What does Lucas think about that?” “You know how he feels about Ireland. He still blames his grandfather for his mother’s death, as if it happened last week instead of 200 years ago. It doesn’t matter to him that the old man is long dead himself.” “Well, his grandfather deserves to be blamed. If he hadn’t cast her out after she was raped, she’d have lived a normal life. And Lucas, too.” “But then I’d never have met him,” Raphael murmured. “And he’d never have become Vampire.” “You don’t know that. If his fate was to meet you, it would have happened anyway.” “Maybe,” he conceded. “But it didn’t come to

pass that way. His mother died, and Lucas has hated his grandfather for centuries. He bought the family estate to get back at the old man, even knowing he couldn’t live there. He barely manages to visit once a year. The Irish lord won’t give him permission.” “So, if you want someone to seize Ireland, then logically Lucas would be—” “That’s what Lucas thinks, or what he wants. But it’s not going to happen. He can’t have Ireland and his Plains territory here at the same time. Ireland needs a strong lord, someone allied with North America, but focused on Ireland. Not torn between the two.” “Lucas would never live in Ireland full time. He’d never move that far away from you.” “I don’t know about that, but he’s smart and a brilliant tactician. He’ll see the necessity for a new vampire lord. Even if I have to pound it into his head myself.” Cyn patted his chest. “There’s my fang boy. You guys pretend to like each other, but you’re really just waiting for a chance to beat each other bloody. You should have a cage match once a month or something. Two vamps enter, one vamp leaves. That sort of thing. I’d pay to see that. You’d win every time.” “I’m warmed by your confidence.” “Anytime. So, who’s leading the charge into

Ireland?” she asked, feeling her thoughts begin to drift. It had been a long, stressful night, and she was tired. “The others will offer suggestions. We need someone unencumbered, someone strong enough to challenge and kill the current lord, and then hold the country for himself. I’ll look over their candidates and make the final decision.” Cyn smiled sleepily. “Of course, you will.” The idea of an invasion, of taking the war to Europe, instead of waiting for the next attack, was Raphael’s baby. He was set on punishing the European vamps for the blood they’d spilled in North America. His only frustration was that Mathilde was dead, and he couldn’t kill her again. In retrospect, he probably regretted killing her. Better to have kept her prisoner and tortured her nightly. Cyn was glad the bitch was dead, and for the same reason. Raphael’s lips touched her forehead. “It’s time to sleep, my Cyn.” She kissed his chest over his heart in acknowledgment. It was different when they were on a plane. The sun didn’t rise so much as it was suddenly just there. Raphael was powerful enough to remain awake longer than the others, but he was still bound by the demands of his vampire blood. “See you tonight, fang boy.” But he was already asleep.

Chapter Three Santa Monica, CA CYN BRUSHED HER teeth and washed her face, running wet hands through her dark hair. Her eyes were gritty from lack of sleep, and what she really wanted was a hot shower. But she’d wait until they got home to Malibu, where she could use their super-sized shower enclosure with surround-sound jets and as much hot water as she wanted. And maybe she’d tease Raphael into joining her. He was hurting from the deaths of his vampires. He needed extra care right now. She checked the time on her cell phone, though she hardly needed it. Maybe it was her regular intake of Raphael’s blood, or just hanging around vamps, but she’d swear her sense of sunrise and sunset was as acute as any vampire’s. And that sense was telling her the sun would be down within minutes. Making sure the door to the sleeping section was closed, she lifted a window shade in the

small sitting area that did double duty as an office. The jet was parked inside a hangar, but you never knew when a door or window might be open to the outside. One could never be careful enough. It was twilight dark inside the hangar, but it was always that way. The only change would be if they opened the doors to move the plane. That wouldn’t be happening tonight, however. She spotted Steve Sipes conferring with two of his people. There were definitely more daylight guards than usual posted around the hangar. Snapping the shade back down, she opened the door to the bedroom and stepped inside, letting her eyes adjust to the dark before stripping off her tshirt and panties, and sliding into bed next to Raphael. She cuddled up next to him, one leg thrown over his thighs, an arm over his chest, and her head on his shoulder. She didn’t care that he couldn’t respond physically. He knew when she was there, and that’s what mattered. And the first thing he always did upon waking was to wrap her in his powerful arms and hold her close. She exhaled slowly as she settled in, feeling the stress and exhaustion of the long day drain away. She’d barely slept, too aware of how vulnerable Raphael and the others were, too mindful that someone was out there killing vampires. She’d paced the jet from one end to the other, listening to every creak and groan, exquisitely aware that she

was the only person on board who was awake, the only person who could respond to an attack. And when she wasn’t pacing, she was obsessively checking the exterior camera feed on her computer, watching Sipes’s team move around the hangar in regular rotation, tensing every time the exterior door opened to admit a patch of sunlight. But the day was finally over, and any minute now— Raphael woke with a growl, his arms coming around her and rolling her under his powerful body. His mouth went immediately to her neck, his tongue rasping over her skin once, before his fangs sank into her vein. Searing pleasure shrieked over Cyn’s nerves, as the euphoric in his bite flooded her bloodstream. She cried out helplessly as every muscle in her body seemed to contract at the same time, desire drowning out every thought, every instinct. Cyn spread her legs around him, flexing her hips upward, as her soaking wet pussy demanded to be filled. Raphael’s mouth was hot on her neck, his lips closing as she felt his fangs pull blood from her vein, filling his mouth and throat, giving him what he needed to survive, to fight, and to triumph. But it was more than that. Cyn knew him. This was about more than food, more than sex. This was possession. Raphael had lost people he loved, his vampire children. It was a nightmare for this

powerful vampire who was her lover, who controlled absolutely every aspect of his life, and the lives of those who depended on him. His vampires had died. He’d survived. But there was one life he couldn’t lose, one death he wouldn’t survive. He’d woken from a nightmare of loss and needed to prove to himself that she still lived. And that she knew she was his. His cock slammed into her, a long, powerful thrust that filled her completely. Her pussy was slick with arousal, but her channel was tight, stretching around him as pain burned along the delicate tissues. Cyn cried out, but she didn’t try to stop him. He needed this. And pain soon became pleasure as he pulled his cock back and then shoved it in again, waking nerves all along her sheath, stimulating those tiny muscles to caress and grasp at his cock, stroking him to climax, urging his thick shaft to probe deeper, to release himself into her body. Raphael’s mouth moved on her neck, his fangs digging deeper, as a snarl rumbled up from his throat and rolled over her skin. He seemed to swell inside of her, his groin grinding against her clitoris with every thrust. Cyn wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her thighs gripping his hips, as a second orgasm threatened. Her pussy clenched, squeezing Raphael’s cock, as her clit pulsed with need, the sensation skating over her abdomen to

caress her breasts like an electric wave, hardening her nipples where they were crushed against Raphael’s chest. Cyn cried out as the climax stormed through her body, her cries drowned out by Raphael’s roar of possession when he gave a final hard thrust, burying himself to the hilt inside her as the heat of his release filled her completely. They clung to each other, breaths rasping in and out, chests crushed together as their hearts pounded in rhythm. Raphael lifted his head first, licking the wounds on her neck, sealing the tear and speeding the healing. Cyn knew she’d have the mother of all hickeys after Raphael’s passionate bite, but that, too, would be gone by morning. “I love you.” Raphael’s midnight voice surrounded her, his arms tight, his lips brushing her hair. “Never forget that.” “Oh, baby,” she murmured, stroking her hands over the taut muscles of his back. “I love you, too. You’re stuck with me forever.” He looked down at her, his eyes sparking silver stars in the dark room. “Did I hurt you?” She kissed him, rubbing her mouth over his deceptively soft lips, as she whispered, “Never. I love the way you fuck, Raphael.” He smiled slightly. “We’re on the jet.” She smiled back at him, aware of just how much he hated sleeping on the plane. “I know.”

He kissed her again. “Let’s get the hell out of here and get back to Malibu.” She nodded. “We need to figure out who’s behind these attacks.” “And kill them.” “And kill them,” she agreed. Malibu, CA THE NARROW ROAD was pitch black as Raphael’s motorcade of SUVs turned off Pacific Coast Highway and headed through the grove of Eucalyptus to the estate gates. There was nothing to identify the road or the gates to human eyes, just the sudden appearance of heavily armed guards surrounding the vehicles, their eyes flashing red in the darkness. The gates slid open almost at once. There was no need for the guards to inspect the vehicles or question the passengers. They felt the presence of their vampire lord and rejoiced in his return. Raphael reached out to every one of his vampires, bathing their souls with calm, even as they remained alert and ready to defend the estate. He wasn’t the only one who’d felt the agony of his vampires’ deaths or the attacks on the others. Every vampire on the estate—hell, every human as well— had been threatened by the murders. The killers had done their job well. But they would regret ever taking him on. It

was their turn to die, their turn to feel the agony of losing someone they loved. Cyn’s hand slid into his, her slender fingers closing over his much larger ones. “What’s the plan?” she murmured. He shrugged. “We’ll meet for a situation report and then decide on our next steps.” “Well, duh. Do we know anything more?” “That’s the purpose of the meeting, Cyn.” “Testy.” She snuggled closer, resting her head on his shoulder. His Cyn presented a hard image to the world. She’d been wounded early in life by those who should have cared for her and had learned not to trust. But when she loved, she did it with all her heart and every ounce of energy. He tilted his head to hers. “Elke’s at the house. We’re hoping either she or Mal can give us some hint as to their attacker. Zoya’s companion was interviewed by one of Juro’s team, and we have the reports from the blood house. But the boy didn’t see anything—whoever shot Zoya did so from behind, and, as I said already, the blood house witnesses were simply too far away to get much detail. Elke might be our best witness.” “Or Mal,” Cyn commented. “You’re thinking Elke because she’s a vampire, but Mal’s a homicide cop, a trained observer. And from what we know, he saw the shooter first.” Raphael nodded as they pulled up in front of

the main house and the SUV doors opened. His guards deployed from the other vehicles, but, in this instance, it wasn’t necessary. Even under ordinary operating conditions, the estate was secure. With the place locked down and everyone on alert, it was a fortress. Elke met them just inside the front doors. She gave Cyn a fleeting smile, but her attention was all for Raphael, her pale eyes seeking him out, seeking reassurance. In a rare act of affection, Raphael pulled her into a brief embrace, his hand on the back of her neck. “Sire,” she whispered. “Elke.” His mouth was close to her ear. “Are you recovered?” She looked up and nodded. “It was only a graze, and I’ve had plenty of blood. Mal’s injury was worse than mine.” Raphael met her eyes. “You gave him your blood?” She grimaced. “He wouldn’t let me because I was shot, too. But Rigo, Peter Saephan’s mate, happened to be around, and he offered. Mal’s pretty much back to 100%.” Raphael was still surprised sometimes at the idea of having a former homicide detective as part of his security team. But love conquered all, it seemed. “I’ll want your input on this assassin.”

“Of course, Sire.” RAPHAEL TURNED to confer with two of Juro’s team, while Cyn pulled Elke into a full body hug. “Are you okay?” “Yeah, yeah.” Elke hugged her back briefly, then squirmed away. “Just ‘cuz I was shot doesn’t mean you get to go all girly on me.” “Don’t worry,” Cyn said, grinning “It was a fleeting impulse. So, Mal’s good, too?” “Oh, yeah. You know, the magical mystery of vampire blood.” “And thank God for that.” Cyn glanced up to see Raphael standing on the second stair, giving her an impatient look. “Gotta go. The lord and master calls.” “Keeping you close, huh?” Elke muttered for her ears only. “The opposite. I’m keeping him close. These killers seem more interested in killing vampires than humans.” “Huh. You’re right. Maybe you can be my bodyguard for a change.” They’d drawn close enough for Raphael to catch Elke’s joking statement, but the look he gave Cyn made it very clear . . . he was not amused. He reached out and snagged Cyn’s hand, pulling her up next to him as he started climbing the stairs. “You are no one’s bodyguard,” he growled.

“Except yours,” she said calmly. His growl deepened, but he didn’t deny it. He didn’t say anything more until they reached his office on the second floor, and not even then, until the doors were closed behind them, leaving only Raphael, Juro, and Cyn herself in the room. Juro gave Raphael a meaningful look, then handed him a one-page document. “What’s up?” she asked, reading over Raphael’s shoulder. “It’s a warning from one of my oldest vampires, one of the first to relocate to California after I claimed the territory. He’s provided several useful bits of intel over the years.” “Is he reliable?” “He’s been nothing but loyal. He’s an artist, although not one you’d have heard of. His works are folk art and sell mostly to tourists.” “You’re not painting the picture of a guy who’s positioned to spy on anyone.” “No? He lives on the northern coast, almost to the Oregon border. It’s a small town with an active fishing port.” “Ah. I’m guessing not every boat that comes to port is carrying fish.” Raphael grunted his agreement. “Smuggling is almost a growth industry up there.” “And, let me guess, someone was smuggling vampires.”

“It seems like it. He reported seeing unknown vampires several days in a row. Not many, and never the same ones twice. They kept to themselves, but my informant made a point of being close enough to pick up at least part of their conversations.” “And?” “And my name came up more than once. But it wasn’t what they said so much as the language they used.” She met his eyes in understanding. “French.” He nodded. “How do you feel about Paris?” She blinked in confusion. “We’re going to Paris? Is that wise, given—?” “Not the city. A Parisian-themed fundraiser.” “Fundraiser,” she repeated dryly. “And I say again, is that wise—?” “Think of it as reconnaissance, surveilling one’s enemies.” “Is there some reason you have to be there personally? Because I know for a fact that Juro has a team of highly skilled spies who do this for a living.” “But this is a very exclusive fundraiser, lubimaya. Invitation only, and no surrogates.” “Oh. That one. I was invited, too, you know. It’s not only you.” He laughed. “Then I’ll be your date, instead. But we are going. Unless you’d rather stay home

alone?” “In your dreams, fang boy. Someone’s got to cover your pretty ass.”

Chapter Four CYN STUDIED THE ten-foot tall ice sculpture of the Eiffel Tower, with lights in the blue, white, and red of the French tri-colored flag coloring the ice. Winter in Paris. Not exactly an original theme. Maybe the fundraising committee figured Paris tied in to the artwork being offered in silent auction. “Hello, Cynthia.” She spun at the familiar voice. “Good evening, Grandmother.” She leaned in and brushed her grandmother’s cheek, felt her grandmother’s hand lifting to barely touch her shoulder. The Leightons weren’t a demonstrative people. Hell, if she’d been greeting her father, there wouldn’t even have been that much. After the acceptable few seconds of touch, her grandmother straightened, her eyes doing a quick scan of Cyn’s dark blue velvet evening gown. It was a fairly simple design, strapless, with a draped bodice that clung to her breasts, before flowing into a floor-length skirt. A necklace of diamonds and sapphires, one of Raphael’s many gifts, adorned her

neck, and she wore matching drop earrings. “You look especially lovely this evening,” her grandmother said, stroking light fingers along her jaw. “Thank you,” Cyn managed to say, stunned nearly speechless by the unexpected touch. “And you look as beautiful as ever. I hope those genes run in the family.” Adela Leighton smiled slightly. Cyn did, in fact, take her looks from Adela’s side of the family, but it didn’t matter. They both knew that Cyn didn’t need to worry about aging, not with a vampire lover. “I hear Lucia is engaged,” her grandmother said. Lucia was Cyn’s best friend and very active on the fundraising circuit. So was Adela, which meant the two women saw each other far more often than they did Cyn. In fact, Cyn was sure that Adela wished Cyn was more like Lucia. Lucia also happened to be engaged to Juro, the huge vampire who was Raphael’s security chief. Cyn wondered if Adela knew who and what Juro was, but, if not, she wasn’t going to be the one to tell her. Cyn just smiled. “She is. Juro’s a good man, and a dangerous one. He takes very good care of Luci.” “And is your dangerous man taking good care of you?” Again, Cyn had to force her brain to come up

with words. She couldn’t remember her grandmother ever asking whether Raphael, or anyone else, was taking care of Cyn. Granted, her grandmother had been the only person in her childhood who’d evinced any level of care for her. But this was like the pod people version of Gramma. The lonely little girl inside her, the one who’d spent far too many holidays alone, welcomed the concern. But the grown woman couldn’t help wondering what the hell was going on. “Cyn and I take care of each other,” a deep voice said. Adela’s gaze went over Cyn’s shoulder a moment before Raphael’s hand grazed the skin of her back, laid bare by the design of her dress. “Adela,” he said. She nodded, then shifted her gaze to Cyn once again. “You should come by the house soon. There are some pieces of jewelry I want you to have.” Cyn blinked. “Of course. I’ll call next week.” Her grandmother glanced away when someone called her name. “Well, I must circulate, I’m afraid. Do be sure and call, Cynthia.” And then she was gone, making her way through the crowded room with the grace of long experience, saying a word here, touching an arm there. She stopped to exchange a few words with Lucia who turned with a smile and leaned in to

exchange air kisses. Adela Leighton was the perfect society matron in an elegant chiffon gown of muted emerald that brought out the green of her eyes. The same green eyes she’d passed on to her only grandchild. Raphael tightened his hold, pulling Cyn closer and touching his lips to her temple. “What was that all about?” he murmured. “You saw it, too?” “I think that’s the longest conversation you’ve had with Adela since I met you. At least, at one of these things.” Cyn stared after her grandmother, troubled and trying to talk herself out of it. It had been a few words, nothing more. But she couldn’t stop the chill of foreboding that snuck up her spine. She hadn’t heard of any health scares concerning either of her grandparents, but then she wouldn’t. Such things were held close to the vest in the Leighton family, doled out as stingily as affection. She frowned, but brushed it away. Hadn’t she just been thinking about her grandmother and how skilled she was at social mixing? She’d have known people would be watching, and they’d have expected her to talk to her own granddaughter. That’s all it had been. Conforming to social norms. “You know,” she said, forcing a lightness in her voice that she didn’t feel, “when you asked me about Paris, I’d really hoped you meant the real

thing.” Raphael’s fingers tightened briefly on her hip. She couldn’t pretend with him. He knew her too well. But because he knew her so well, he didn’t pursue it. At least not in that moment. He pulled her around to face him. “I thought the Eiffel Tower replica was very convincing,” he deadpanned, jerking his head at the Paris-themed décor for the evening. She grinned in relief. “Very funny. And just for that, you’re buying me that metal sculpture I bid on.” “Is that what your flurry of sign-ups earlier was all about? These silent auctions seem rather cut-throat. Quietly, of course.” She groaned. “You’re full of jokes tonight, aren’t you?” “I have my moments.” “Uh huh. So, did our French guy show?” “In fact, he did. You see the young man over there, the one currently hanging on every word your father is saying?” Cyn’s gaze shot across the room. She hadn’t realized her father was here. Not that it would have mattered. But Raphael was right. There was a guy leaning close, taking in every word her father said. He was young—no more than early thirties—tall and fit, blond and handsome. A little too handsome. Cyn tilted her head curiously. “Vampire,” she

whispered. She considered going over to rescue her father, but couldn’t come up with a reason why she should. “Who is he?” “His name is Tristan Fabrice, and he was Mathilde’s favorite assassin.” “What?” she asked in alarm. But Raphael continued, unperturbed by the identity of their visitor. “Rumor has it that Tristan has a new master, a vampire named Laurent Pierre. Laurent was one of Mathilde’s newer lieutenants, around 200 years old, give or take a few decades, and with the power and ambition to rule. Since her death, he’s been systematically killing off anyone who stands between him and her empty throne.” “But is it really empty?” she asked. “Aren’t you officially the lord of Mathilde’s old territory, even though you don’t want it? Did you ever do that whole bonding thing you all do when you claim a territory?” He shrugged. “Something like that. Too many vampires would have died if I’d left the territory completely unclaimed. It’s the same as Lucas did when he killed Klemens. He didn’t want the territory, but he protected its vampires by holding them until Aden officially became the new lord.” “But why send an assassin? Wouldn’t a phone call have been easier?” “Laurent came up in Mathilde’s court, which was a treacherous place to learn the ways of

Vampire. She encouraged in-fighting and murder among her people. It kept their killer impulses focused on each other, instead of her.” “So, Tristan really is here to kill you.” “He’s here to try.” “That’s what I meant. No one’s going to kill you on my watch.” He dragged her close. “My favorite bodyguard.” “You better believe it. Why’s he talking to my father?” “Two possibilities. One, he thinks to gain information about our daily routines, which your father doesn’t have. Or, two, he plans to kidnap him to force your hand.” “You mean, force me to betray you? Using my father?” Raphael shrugged. “He doesn’t know you very well.” “I’ll say. But we should at least warn—” “Already taken care of.” He lifted his chin across the room, and Cyn turned to see Juro having a serious conversation with her father’s longtime bodyguard. She and her father might not get along, but his security chief would listen to Juro, one professional to another. “So, what now?” “The recent attacks were meant to draw my attention, to force me to pull my forces in and

huddle behind my estate walls.” “I don’t see much huddling going on,” she muttered loyally. He smiled. “But they don’t know that. My point is that they’ve succeeded, at least insofar as they’re aware. Which means—” “Which means they’ll focus their energies on their true target. Which is you. So why are we standing here?” “What should we be doing instead?” “Round up Tristan and his buddies, and kill ‘em all. That’s your prerogative, right? They’re foreign vamps on your soil who haven’t even bothered to check in with you, much less gain permission to be here.” “We know they’re coming. Wouldn’t it be better to capture and question them first?” It was on her tongue to add that Raphael would like that, that he enjoyed “questioning” prisoners, but she held back, even though it was true. It was in his nature, as a powerful vampire, to derive pleasure from torturing answers out of his enemies. But it also took him to a very dark place. She’d seen firsthand the kind of cruelty he was capable of. And while she understood that such savagery was necessary sometimes in the world of vampire politics and survival, it took a terrible toll on his soul. She couldn’t joke about something like that.

“Question them about what? You already know why they’re here. Why give them a chance to try?” “And after I torture them? After they’ve told me their secrets, and kill them?” Raphael was saying, his manner detached, as if he’d already descended to that cruel place. “After I learn what I already know, do I let the insult go unpunished?” “Insult?” she asked faintly. “That they dared steal into my territory with assassination in mind. Others must be taught the price of trying.” She stared up at him for a moment, before going up on her toes and kissing him as hard as she could. She put all the love and passion she felt for him into that one kiss, pressing her body against his, as if to share the life and warmth in her veins. Raphael’s arms circled her automatically, but it wasn’t until his embrace tightened, until his response to her kiss was as hot and passionate as her own, that she knew he was back. “Raphael,” she whispered against his lips. “Lubimaya.” “I thought I’d lost you.” “Never.” He kissed her again, neither of them caring about the disapproving looks they were getting from some of the stuffier guests at the gathering. “I believe we’ve accomplished our goal for this evening,” he murmured, holding her close

enough that she could feel his erection against her abdomen. She forced a smile. “You still owe me that sculpture.” He laughed out loud, drawing an entirely different sort of look from several of the women present. “I’ll make sure you get it.” “Then, let’s go, fang boy. I have plans for you.” “YOUR FAVORITE baby boy is here.” Cyn breezed into Raphael’s office two nights later, her long legs encased in black leather, hips swinging on the high heels of the boots she wore. She didn’t stop in front of his desk, but strolled around, pushed his chair back, and slid onto his lap. “Fortunately,” she continued, “he’s brought Kathryn with him, so I won’t be totally bored.” “Oh, you mean Lucas,” Raphael said, as if he hadn’t understood exactly whom she’d meant before that. “Ha ha, so funny. What evil doings are you two discussing tonight?” she asked, straightening his tie. The tie had been fine, he was sure, but he loved that she felt the need to take such gentle care of him. He curled his fingers around her thigh, thinking of where he’d rather be at that moment. “Stop that,” she whispered.

A smug smile curved his lips. His telepathy was very strong, and it had been a very detailed thought. “You wanted to know what evil doings I had in mind.” “I don’t think that qualifies as evil anymore. We’re mated, which means anything goes.” His eyebrows raised. “Anything?” He sent her another explicit image. She sucked in a surprised breath, which had her full breasts swelling to press against his chest. “Say the word, baby. I’m all for it,” she whispered, her breath warm and moist against his ear. Raphael laughed and hugged her close. He was still amazed sometimes that the fates had been kind enough to bring Cyn into his life. “Get a room, you two.” Lucas strolled in and sat in his usual sprawl on the chair in front of Raphael’s desk. “Good evening, Lucas,” Raphael said dryly. He grinned and jumped back to his feet, giving a little bow. “Good evening, Sire,” he said, then shot Cyn a skeptical look. “Cyn.” “Lucas,” she answered in the same vein. “What have you done with . . . well, I was going to say your better half, but that would imply you had a good one.” He slumped back into one of the guest chairs in front of the desk. “Why is she here?” he asked Raphael.

“Because I want her here,” Raphael said mildly, giving Cyn a chiding hug when she stuck her tongue out at Lucas. “Can we return to business?” “She started it,” Lucas muttered, then straightened somewhat and said, “You want to know what I think about Rajmund’s boy Quinn.” His tone was casual, as if he didn’t care. But Raphael wasn’t fooled. Lucas cared deeply about Ireland, and about whom Raphael chose to take on the island’s current lord. It was far more than a bit of ancestral land that bound Lucas to the country. Ireland was the only place that had ever defeated him. Though no one except Lucas saw it that way. He’d been only a small boy when his mother had died on the streets of Ireland, when his grandfather had chosen a political alliance over his own daughter, his only child. When he’d left his lands and title to cousins rather than acknowledge his bastard grandson. Lucas took pleasure in the image of his grandfather rolling in his cold grave now that the bastard grandson was back and ruling his lands. But he still hadn’t exorcised his demons. Raphael knew he never would. “You spoke with Rajmund,” Raphael said. It wasn’t a question. He knew that Lucas had consulted more than once with the Northeastern lord over the past week. Lucas shrugged. “He wanted my opinion. I

know Ireland better than anyone.” “Well, maybe not anyone,” Cyn commented. Lucas opened his mouth to respond, but his cell phone buzzed. “Kathryn’s on her way up,” he said, looking at the display. “She was on a call with her office.” He stood. “I’ll walk down and meet her.” “Why do you torment him?” Raphael asked Cyn, once Lucas was out of earshot. “Because he’s insufferably arrogant.” “You’ve said the same about me.” “Yes, but you’re mine. You should be arrogant.” “Hmm. Lucas isn’t our only visitor tonight, you know.” “Right. The new guy’s here for his audition. But you all don’t need me or Kathryn for that.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Quinn Kavanagh,” she said, as if tasting the words. “Sounds like a good Irish lad. Is he?” “He has Lucas’s blessing.” “That just means he likes to drink ‘til the bars close, then fuck until dawn.” He smiled at her description. “Lucas doesn’t do that anymore. Besides, you don’t give him enough credit.” “Oh, sure I do. Just not in public.” She grinned. “I know he’s a good guy. You don’t tolerate fools, no matter how much you love them.”

Her head lifted at the sound of voices from the hallway. Swiveling on his lap, she kissed him, taking her time about it, until they were both breathless. “You be good while I’m gone,” she murmured, licking the seam of his lips. “Where are you going?” His hand had slipped between her thighs while they kissed, and he left it there, soaking up the heat of her pussy. “Shopping, of course. Lucas’s ranch is great and all, but Kathryn is looking for some serious retail therapy.” “You’re not leaving the estate,” he cautioned. “Tristan’s been quiet, but you’re a desirable target.” “Don’t I know it. Relax, we’re limiting ourselves to a newfangled experience called on-line shopping. We’re going to drink too much wine and log on. Elke’s coming with us, too. She’s become quite the shopper since she hooked up with Mal.” Lucas’s laughter could be heard down the hallway, and then a woman’s voice. Probably Kathryn. “Sounds like the fun times are over, fang boy,” Cyn purred, her tongue darting out to lick his ear. Raphael gave her thigh another warning squeeze, reminding her that two could play that game. She just laughed and slid off his lap, then bent to give him a more decorous kiss. “Don’t wait up, honey.”

Raphael snorted. “I’ll hunt you down long before that becomes an issue.” She grinned, then looked up as Lucas and Kathryn entered the room. “You ready to rock and roll, girl?” “Yep. I saw Elke downstairs.” “Excellent.” Cyn crossed the room to hook arms with Lucas’s mate. “Try not to have too much fun without us!” She blew Raphael a kiss, and then the two women were gone. Lucas gazed rather longingly after them. When he turned finally and caught Raphael watching him, he laughed. “You’d rather go shopping?” Raphael asked. “No, but the rock and roll part sounds fun.” He sighed. “Oh, well. It’s a tough job being a master of the universe, but someone’s got to do it.” “Sit down, and tell me what you think about Kavanagh.” Lucas walked over to the bar and poured himself a drink before slumping back into the chair in front of the desk. “He’s easily the most qualified of the proposed candidates. It’s not about power. They all have enough power. But Quinn has roots in the land. That won’t matter to the vampires he’ll challenge and kill, but it will matter to the ones he’ll have to rule.” “And your lands?” Raphael asked. “How does he feel about those? More importantly, how do you

feel?” “I won’t lie, Sire. My mother died for those lands, and I won’t surrender them to anyone. I’ll play nice with whoever takes over, whether it’s Quinn or someone else. But I want free passage. They’re not getting my lands.” Raphael regarded him steadily. “Does Quinn know this?” “Quinn knows because I told him to his face, but I’ve made no secret of it to the others, either.” Raphael smiled. He’d known Lucas from the time he was a raw sixteen-year old boy, picking pockets on the streets of London. He knew the vulnerable heart Lucas concealed from everyone else, except perhaps his mate, Kathryn. And he knew Lucas was dying to know whom Raphael had chosen to take Ireland. But he’d never ask the question. “I agree that Quinn is our best choice,” Raphael said finally. “That’s why I invited him here.” “I thought this was just an interview.” “No. The interviews are over. I’ve spoken to him at length by phone, but tonight we’re discussing specifics.” Lucas grinned. “You did that on purpose.” “Of course. Someone has to keep your ego in check. Where is Quinn anyway?” “How the hell do I know? We didn’t have a

fucking sleepover.” Raphael gave him a look. “Yeah, fine. He flew in last night. I don’t know where he stayed—we don’t trust each other that much—but I bet the big guy here,” he said, gesturing at Juro who entered the office at that moment, “can tell me the exact minute he’ll be arriving.” Juro glanced at him sideways and gave a discreetly disdainful sniff before turning to Raphael. “Quinn Kavanagh is at the gate, Sire.” Lucas laughed. “I knew it!” Raphael stood. “Bring him to the conference room.” “Lucas or Quinn?” Juro muttered, proving what Raphael and a few others already knew—that the big vampire had a sense of humor. “I’ll take care of Lucas, you bring Quinn,” Raphael said, playing along. “Sire,” Juro responded formally and left the office, heading downstairs to meet their visitor. “I don’t think he likes me,” Lucas said thoughtfully. Raphael wasn’t fooled. The two vampires had known each other for more than a hundred years. Lucas was older by several decades, and had, in fact, been with Raphael on the night that Raphael had turned Juro and his twin brother, Ken’ichi, making them vampires. But while Lucas and Juro baited each other mercilessly, it was in the

way of brothers. Competitive in peacetime, but fiercely loyal at the first sign of danger. “None of us like you, Lucas,” Raphael murmured as he walked past. Lucas gasped in feigned outrage. “That’s so not true. Cynthia loves me.” Raphael snorted and led the way down to the conference room he’d chosen for the night’s meeting. It was one of three on this level and had the same spectacular view of the ocean as his office, but he’d chosen it for the size. It was grand enough to impress, but small enough that the three of them wouldn’t be lost among the empty chairs. “Have you eaten?” he asked Lucas as he strolled to the head of the table. “There’s blood in the refrigerator behind the bar.” “You noticed my mate was with me tonight, didn’t you?” Raphael smiled slightly. Once a vampire was mated, he fed only from her, or him. Bagged blood would be consumed in an emergency, but only in an emergency. There was no replacement for a mate’s blood. It was . . . perfection. Lucas turned as footsteps sounded on the stairs. Raphael had seated himself, but Lucas remained standing between him and the open door. Quinn was a potential ally, but still largely unknown. If he turned out to be a threat, Lucas would be in position to defend his Sire. All of

Raphael’s vampires were fiercely loyal, but Lucas was something more. It was pointless to compare loyalties, but, if he ever did—even in his own mind —he knew that Lucas would be at the top of the list. Juro appeared first in the doorway, leading Quinn. He’d never permit a stranger—vampire or human—to enter Raphael’s presence ahead of him, for the same reasons that Lucas had placed himself between Raphael and the door. The big vampire scanned the room, met Raphael’s gaze briefly, and then stepped aside. “Sire. Quinn Kavanagh.” Lucas kept his position between Quinn and Raphael, masking it as a friendly greeting as he held out his hand. “Quinn, we meet again.” The other vampire shook his hand. “Donlon,” he said, greeting Lucas by his family name, the one that marked him as An Tiarna, a lord in historic Ireland. An interesting choice, Raphael noted, as Quinn moved past Lucas to greet him. “My lord,” he said with a small bow. “It’s an honor.” Raphael tipped his head in acknowledgment and gestured at the empty chairs. “Have a seat. I trust your accommodations were acceptable?” “Very much so, my lord. And the buffet was excellent,” he added, with a grin. Raphael’s responding smile widened at Lucas’s reaction to their little interplay. Had he really

thought Raphael would permit a powerful vampire to stay in his city without knowing exactly where he was sleeping? “Lord Rajmund sends his regrets,” Quinn added. “He wanted to take part in this meeting, but Lucifer is stirring things up in Toronto, and there’s a lot of spill-over into Raj’s territory.” “Understandable. I know you and Lucas met previously,” Raphael said, getting down to the purpose for the night’s meeting. “But I’d like to start at the beginning, if you wouldn’t mind. I’m not as familiar with Ireland as the two of you are.” QUINN WASN’T fooled for an instant by Raphael’s self-deprecating comment. The bastard had probably been briefed three ways from Sunday on every aspect of their planned takeover. Or invasion. Whatever the hell they wanted to call it, it was the same thing. The North American lords were sick of fighting skirmishes with the Europeans and were declaring war. And Quinn was the spear tip. Some vampires might have quailed at the possibility, might have resented being pushed to the forefront of this dangerous endeavor. But not Quinn. He hadn’t chosen to become a vampire, but when presented with the fait accompli, he’d embraced his new reality. And the gods had been kind, because he wasn’t simply a vampire, he was one of the rare few who had the power and the

drive to rise to the top. Being a vampire lord wasn’t so much a choice as an imperative. If you had the power, your nature drove you to use it. That sort of drive wasn’t much of a stretch for Quinn. He’d always been competitive as hell, always sought out the most dangerous hobbies, and been driven to excel at whatever he tried. Of course, Harvard Law hardly compared to the Vampire Council, especially not one that included Raphael. The Council was a hell of a lot more challenging. “Whiskey anyone?” Quinn glanced at Lucas, somewhat surprised at the offer. Not because he was drinking whiskey— he knew about Lucas’s taste in liquor from their previous meetings—but because Raphael had the whiskey available. Quinn had never met the Western Lord before tonight, and he wasn’t close enough to either Lucas or even Rajmund to exchange any personal details they might have on the powerful vampire lord. What knowledge he had was from gossip and those few widely known, or assumed, facts. None of it led him to believe that Raphael ever let his hair down, so to speak, and indulged in alcohol. “Quinn?” Lucas prodded, tipping a crystal decanter of amber liquid in his direction. “It’s an excellent bottling.” “I will, thanks.” He waited until Lucas slid a

matching crystal tumbler his way. No ice, he noticed. He could go either way, but he was American enough to prefer a single ice cube when it was offered. He took a polite sip and had to exercise some of that control he was so proud of. Calling this an excellent bottling was a vast understatement. He sipped again, letting the smoky flavor glide over his tongue and fill his sinuses before he swallowed. Because a fine whiskey deserved respect. On the other hand, Raphael wasn’t going to wait forever. “Without going into a level of detail that would be excruciating for all of us,” he began, “the plan is fairly straightforward. I’ll enter Ireland discreetly, but legally, using my Irish passport.” “You’ve maintained your citizenship?” Raphael asked. “Oh, aye. My parents insisted when I was younger, and I’ve kept it up on my own. Ireland was one of the first countries to grant vampires full legal rights, you know. Anyway, I’ll fly directly to Dublin using Lucas’s jet, and connect to Kildare, in case anyone’s watching. I’ll wait a day or two to gauge any reaction, then drive back to Dublin and get lost in the crowd. I’ll be shielding heavily, so as not to draw attention until I’m ready. I’ve visited my ‘family—’” He held up his fingers to indicate air quotes. “—a few times in recent years, but the

vampire situation in Ireland has been extremely unstable since Orrin Sorley assassinated Donald Tiege and seized the country, or tried to. Tiege was Lord of Ireland for more than a century. He wasn’t so much beloved as he was comfortable. He let the local masters do their own thing, and didn’t interfere unless it affected his business interests, which were mostly of the criminal variety. Protection rackets, black marketing, including gun running. He had his fingers in a lot of pies. But most in Dublin. The farther you got from the city, the less he cared what was going on. “Enter Orrin Sorley. He swore loyalty to Tiege, but was never fully trusted, because he wasn’t Tiege’s child. No one knows exactly who Sorley’s Sire was, and he doesn’t talk about it. He’s Irish by birth and has family in Doolin, on Ireland’s Atlantic coast. But he wasn’t turned there. He lived in China for several years in his thirties, and I’d guess that’s where he was made Vampire before returning to Ireland. The timing works out, but again, no one knows for sure, and he’s not talking.” “Does he maintain any connections to China?” Raphael asked. “Not that I can discover. But if his Sire was Chinese, and he was turned unwilling, it would explain why he’s avoiding the place.” He took a sip of whiskey. “Anyway, Sorley shows up in Tiege’s court, and he has enough power that Tiege pays

attention, but they’re never going to be friends. Tiege gives him Belfast, which is a mixed blessing. Vampires don’t care which human government claims Northern Ireland. It’s on the island, so it’s Ireland, as far as we’re concerned. But hatreds run deep, even among Irish vampires. Sorley had his hands full with running it, which is, no doubt, what Tiege planned. “But it wasn’t what Sorley planned,” Lucas observed. “No. Sorley wanted the whole of the Irish territory and made no secret of it. He cracked the whip in Belfast, then turned his eyes southward to Dublin. He bided his time, building an army. Tiege should have seen him coming, but he seems to have been wholly unprepared. It makes me think there was a traitor in Tiege’s ranks. The battle was over almost before it started. Sorley challenged and killed Tiege. The rest was only squabbling. As I said, Tiege was liked, but not beloved. His closest lieutenants put up a fight, but none of them could stand against Sorley. The vampire’s an asshole, but he has power.” “Can you defeat him?” Raphael asked bluntly. “Oh, aye. I’ve never been introduced, never shaken his hand. I didn’t want to ping his radar. But I’ve measured his power, seen him fight lesser vamps once or twice. I can take him.” “You seem confident.”

“I have reason to be. You measured my power the moment I stepped foot through your gate. You know what I’m capable of. But it’s not only raw power where I best Sorley, it’s intellect. I use my power better than he does, smarter. I’ll defeat him. No question.” “All right. That takes care of Dublin, but what about the rest of the country?” “Sorley simply took over Tiege’s network in Dublin, and the vampires there have seen little change. But where Tiege ruled the rest of Ireland with a gentle hand, Sorley uses more of an iron fist, which makes him very unpopular. The farther you go from the city, the more precarious his hold.” “He’s got no support at all in Kildare,” Lucas commented. Quinn gave Lucas a silent look, aware of Raphael’s black eyes studying his reaction. The fact that the vampires of Kildare gave the Vampire Lord of Ireland—whether it was Tiege or his successor, Sorley—no support was due largely to Lucas’s interference. He had ancestral lands in Kildare that he was determined to hold on to, and fuck any vampire, lord or otherwise, who thought differently. That was the real reason Lucas was at this meeting. Everyone knew he was Raphael’s fair-haired boy, and he was playing on that to give himself a seat at the table when it came to Ireland. Quinn was as voraciously territorial as any

other powerful vampire, but he actually liked Lucas Donlon. Or maybe he understood him. Donlon’s roots were in Kildare, just as Quinn’s were in Dublin. And though they’d both spent more years in the United States than anywhere else, they still felt the tug of home, which would always be Ireland. None of this showed on his face as he sat in Raphael’s conference room in Malibu, however. He was a master at concealing his thoughts. The world saw what he wanted them to see and nothing else. “Kildare is loyal to Ronan Ivers,” he said, naming the vampire who managed Lucas’s estates. “And Ronan Ivers is loyal to Lucas.” He nodded in Lucas’s direction. Lucas raised his whiskey in a silent toast, which Quinn returned. They both drank, and then turned back to Raphael, who was watching the encounter very closely. And why wouldn’t he? He needed to know that Lucas and Quinn weren’t going to sabotage this takeover before it even got started. “And you’ve no problem with Ronan Ivers?” Raphael asked bluntly. “I’ve never met the vamp, but I’ve no problem with Lucas, which is the same thing.” “Hardly,” Lucas joked. “I’m one of a kind.” Raphael shot Lucas a patronizing glance, but spoke to Quinn. “Will your cousin be traveling with

you?” Quinn nodded, not at all surprised that Raphael knew about his cousin, Garrick, even though few others did. Garrick was largely responsible for Quinn becoming a vampire, but that was another story, and one that Raphael undoubtedly knew already. “Garrick’s loyal, he’s family, and he’s a good man in a fight. He’s got brains, too, though he does his best to keep that a secret. For the rest, Lucas and Raj both offered to recruit volunteers for a team to go in with me, but I’d rather gain support in-country. There’ll be less resentment that way. It’s bad enough I’m coming in from America to take over, which is how they’ll see it. The more locals I can bring—” Suddenly, the entire building sank into darkness as every light went off at the same time.

Chapter Five “IT WAS A TOUGH choice,” Cyn admitted to Kathryn. They sat in front of a roaring fire in one of the estate’s gaming rooms. There was a huge TV screen, every gaming console known to man, and subscriptions to every on-line movie or gaming service in the world. Typically, it would be occupied by several of Raphael’s vampires on break, but Cyn had commandeered it for the night, once it had become obvious that there would be no real shopping trip allowed. She took a long drink of wine and clicked some more laptop keys before continuing. “On the one hand, I hated the idea of the macho men sitting up there talking serious business, while us womenfolk were tucked away down here to do some shopping. Maybe buying something pretty to make our lovers’ dicks get hard.” Kathryn nearly choked on the wine she’d sipped at the exact moment that Cyn said the words “dicks get hard.” Like that was ever a problem with their vampire lovers. She couldn’t speak for

Raphael, but Lucas’s dick was always hard. Or at least, it was whenever she was around. “Is that a problem for you and Raphael? The hard dick thing?” Kathryn asked innocently. Elke laughed from where she sat behind Cyn, away from the fire. Vampires didn’t get cold. Cyn snorted. “Yeah, right. The only problem I have is us being shuffled off like imbeciles who can’t analyze a serious situation.” “On the other hand . . .” “Right. I’d rather go shopping.” Cyn started laughing, and Kathryn joined her, until they both had tears running down their cheeks. “You guys are weird,” Elke muttered. “I’m assuming Raphael will brief you on the details,” Kathryn said finally, rubbing away the tears. “Naturally. Lucas?” “He’ll have trouble waiting until we leave the house before he starts talking.” “They’re adorable, aren’t they?” “Good fighters, though,” Kathryn commented. “Nice guys to have on your side when everything goes to hell.” Cyn started to agree, but then sat up, listening hard. Closing the laptop, she stood, walked over to the glass door, and opened it silently. “Cyn?” “Elke, dim the lights and get rid of the fire,”

she said tightly, then stepped off the patio and walked away from the house to the very edge of the cliff, where she crouched low and stared down the coast, toward the city of Santa Monica. “There,” she said to Kathryn, who’d joined her. They both watched the lights of a helicopter as it cruised down the shoreline, its dark form just visible in the light of a nearly fully moon. “What’s wrong?” Kathryn asked. “Are helicopters that unusual here?” “That one’s hovering, then moving on, as if it’s looking for something. And it’s not . . . look at the silhouette,” she said, her eyes never leaving the helicopter, which was slowly coming closer. Too slowly. It should have passed them and been long gone by now, unless it had a reason to linger. “Paparazzi?” Kathryn asked. “Not in a gun ship,” Cyn replied grimly, abruptly understanding what was troubling her. She pulled up her cell phone and hit a speed dial number. A woman’s voice said, “Raphael Enter—” “This is Cyn. Give me Juro. Now.” “Juro?” Kathryn asked, puzzlement in her voice, though she, too, was keeping an eye on the suspicious chopper. “Raphael won’t answer if he’s in a meeting, but Juro will if it comes through the main desk.” “Cynthia.” Kathryn recognized the huge

bodyguard’s deep voice. “There’s an armed helicopter a hundred yards out. It’s heading for the estate,” Cyn said tersely. Juro fired off several commands, before saying, “Cyn, go inside and stick with Elke. You’ll be safer—” “Fuck that. We’re on the bluff, moving north of the pool for better positioning. Let the guards know where we are.” Cyn hung up and started running away from the main house. The bluff slanted upward just north of the main building, and there were no lights. The darkness would give her cover, and the elevation would provide a better shot. “I’m carrying my Glock 23, .40 caliber. Not much good against a helicopter,” Kathryn said tersely, her eyes scanning the moonlit horizon as they ran. “You?” She followed Cyn through the darkness, which was abruptly absolute as every light on the estate seemed to go off at once. “9mm Hydra-Shok, and helicopters have pilots,” Cyn said, not even slowed by the absence of light. She knew every inch of the estate. She’d made a point of it, for occasions just like this. “Where are we going?” Kathryn asked. “The best vantage will be on the bluff. There, you see?” “See?” Kathryn muttered. “I can’t see a damn thing. What happened to the lights?”

“Protocol,” Elke said tersely, pacing herself to match their slow human pace. “The minute security ID’d the threat, every light on the estate was cut.” “That’s great for them, not so great for us mere humans.” Cyn grabbed Kathryn’s arm. She couldn’t expect Kathryn to be as familiar with the terrain as she was. “Almost there,” she said. “That little elevation, see it now?” “Got it,” Kathryn confirmed, shaking off Cyn’s arm. Fifteen seconds later, they were lying on the ground, watching the lights of the chopper approach. “They’ve circled out over the ocean,” she said tightly. “Looks like they’re setting up a targeting run.” “Of course, they are,” Cyn agreed. All three of them were stretched out on the ground, handguns aimed and following the chopper’s movements. She’d been right about pilots being hard to protect. The helicopter was vulnerable, too. A marksman could be effective at 100 yards with a 9 mm, same with Kathryn’s .40 caliber. They were all excellent shots, and Kathryn was a trained sniper. But Cyn still didn’t know how much damage they could do. No matter how good the marksman, targeting at this distance took much longer and delayed the shot, sometimes critically. That didn’t mean they wouldn’t try. The helicopter’s lights lined up with the shore,

growing bigger and brighter as they began their run. “Here they come,” Cyn muttered. RAPHAEL WAS ON his feet the instant the lights went out, alerted to Cyn’s warning by Juro’s telepathic message. “Lucas,” he snapped, shedding his jacket and tie as he headed for the glass doors off the conference room. The estate was completely dark, not so much as a stray candle lit the night. His vampires didn’t need light to function. They did better without it. If the attackers were vampires, they’d be the same, but they should be momentarily disoriented by the sudden blackout. Raphael counted on that, and on the fact that their enemies wouldn’t know the estate as well as his own people did. They’d have no way of knowing which of the many rooms Raphael was using for his meeting. He walked out onto the balcony. Lucas was right beside him when he stepped up to the metal railing, and so was Quinn, which was something of a surprise. He’d expected Lucas. There was no threat that they wouldn’t face together. But Quinn had no dog in this fight, as the humans would say. He was here essentially to audition for the role of Lord of Ireland. He had no loyalty to Raphael. “My lord,” Quinn said quietly, “what do you need?” “Power,” Raphael said simply. “Lucas and I

have worked together before, but you—” “—will have to open my mind completely to you. I understand. Tell me when.” “Now,” Raphael said and reached out, drawing Quinn into the connection he’d already forged with Lucas. Taking only a few seconds to be certain they would work smoothly together, he gathered his power and lashed out at the oncoming copter, which shuddered slightly under the blow. It was a testing strike, the only one he’d take. “My lord?” Quinn asked, not yet understanding. But he would. “Get ready,” Raphael muttered. The silver of his eyes flashed brighter than moonlight over the rocks below. He lifted his hand toward the helicopter as if in supplication, and the power flowed—his, Lucas’s, and Quinn’s. Raphael channeled their combined strength as he reached out and took hold of the helicopter. The engines’ growl became louder as the aircraft fought his hold, struggling to obey the pilot’s frantic efforts to break free, while Lucas used his unique gift to send waves of terror directly to the brains of the three vampires onboard the craft. Raphael gripped harder, putting every shred of power, every ounce of will he possessed, into ripping the copter out of the sky. This was the enemy, the same monsters who so recently had killed his people in their quest for vengeance, who’d come to his home tonight and

threatened everyone he loved. Next to him, Lucas cursed, but it was a distant noise. Reality narrowed down to just him and his enemy. The engine’s growl became a whine, like a wounded animal begging for its life. But Raphael was Vampire. There was no such thing as mercy in his world. Closing his fingers into a claw, he felt the thin metal of the helicopter against his skin, felt it collapse inward like a tin can in his fist. The vampires onboard howled, a sound heard in his mind, not his ears. He tightened his grip further and dragged the machine out of the sky. It hung there for a moment, clinging to flight, and then abruptly lost all power and smashed to earth. Raphael leapt from the second-floor balcony to the grassy bluff below the house, aware of Lucas and Quinn striding next to him as he walked to the cliff edge. He took a moment to study the downed craft, searching for survivors who might try to escape on foot. Or, at least, that’s what he told himself. The helicopter was little more than a ball of scrap metal, barely recognizable as the attack craft it had once been. The vampires who’d been on board were dead, all of them old enough to have dusted when they died. He’d known that before he walked out to study the wreckage. He wasn’t looking for signs of life. He was wondering how the hell he’d managed to destroy the thing so completely, even with Lucas and Quinn’s help.

Raphael didn’t suffer from false modesty. He knew he was one of the great powers in the paranormal world, a force little understood by the humans whose sheer numbers dominated the planet. But even he had never pulled a helicopter from the sky and crushed it like a tin can. He hadn’t thought before he’d done it, he’d simply acted on instinct. His home and people were threatened, and he’d dealt with the threat, knowing he had Lucas’s strength to back him up. Quinn had been a bonus, a boost of power that had made Raphael’s task easier. Still, it was his power, his magic, his fucking will, that had made it possible. He wondered what Cyn would think about this new demonstration of his abilities. He wondered what his enemies would think. “Tristan Fabrice?” Lucas asked quietly. “Definitely, and two others,” Raphael agreed. “Fits with the three attacks earlier.” “And the reports from up North.” “What’d you think of our boy?” Lucas asked, even more softly. Raphael glanced over at Quinn, who was staring at the wreckage, but not seeing it. He’d probably never opened his mind to anyone the way he had with Raphael just now. Vampires simply didn’t take those kind of risks, especially not vampires with enough power to rule. It might take

Quinn a few minutes to recover. Oddly enough, the attack had solidified his opinion of Quinn. He’d measured the vampire’s power while he’d been deep in his mind, far too deep for deception. Quinn was more than powerful enough to be a lord. But there was more to it than that. The North American lords were an alliance. They might bicker, but when it came down to it, they would stand at each other’s backs. The vampire Raphael chose for Ireland would have to fit into that alliance when they began their European invasion. Having seen Quinn’s power and person from the inside out, Raphael knew. He looked at Lucas. “I think Quinn Kavanagh will be the next Lord of Ireland.” CYN STARED AT the burning pile of wreckage, relief warring with disappointment. She’d been all geared up for a fight and then pfft. Nothing. “What the hell just happened?” Kathryn muttered. “My guess? Raphael with a touch of Lucas,” Elke said, jumping to her feet, as if the threat was gone. Which it obviously was. Damn it. “I’ve seen some serious vamp power, but that takes the cake,” Kathryn said, as she climbed to her feet much more carefully, holstering the weapon she’d never had a chance to use.

“We should get back to the house.” Cyn needed to see for herself that Raphael was all right. Because Kathryn had a point. Even with Lucas’s help, Raphael would have expended one hell of a lot of power to take down a damn helicopter. He’d be feeling it, even though he’d never let it show. Except to her. The estate lights came on at half power, illuminating the way back to the house. “Let’s go,” she said, and started running. RAPHAEL TURNED away from the wreckage and strode back inside, taking the side stairs to the conference room. His muscles ached as if he’d spent hours sparring with Juro instead of a few minutes taking down an enemy. He caught the big vampire’s eye as he entered the room. “You’ll have to handle the police,” Raphael told him. “Make up a story. A drone gone bad or something.” “That’s a big fucking drone,” Lucas muttered. “They won’t care,” Juro said, his tone lacking any of the usual animosity he showed toward Lucas. In a crisis, there was no room for personal feelings. It was something both vampires understood. “There were no humans aboard, and there are no bodies in the wreckage,” Juro continued. “The human authorities will only care about having a plausible story for the news outlets. A crashed drone will do.”

Raphael pulled his cell phone from the pocket of his jacket which hung on a chair where he’d left it. He needed to call Cyn. But she hadn’t waited. Before he could do more than turn on the phone, she ran into the conference room, followed by Kathryn and Elke. “Are you all okay?” CYN ASKED THE question as she entered the second-floor conference room, but she barely listened to the answer. Her attention was all for Raphael, as she went directly into his arms and held on tight. She’d been so terrified when she’d seen that damn helicopter heading for the estate. She’d known what it could do with the right weapons. Their enemy could’ve torn the house apart and dropped it into the ocean along with half the bluff and all the vampires inside it. Including Raphael. She didn’t even know if he could swim. Fuck that, he’d never have survived long enough to worry about it. “We’re fine,” Raphael said, surveying her for damage, before pulling her close once again. “Anyone know where Tristan Fabrice is right now?” she asked darkly. “Dusted. All three onboard were vampires, including Tristan. I caught a glimpse of his mind at the auction the other night, when he was occupied with your father. I’m quite certain he’s among the

dead. I didn’t recognize the others, but there were three attackers, three vampires who entered the country up north, and three vampires on that helicopter. Juro,” he said, breaking off to address his security chief. “I’ll want a team—” “Already on their way, Sire.” “Why don’t we retire to my office?” Raphael said. “It’s far more comfortable.” “And it has a fireplace,” Lucas added, holding his Kathryn tightly, as he urged her toward the door. “You’re freezing, Katie mine.” “We were in kind of a hurry when we ran outside,” she said. “I didn’t grab my jacket.” Raphael didn’t make a move to leave the room. He lingered, holding on to Cyn, seeming unwilling to let her go. She didn’t know if that was for her sake, or his. And she really didn’t care. “You’re all right?” he asked quietly. She nodded. “I was more worried about you. I wasn’t sure which room you all were meeting in, if it was at the main house, or under the garage. I saw those damn guns—” Raphael tightened his hold on her. “They never got off a shot. We made sure of it.” “We? Even the new guy?” she asked, eyeing Quinn who was standing near the door, wearing a bored, I’m too sexy for my shirt, sort of look, while he waited for Lucas and the others to clear the doorway. He was a good-looking guy, but that was

nothing new. The powerful vampires always were. He looked her way, and she realized he’d probably heard her question. “Quinn and Lucas joined their powers with mine to take down the invaders,” Raphael said, probably as much for Quinn’s ears as her own. Maybe more, she figured. New allies and all that. Later, when she and Raphael were alone, and he could be completely honest with her, she’d get the full scoop of what had happened, and what the hell he’d done to stop it. Kathryn, who was much better at dealing with people than Cyn, corralled Quinn into leaving the room with her and Lucas, giving him an easy smile that he returned the same way. What was it Raphael had said about the vamp? Oh, yeah. He’d been a lawyer in his previous life. Hell, he probably still was. And Kathryn was an FBI agent. It was a friendship made in heaven. Or, you know, hell, depending on how you looked at it. For a few minutes, she and Raphael were alone in the conference room, though it wouldn’t last. He was the host of this little home invasion and would need to join the others. But she took advantage of the moment to wrap her arms around him and simply hold on. She worried every day about losing him. The only time she’d felt completely safe in the past was when they’d been home in their wellguarded estate. And now some asshole in a fucking

helicopter had ruined that for her, too. Raphael held her just as tightly as she was holding him, his face buried in her hair. It occurred to her that he’d been worried, too. “I’m okay,” she murmured. “Kath and Elke and I watched the whole thing, like a fireworks show on 4th of July.” He smiled briefly as he pulled back to see her face. “How would you like to visit Paris?” She gave him a narrow-eyed stare. “That again? What? Is there another lame-ass auction I have to attend?” His smile broadened, but he shook his head. “Not this time. It’s the real thing. Promise.” “Then I say, hell, yeah, when do we leave?” “There’s a bit more to it than that, but soon. Come, we’ll discuss it with Lucas and our new ally.” She scowled. “What do they have to do with . . . Oh, damn, we’re going to be target practice, aren’t we?”

Chapter Six QUINN WATCHED as Raphael took the seat behind his desk, with his mate, Cynthia—Cyn, they called her—standing next to him like a cross between a super model and a steely-eyed bodyguard. Raphael was silent, motionless, as he stared at the others gathered in the expansive room. No fidgeting. Not from this vampire. His only gesture was a possessive hand on the back of Cyn’s thigh. Finally, his expression lightened enough for his mouth to curve into a slight smile. “We were interrupted earlier, Quinn. We were discussing your strategy for seizing Ireland from Sorley.” Quinn leaned forward. “As I said, my lord, Sorley’s base, since his ascension, is Dublin. Once I’ve take him and his closest aides out, the city will be mine, and I can take my time about solidifying the rest of the country. There’s no one likely to fight me on it, not right away. And anyone who does, I can defeat.” “Yeah,” Lucas agreed, “but as they say, that

first step’s a killer. How are you going to get rid of Sorley?” “The usual way. I’ll kill him. But first I need to get close enough. He’s not going to let me simply walk into his headquarters and challenge him. So, I’ll move in slowly, circle the beast, so to speak. I’ll start by killing off a few lower vamps and taking over their slots in Sorley’s organization. He’ll notice. He might even pay me a visit. But killing’s the vampire way, and he’s not known for loyalty below his inner circle. As long as his business and income aren’t negatively affected, he won’t care.” “But you won’t challenge him, yet,” Raphael commented. It wasn’t a question, which made Quinn think the powerful lord already understood Quinn’s reasons. “Not yet,” Quinn agreed. “I want to get on the inside, first. I’ll let him think my cousin and I are simply two homesick vamps come back to Ireland. Once I’ve learned all I can about how he runs his territory, that’s when I’ll challenge him and kill him. Garrick will be able to keep any of Sorley’s followers off my back during the challenge battle itself, and we can deal with any surviving loyalists together.” Raphael nodded thoughtfully, his hand still resting on Cyn’s thigh, although she’d moved to sit on the arm of his chair, rather than standing next to it. “I’ve given it some thought,” Raphael said, “and

it occurred to me that a distraction might be useful to your undertaking.” The comment was so completely out of left field that Quinn didn’t know what to say. A distraction? That possibility hadn’t been broached in their discussions before the attack. Nor had Lucas or Raj raised it in their meetings with him. It was Lucas who asked casually, “You have something in mind?” “Well, I do owe Cyn a trip to Paris.” Lucas straightened so quickly that even Kathryn, who’d been sitting next to him, was taken off guard. “Jesus, Raphael, you can’t possibly be considering—” “I can’t?” The question was said in the stonecold voice of a powerful vampire lord, but with none of the power vibes that would have foreshadowed a truly dangerous confrontation. In Quinn’s mind, Raphael’s reaction, or absence thereof, confirmed the rumors of a close relationship between the two vampire lords. “Well, hell, sure you can, but, why would you?” Lucas persisted. “And don’t give me that bullshit about Cyn wanting to shop.” Cyn snorted her opinion of that. “If you want a distraction,” he continued earnestly, “my lads can take care of that. There’s no need for—” “I owe our French colleagues a debt, Lucas,”

Raphael interrupted, before switching his gaze back to Quinn. “And I intend to pay.” It was said calmly enough, but the rage simmering beneath the words was a living beast prowling the room, its nostrils flaring at the scent of blood. Had Quinn been a more fanciful man, he’d have sworn he felt the brush of a fang against his throat, before Raphael turned his black stare away. Fortunately, Quinn was no novice when it came to intimidation by vampire or human. There was a reason he’d been chosen to pursue a takeover of Ireland. And it wasn’t because he was easily daunted. He didn’t have to guess what Raphael was talking about. The attack earlier would have been reason enough for Raphael to be seeking payback. But Quinn had picked up hints of vampires killed and wounded within the last week, all of whom lived locally. Details were sketchy. Raphael’s people were notoriously closemouthed, but Quinn was certain that all the vampires killed, and at least one who’d been wounded, lived and worked directly on this estate. The killings had been just as personal as the attack tonight, with Raphael the ultimate target. That was on top of the several large-scale invasions by European vampires on the North American vampire community in the last few months, and one of those had also been directed at Raphael himself. Even before tonight’s attack, Raphael had

been determined to take the war back to the Europeans. It was the whole reason for Quinn’s strategy in Ireland. But now, it appeared that some, or all, of France’s vampires—and there were nearly fifty big and small territories in France—had offended Raphael mightily enough that he was willing to commit the ultimate crime in the vampire world. He was going to pay a “visit” to someone else’s territory, unannounced and uninvited. It was an act of war if the affected French lords chose to see it that way. And, why wouldn’t they? An unwelcome visit from the most powerful vampire on earth? Christ, the French vamps would go ballistic when they heard about it. So would Raphael’s security team. “Quinn?” He looked up at Raphael’s prompting. “As distractions go, my lord, it would be like dropping a nuclear bomb on the Eiffel Tower.” He glanced at Lucas, who was still staring at Raphael. “I share Lucas’s concerns, but if you’re determined to do it, then it would certainly make my life easier. Not that you’ve any obligation in that regard.” Vampire politics. One had to be so very careful with words. Raphael bared his teeth in a predatory grin. “What do you think, my Cyn?” he asked. The woman’s smile was every bit as terrifying as Raphael’s. “Do I get to kill some vampires?”

Raphael laughed. “It looks like we’re going to Paris.” THERE WERE DETAILS to be discussed after that. Kathryn went back to the guest suite that she and Lucas shared, while Cyn retreated to the alcove off Raphael’s office, with its fireplace and the sound of the ocean pounding the cliffs just outside. She dragged her laptop open to get some work done, while the predicted arguments droned on in the other part of the office. Lucas’s protective instincts verged on tedious when it came to Raphael, and Cyn wondered for a moment if she was that bad, too. Nah. Raphael’s lieutenant, Jared, and Juro, too, entered the fray, but only briefly. They were as driven as Lucas in their zeal to protect Raphael, but their relationship with him had clearly defined boundaries. He was their Sire and their lord. They would argue their position, but, in the final analysis, they would do whatever he decided. Whereas Lucas knew no bounds at all. Quinn had long ago exited the discussion. He’d said his farewells and returned to Juro’s house just down the beach from Raphael’s, where, Cyn knew, he’d slept the previous day. It was too late for him to fly back to New York tonight, and Raphael wouldn’t condemn any vampire to sleeping on a plane when it wasn’t necessary. Besides, Quinn

might be an erstwhile ally—a relationship apparently strengthened by his performance tonight —but he was also a powerful vampire. And Raphael was a control freak. Juro’s place was close, and, more importantly, it was guarded by Raphael’s own people, so he’d always know Quinn’s whereabouts. Cyn listened to Lucas’s earnest reasoning and knew Raphael was only half tuned in. She could tell by the feel of his mind against hers, and by his occasional absentminded hum of agreement. His mind was already set. She’d known that the moment he’d asked her what she thought. But he was letting Lucas talk, mostly for his own peace of mind, probably hoping the younger vampire would eventually talk himself around to Raphael’s point of view. But after more than an hour of it, she’d had enough. “Okay, that’s it,” she announced. She snapped her computer shut and stood. Striding over to Raphael, she took his hand and pulled him to his feet. “Good night, Lucas. You know where to go. Or you should. Kathryn’s waiting for you there, you idiot.” Lucas looked briefly chagrined, and maybe a bit guilty, before his expression returned to its usual confident charm. “Are you trying to get rid of me?” “Not trying, doing. Go.” Raphael snickered as she made shooing

motions with her free hand. “Jared will have preliminary details tomorrow night,” Raphael told Lucas. “Quinn’s flying back to New York at sunset, but you know enough about his planning, and about Ireland itself, to help with our strategy.” Lucas gave him a resigned look. “You’re really going to do this?” “I am.” “Fuck. All right, but if anything happens to you, I get this house.” “The hell you do,” Cyn muttered, wrapping a possessive arm around Raphael’s waist. Raphael kissed the top of her head. “Good night, Lucas.” “Sleep well, Sire,” he said with a lift of his chin. “You, too, I guess,” he said to Cyn, then turned with a grin and strolled out of the office. “Whew. I thought he’d never leave.” Taking Raphael’s hand again, she tugged him toward the bookcase that hid the elevator to their downstairs quarters. “You made promises, fang boy.” “Did I?” “Big promises,” she said over her shoulder, as she flicked the switch to rotate the shelves out of the way, then entered the code for the elevator. “Well, I am—” She covered his mouth with hers and dragged him into the elevator, not coming up for air until the

doors opened on their private quarters. She didn’t have Raphael’s innate sense of time, but she knew sunrise wasn’t far off. He laughed as she tore at the buttons on his shirt, trapping her against his chest and pulling her in for a hard kiss. She growled against his mouth and bit his lip. “Take that off,” she ordered, then went to work on his belt buckle. He ignored her command, grabbing the bottom of her sweater instead, pulling it off over her head, and working the front closure of her bra, as he backed her toward their bed. Cyn’s legs hit the edge in the same instant that he lifted her by the waist and tossed her onto the mattress. He was on her a moment later, tugging her boots off, stripping away her leather pants . . . to reveal nothing but naked Cyn underneath. Raphael’s gaze rose slowly to meet hers, his eyes molten silver, his expression lazy, hungry, and pure alpha male. “Mine,” he snarled. Cyn’s heart thumped as she let her legs fall open. “Prove it.” RAPHAEL WENT TO one knee between her thighs and cupped her sex with his hand, grinding his palm against her clit as he shoved two fingers into her pussy, hissing at the fiery heat, the slick cream of her arousal. “No panties, my Cyn?” he bent low to whisper

in her ear. “Were you wet all night long, letting the leather seam scrape your clit whenever you moved?” She lifted her head, mouth open to snarl something back at him, but he scraped his thumb over her clit at that moment, and she cried out instead, falling back as erotic pleasure rippled visibly over her body. Raphael leaned on his heels, unzipping his pants as he admired the beauty of Cyn in the throes of sexual arousal. Her back was arched upward, her heavy breasts swaying as her fingers gripped the sheets. He bent over, enticed by the plump ripeness of her nipples, sucking first one, then the other, until they were swollen with blood, pulsing against his tongue and begging to be bitten. His fangs slid from his gums to scrape over her nipple and along the side of her breast, until the sharp, tantalizing scent of her blood filled the air. Cyn’s fingers tightened in his hair when he licked up the delicious dark honey, his tongue deliberately rough as he stroked over her delicate flesh, lingering on the throbbing peak of her nipple. She groaned, her thighs tight around his hips as she thrust upward, wanting his cock, wanting to fuck. Raphael chuckled and covered her with his body, holding her down as he bit and sucked her breasts, as his fingers played her pussy like a fine instrument, feeling her sheath clench, smiling at her

wordless cries of frustration. Until finally, he wrapped his arms around her and rolled, gripping her hips as she straddled him, her expression furious and intent as she reached for his cock and fit it to her pussy. Raphael only smiled and held her still, with the tip of his penis barely touching the silky heat between her thighs. She growled as she fought for control, her hair wild around her flushed face, eyes flashing with anger and desire. Without warning, he released her hips. She slammed down onto his cock, crying out as he filled her all at once, delicate tissues straining around his sudden invasion, trembling as they stretched to accommodate his thickness. She’d been slick and wet, from her earlier climax and fresh arousal, but still . . . he was a big man. He watched her, fingers tightening on her hips once more, as she panted, eyes closed, her gorgeous breasts moving with every breath. She licked her lips, the movement of her tongue a slow tease. He fought against the desire to pull her down and suck it into his mouth. And then her green gaze settled on him, and she smiled. She began to move slowly, rotating her hips, rolling her pussy around his cock, grinding her clit against his pubic bone. Raphael slid his hands up over her ribs to her breasts, pinching her nipples between thumb and forefinger, hard enough to hurt. But it was a sweet

pain, an erotic pain that made her pussy pulse around his cock, still filled so completely that she could barely move. But her body was slowly adjusting, her inner muscles relaxing, until finally he could feel her slick heat around his shaft, lubricating her pussy until her sheath was shivering in anticipation, tiny muscles flexing, stroking his cock, urging him to orgasm, to claim her, male to female. His cock grew harder at the thought. He was the only one who’d be claiming his Cyn. No cock but his would stretch her delicious pussy, no other would make her scream. She groaned and lifted slightly, her thigh muscles working as she struggled to relieve the growing pressure of his shaft. Raphael dug his fingers into her hips hard enough that her eyes snapped open to meet his. Holding her stare, he lifted her up and began thrusting. She leaned forward, her hands braced on his forearms as she reached for balance, a protest dying on her lips as her pussy suddenly clenched around his cock in rippling waves of orgasm. Her gasp of surprise became a helpless cry of pleasure, as Raphael took over, rolling her to her back and pushing her knees to her chest as he slammed into her, fucking her hard, driven by his own threatening climax, by the swell of his cock and the building heat in his balls. Cyn’s nails dug into his shoulders and warm blood trailed over his skin, the pain

adding to his arousal, feeding the violence in his soul that told him to take her, fuck her, mark her. With a fierce snarl, he fisted his hand in her hair and yanked her head to one side, pulling the skin of her neck into a smooth curve, the line of her vein into a plump invitation to drink what was his alone. Without warning, he snapped his head down and sank his fangs into her vein. Rich blood flowed, filling his mouth, gliding down his throat. Cyn’s cry of pain blurred into pleasure as the euphoric hit her bloodstream and another, harder climax struck. She arched beneath him, her legs sliding down to circle his hips, as he lifted her to his mouth, his arms banded around her back, fingers in her hair, fangs still deep in her neck. “Raphael,” she managed to whisper, but he only held on tighter, addicted to the warmth of her blood, the press of her breasts, the grip of her pussy. Until finally his cock swelled and he threw his head back in a roar of climax, his release a rush of liquid heat that left Cyn shuddering helplessly in the throes of yet another orgasm. Raphael rolled one last time, cradling her against his chest, his tongue licking lazily at the blood on her neck, sealing the wounds. His cock was still inside her, her pussy still pulsing around him, their hearts still pounding as they fought to find a normal rhythm.

Cyn’s fingers stroked over his thigh. “You’re still half-dressed,” she whispered. His hand patted her ass. “You’re not.” He left his hand where it was for a moment, then slid her to one side, long enough to strip away the rest of his clothes before gathering her into his arms and pulling the covers over them both. The sun was already crossing the horizon. He could feel its presence like a hot poker at the back of his brain. But he’d come to grips with that agony a long time ago. He registered its presence only for the warning it afforded him to kiss his Cyn good night.

Chapter Seven RAPHAEL WOKE to overwhelming sadness. And no Cyn. He could feel her close and knew exactly where he’d find her. Leaving the bed, he pulled on jeans and boots, and a sweatshirt because it was cold outside. Then he grabbed the comforter off the bed and took it with him. He wouldn’t need it, but his Cyn would. He entered the security code and took the elevator to his office, took the stairs down to the first floor, and walked out to the fire pit. She was a dark shadow in the corner, the fire not even bright enough for light, much less warmth. “Cyn,” he murmured softly as he walked over, flicking the switch to turn the flames higher as he passed. He didn’t pause, but gathered her up and wrapped the comforter around them both, holding her against his chest. She was icy cold. “What is it, lubimaya? What happened?” She shivered, burrowing into his embrace as her fingers clutched the soft fabric of his sweatshirt. He waited patiently, holding her close, whispering

in Russian, telling her how much he loved her. Finally, her fingers unclenched and smoothed the fabric of his sweatshirt. “My grandmother died,” she whispered, so softly that he barely heard. “Ahhh. I’m so sorry.” “She had a heart attack. It was the third one this year, Raphael, and no one told me!” His heart ached at the pain in her voice, but there was nothing he could say. Her family kept their emotions tightly wrapped. It didn’t surprise him that Adela had been just as secretive about her health problems. “Who called you?” he asked, kissing the top of her head. “My father. The bastard actually sounded sad.” “Did he know—?” “I don’t think he did,” she said slowly. “I think he was as shocked as I was. What the hell, Raphael? I just saw her at that stupid silent auction. We spoke . . .” Her voice trailed off. “I knew something was up. You saw it, too. But not this. Why wouldn’t she tell me?” “Your grandmother wasn’t comfortable with emotion.” Cyn snorted and muttered, “No kidding.” “While you, my Cyn, hold nothing back. It’s one of the things I love most about you. But I don’t think Adela would have known what to do with

your grief. She may have wanted to spare you a pain she could do nothing about. She didn’t even tell your father, and his reaction would have been considerably muted compared to yours.” She was quiet for a few minutes as the ocean roared down below the cliff. “She loved me.” Her voice was soft, muffled against his chest. “I know.” “She never said it, but she did. She was the only one.” The tears came then, and Raphael held her, knowing this would be the only time she’d let herself cry. There would be no tears at the funeral, not from Cyn, not from a Leighton. Even if her grandmother might have understood, her father would be there. And Cyn would never show weakness in front of him. It was an effort for Raphael to remain calm, to conceal his anger at the man who had caused his Cyn so much pain. He tried to remember that while Cyn had lost her grandmother, her father had lost his mother. And maybe there’d been silent love there, too. “The funeral?” he asked, when she’d been quiet for a while. “Do we need to change our travel plans?” She shook her head where it lay against his chest. “It’s tomorrow. It’s Jewish tradition to bury our dead quickly.”

“I remember. In the old country, they used to run to the cemetery with the body.” She slid her arm around his waist. “I forget sometimes that you were there.” “And now, I’m here. With you.” She sighed and leaned against him more heavily. “I love you.” “And I love you, my Cyn.” CYN WELCOMED the million and one details that went into planning a trip to Europe. She fully intended to buy nearly as much as she brought, but that didn’t change the basic requirements. If she was going to Paris, she needed to bring clothes. Of course, the real reason for the trip—vampire politics—meant that she, and everyone else who was going, had to pack a lot more weapons. This was where traveling vampire-style came in handy. First, all of Raphael’s security people were licensed as bodyguards to carry personal weapons, both open and concealed. Cyn was his mate, but that didn’t hold much meaning for authorities. What counted was her inclusion as part of his security team, and that gave her a license to carry, along with everyone else. In fact, the only person in Raphael’s normal entourage who she’d never seen carry a gun was Raphael himself. He’d gone with her to the gun range often enough that she knew he could shoot, and his speed and accuracy were as

good as any of the other vampires, including Juro. She suspected that he didn’t carry a weapon because it was beneath him. If he couldn’t defend himself without a gun, he didn’t deserve to rule. Or some other bullshit. For her part, Cyn was a firm believer in shoot first, explain later. In addition to the carry permits, however, there was the comfort of Raphael’s personal aircraft, which in this case was a completely revamped (no pun intended) Boeing 707. It was the largest of his planes, and not the only one going along on this trip. Paris was enemy territory. Raphael hadn’t requested or received permission to visit, much less an invitation. This wasn’t a diplomatic mission, it was a hostile incursion. Not quite an invasion, because they had no intention to stay. In fact, if the French vamps left them alone, they’d reciprocate. They’d spend a few days playing tourist, and go home. But since the odds of that were fairly low, Raphael’s smaller jet would be arriving two days ahead of him with a full contingent of his daylight guards who were charged with preparing the field, so to speak. A suitable property had been rented— which meant a house big enough for Raphael and all his people, not only his vampire guards, but his daylight security, too—with a basement that could be converted, in the short term, for the vamps.

Raphael didn’t mind sleeping above-ground, if necessary, especially since he and Cyn required privacy. But their rooms, too, needed to be properly prepared and secured before he arrived. Cyn had reviewed the potential rental properties along with Juro, Jared, and Raphael’s daylight security chief, Steve Sipes. Unlike Raphael’s North American trips, this one would be an all-hands-on-deck adventure. Jared and Juro would both be accompanying him. If Cyn had needed any more evidence that this trip was dangerous, that would have convinced her. She was wide awake, and more than a little wired, when the sun finally set on the night of their departure. She’d spent a good part of the morning at the office of her grandmother’s personal attorney. It was Cyn’s lawyer’s office, too, in that it was a huge partnership, with every possible type of law represented. But this morning’s visit had been all about signing documents and pretending the people present had something in common. Her father had been there. Her grandfather, too. But since they’d already seen each other at the funeral only a few days before, they really didn’t have much more to say. A dutiful hug for her grandfather, a nod for her father, and she’d pulled up a chair alongside the others around a conference table big enough to have done a vampire council meeting proud. Thank God for the endless number

of lawyers who’d been present to serve as buffers. Cyn hadn’t gone alone. Robbie Shields had been with her. He was her usual daytime bodyguard, but he was also her friend. And she’d needed one of those. It had been one of the rare times when she’d wished Raphael could be with her during daylight. Raphael had known about the scheduled meeting, and he’d kept tabs on her while he slept— something very few vampires were powerful enough to do, and even those few couldn’t match his ability—which was why he reached for her the moment he woke. And why Cyn was lying next to him in her usual spot, even though she hadn’t slept at all. RAPHAEL GATHERED her in, simply holding her close, breathing in the scent and warmth of her presence. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. She stirred enough to ask, “What for?” “That I couldn’t be there for you.” “Don’t pretend you weren’t spying the whole time.” He heard the smile in her voice, and heard, also, the effort it took. “Someone has to keep an eye on you,” he said lightly, going along with the pretense. “The meeting was mostly pro forma. The family trust dictates most of her estate, but there

were some . . .” Her voice hitched with emotion. “. . . personal bequests.” “For you?” She nodded, her face rubbing against his shoulder. “All of her jewelry. Every bit of it. Even the heirloom pieces that have been in the family for generations.” “Of course,” he said. “You’re her only grandchild. Whom else would she give them to?” “My dad? I mean, it’s always possible he’ll marry some young thing who will pop out a permanent siphon on the family fortune.” “What a lovely way to refer to the birth of a child, lubimaya.” “Call me cynical. He’s probably been snipped anyway. Harold Leighton doesn’t leave things to chance.” She rubbed at his chest with one finger. “I was supposed to call her, so we could get together. She said she had some things for me. Maybe she’d have told me then, that she was sick.” “Maybe,” he agreed, although he doubted it. He knew Cyn did, too. But if she needed to believe it, if it eased her pain, then, he’d believe it, too. “I need to finish packing,” she said finally. “It would be easier if I knew how long we’ll be staying.” “That depends on Quinn Kavanagh.” “I know better than that. This has more to do with the French vampires than with Quinn.”

Raphael shrugged. “I didn’t start this war. Mathilde did, and she paid the price. I fought her honorably, though she didn’t deserve it, and her death was just. But her people won’t let it go.” “Hey, you’ll get no argument from me. I want them all dead for what they did to you.” He kissed her forehead. His avenging angel. Though she’d certainly argue over the “angel.” “Whatever our motives, the trip will also serve as a distraction for Quinn’s arrival. He’s flying to London tonight, then to Dublin and Kildare. He’s using one of Lucas’s jets, which should minimize any problems.” “Unless someone thinks that you and Lucas are both in Europe and does something stupid here.” “That’s possible. Although, since Lucas won’t be gone, he’ll be able to shut down any stupidity with his usual violent efficiency.” Her laugh, as light as it was, warmed his cold heart. “Okay,” she said. “You ready to rock and roll?” “Not yet. Kiss me.” She lifted her face when he shifted to lean over her. He kissed her gently at first, brushing his lips over hers, drawing her closer as her arms went around his neck, finally taking her mouth in a long, luxurious kiss. “I love you, my Cyn.”

“I love you, too, fang boy. Now let’s go visit fucking France.”

Chapter Eight Paris, France RAPHAEL’S ARRIVAL in Paris was an event, a spectacle to rival the biggest movie star. There were bright lights and paparazzi, along with a whole phalanx of security people, vampire and human. Hell, there was even a fucking red carpet. Ordinary humans—travelers, workers, agents—stopped to stare, snapping pictures with their cell phones. Speculation was rampant about who he might be. Cyn played her part, hanging onto Raphael’s side, dressed like an action movie star in tight leathers and bristling with far more weapons than usual. As least, the visible ones. She fought the urge to drag Raphael back to the plane, or straight into the limo. She could already feel the gun sights lining up on him from every raised surface within a one-mile radius. With the right weapon, a talented sniper could make that shot, or better. Death could come out of nowhere. Raphael had wanted to make a splash. After all, the main purpose of this trip was to draw

attention away from what was happening in Ireland. But that wasn’t all of it, because nothing was ever that simple with Raphael. He was furious at the attack on his estate and was using this visit as a giant “fuck you” to his enemies. It was a blatant challenge. Here I am. Fight me or crawl back to whatever hole you came from. Cyn understood his reasons. But she still couldn’t stop scanning the surrounding buildings— every rooftop, every open stairway. Hell, even the windows on the terminal building, though she knew they were way too thick to fire an accurate shot through. And then, there was the noise—the jet engines winding down, the rumble of trucks and equipment. Hell, even the idling engines of what seemed like an entire fleet of limos and SUVs. If the noise was distracting for her, it had to be hell for the vampire security team, with their super hearing. How could they do their jobs? Not for the first time since they’d walked down the stairs from the plane, she edged in front of Raphael and felt his hand immediately wrap around her hip and pull her back to his side. If there hadn’t been so much fucking noise, she’d probably have been able to hear him growl. A camera lens glinted in the lights far overhead. Her gaze shot to the rooftop of the terminal. Someone was up there with a long lens. If a camera could be up there, why not a gun?

“Fuck,” she swore, then shot her gaze around, looking for Juro. When she found him, he was giving her the same look she was aiming at him. It was time to end this damn circus, whether Raphael liked it or not. Raphael’s vampire guard closed in and began moving with purpose, herding him toward the closest thing to safety on this fucking runway, which was one of the heavy limos. He could have stopped them if he’d wanted. No one pushed Raphael where he didn’t want to go. But he’d clearly seen reason at last, or maybe he’d just decided the spectacle had served its purpose. Cyn stayed close to him, one hand looped into the belt of his black jeans, the other on the butt of her weapon. When they reached the vehicle, Raphael acted before she could stop him, putting his hands on her hips and pushing her ahead of him into the back seat. She twisted to protest, but caught sight of Juro and his brother standing between Raphael and the crowds, covering him with their combined bulk. She settled for grabbing hold of Raphael’s leather jacket and pulling him in to sit next to her, breathing a heavy sigh of relief when the door closed, and blessed silence filled the air. She held her breath, waiting, as his gaze turned her way, silver sparks exploding like fireworks in the depths of his black eyes. But instead of

growling at her for trying to protect him, he pulled her across the seat and into his arms . . . and started laughing. Cyn punched his shoulder. “Stop that,” she snarled, and was rewarded with a kiss. It was long and wet, with lots of tongue, and it almost made her forget why she was so angry at him. Almost. “What was that?” she finally asked, still somewhat breathless. Raphael’s kisses were as potent as he was. He hooked her around the neck and kissed the top of her head. “That, my Cyn,” he said smugly, “was a statement of intent.” She blew out a breath as she shrugged out of her jacket. “I know we talked about making a splash, but did you know it would be that bad?” He shrugged. “It wouldn’t have been much of a distraction if we’d snuck into town.” “I hate this.” “I know.” His arm dropped down around her shoulders. “What happens next?” “We’ll go to the house and get settled in, just as they’ll expect.” She gave him a knowing look. “You’re enjoying this.” “It’s a change of pace,” he said offhandedly. “What? Life hasn’t been challenging enough for you lately, with Europeans coming out of the

woodwork trying to kill you and everyone else? I like this shit, and even I’m sick of it. I want a vacation.” “Well, we are in France.” “Ha ha. Not a working vacation. A real vacation, where no one tries to kill you or me, or anyone we love.” She felt tears pressing against her eyes and lowered her head, so he wouldn’t see. No such luck. Raphael didn’t need to see her tears, he could smell them. He also knew her well enough to understand that she wasn’t only talking about him. Putting both arms around her, he pulled her into an embrace and started making shushing sounds. Cyn didn’t fight it. Being held by Raphael, being loved by him, was like . . . being tossed like a rag in a hurricane and, suddenly, you’re pulled to safety. Like wandering the terrifying dark all alone and out of nowhere there’s light—warm, and bright, and yours. His love was deep and powerful and absolute. Cyn was a strong person. She knew that about herself and never doubted it. She could be reckless, but only with her own safety, never that of others. She mourned her grandmother, but she would survive. It was the natural order of life. But because she understood herself, because she was honest with herself, she knew that the one loss she’d never survive, the loss she wouldn’t want to survive, was Raphael. If he walked away from her, or if the unthinkable happened and he died . . .

“Stop,” Raphael ordered, pulling her hair sharply to get her attention. She sat up, feeling disoriented, lost in the nightmare of her own thoughts. “Stop what?” “Cyn. Lubimaya. Do you have so little faith in me?” She stared at him. “Of course not! What are you talking about?” He shook his head. “Maybe it was too soon for this. Your grandmother’s death—” “We didn’t have a choice,” she said, with a touch of bitterness. Sometimes, it seemed as if they never had a choice. Life just kept tossing shit at them. “You said it yourself, the Europeans will keep throwing bombs at us until we shut them down, one way or the other.” “You could have stayed home.” She glared at him. “Now you’re just being mean.” He smiled slightly. “For the record, my Cyn, nothing but death would ever take me away from you, and I’ve no intention of dying.” “Intention—” “I know better than most how capricious life can be. But some things are unequivocal. My love for you is one of those things. Talk to Juro, he’ll tell you. I’m much more cooperative with my security these days, precisely because I understand that it’s not only me they’re protecting. It’s you. I’m not

leaving you. Ever. Get used to it.” He kissed her eyes, her cheeks, and finally her mouth, holding her tightly enough that she could almost believe he’d never let go. And he never said a word about the tears she knew he’d tasted on her skin. She licked his lips and held on a moment longer. And then she pulled her shit together and got on with it, just as she’d always done. “So, when’s my shopping trip?” CYN STROLLED DOWN the crowded Paris street, her right hand hooked around Robbie’s muscled arm. The weather was cold, and there were signs of a recent snowfall, but the skies were clear. It was perfect winter shopping weather, but she was ready to quit. They’d been shopping for hours already, had covered both Rue St. Honoré, and Rue Faubourg St. Honoré, walking from end to end and stopping to spend lots of money on the way. They’d accumulated so many bags and boxes that Robbie had insisted on dumping them in the trunk of the limo. Carrying all that “crap,” as he put it, was a security risk. Not because someone might steal the bags, but because it hampered his ability to “fucking move” if someone came at them. Cyn had laughed gaily, like the airhead she was pretending to be, then insisted they had to at least set foot on the Champs-Élysées, because they were

in Paris! Robbie had rolled his eyes, as much at her acting as the idea of walking down another crowded Parisian street. “You’re not being a very cooperative bodyguard,” she teased. “I might have to find another.” “Feel free,” he grumbled, although he smiled at her when he said it. There was no way in hell he’d ever trust her safety to someone else, and no way in hell she’d ever trust someone else in his place. “How come Raphael never has to do this shopping shit?” he complained. She laughed again, a real laugh this time. “Do we still have spies?” “Yup.” “You think they’ve seen enough?” He stopped and leaned in to speak directly into her ear. “Please God, tell me you mean that. You’re not just toying with me, are you, Cyn?” She played the airhead again, laughing. “We have to get back, Rob. It’s nearly sunset and Raphael wants me there when he wakes up,” she said, loudly enough to be heard by their watchers. Robbie made a show of using his cell phone to call for their car. And then together they walked back the way they’d come, until traffic thinned enough for the limo get through. Once in the car, Cyn leaned into the cushioned seat and put her feet up on the bench seat opposite

her. “Why the hell did I wear these boots?” she groaned. “Because you were more concerned with image than practicality,” Robbie supplied helpfully, propping up his own, much larger feet in their comfortable boots. “You’re not helping.” “I wasn’t trying to, babe. You think it was enough?” “Let’s hope so. If not, we’ll have to work out something else. Even I can only shop so much.” Robbie put a hand to his chest, pretending shock. “I’m speechless.” “Oh, give it a rest and take me home. I need a nap.” “Someone’s cranky.” “Someone’s armed.” “Yo,” Robbie called to their driver. “Let’s speed this up. The lady’s tired.” The driver, who was one of Sipes’s people from Malibu, snorted a laugh and hit the gas. CYN SAT ON THE arm of Raphael’s chair, leaning against him . . . or maybe “draped over him” was the better description. One of her legs was bent at the knee, with Raphael’s big hand gripping her thigh possessively. Her elbow was propped on his shoulder, and her face was so close to his that she could have licked his cheek without moving. It was

a pose that she liked to call, “He’s mine and don’t even think about touching him.” And it was reinforced by the 9mm Glock she wore openly in a shoulder holster that had been specially designed to accommodate her breasts; by a second 9mm tucked against her back in the waistband of her skin-tight pants; and by the small, but deadly sharp, blade carried in a custom-made sheath built into her right boot. When it came to self-defense, Cyn didn’t cut any corners. And when it came to defending Raphael, every fucking corner was blown to hell. Raphael was “holding court” in the biggest room of their very large rented villa, a room designed to hold cocktail parties for the rich and famous. They had big rooms in Malibu, too, but Raphael never held court in any of those. He didn’t rule a kingdom, he ran a successful business. He attended way too many meetings, but he never sat on a throne and forced his people to kiss his ass or his boots. But, once again, they were putting on a show, reinforcing an image of Raphael that conformed to the way the old-time European vamps conducted their affairs. They held court, because they ruled countries where kings and queens had held sway for hundreds—hell, sometimes thousands—of years. Raphael had come to his full power in the New World, where business—money—was the

only king. But he didn’t want his French hosts to see their uninvited guest in a way that was any different than what they saw in themselves—arrogant and capricious in his power. As an asshole, and a bit of a fool. As if. Cyn would have snorted her opinion of that, but she had a part to play, too. “Sire.” Everyone’s attention was drawn to Juro who didn’t have to raise his voice to be noticed. He walked up to the base of the dais, upon which Raphael sat on his throne-like chair, and bowed slightly. “You have a guest, my lord,” he announced. Raphael raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Does this guest have a name?” “Mathys,” Juro said, with a slightly superior sneer. Raphael seemed to consider the name for a moment, then shrugged, and said, “Let him in,” in an offhanded way, as if he didn’t care whether Juro obeyed him or not. The visitor came through the double doors in a rush, almost skidding to a stop when he saw the number of vampires filling the room. He fought to appear unaffected, but the bouncing of his nervous gaze from one person to the next gave away his fears. His eyes finally found Raphael, and his entire body seemed to curl in on itself in a show of self-

abasement. “My lord.” He hurried across the open area in front of the dais, running a wide circle around Juro, who was eyeing him like a disgusting bug who’d dared to invade his personal space. “My lord,” he repeated, sweeping down in a surprisingly graceful bow. Probably got a lot of practice bowing around here, Cyn thought to herself. “My master bids you welcome, Lord Raphael, and asks if there’s anything he can do to make your visit more enjoyable.” “And who’s that?” Raphael asked with a decided lack of interest. “My lord?” “Your master,” Juro clarified in a loud, impatient voice. “Who’s your fucking master?” Mathys’s mouth dropped open in shock that Juro would speak with such disrespect, but he recovered quickly, proving his unnamed master had good reason to choose him for this mission. “My master is Laurent Pierre, Lord of Nice and successor to the great Lady Mathilde,” he announced grandly, and then immediately quailed under the penetrating gaze of Raphael, who’d abruptly shown his interest by leaning forward to study his vampire visitor. “Juro,” Raphael murmured. “Clear the room.” Mathys came alert, quivering like a dog on

point as Raphael’s vampires filed out. Cyn knew most of them were relieved to have their part in the game over with. They had other jobs and were happy to get to them. Some would be going to town, doing a little recon, while enjoying discreet sips of the local talent. But Mathys didn’t know that. He appeared genuinely worried by the suddenly empty room, as if Raphael needed privacy to kill him. Hell, if Raphael wanted to kill someone—vampire or human—he didn’t worry about witnesses. Especially not if those witnesses were his own sworn vamps. It wasn’t long before only Raphael, Juro, and Jared were left in the room. And, of course, Cyn. And Mathys. Mathys had sunk to his knees in front of Raphael and now looked up at him beseechingly. “My lord, if I’ve offended—” “Correct me if I’m wrong,” Raphael interrupted, his voice a deceptively soft purr, “but I believe I am Lord of Nice, since I’m the one who killed that faithless bitch Mathilde.” Mathys’s head came up. Hatred filled his eyes for the vampire who’d killed his mistress, and very possibly his Sire, but only for an instant. The emotion was there and gone so fast that Cyn might have doubted she’d seen it. Oddly, it was the bland face the vampire put on to conceal his outrage that

convinced her. Mathys was too shrewd to reveal his true emotions, or at least to direct them at Raphael. He bowed his head, and Cyn could see his throat working as he swallowed repeatedly, seeming to steel himself to continue the charade. “Is that all Laurent has to say?” Raphael asked, breaking the silence. “Hello and have a nice time? Seems a waste to risk your life over such a trivial message.” “My life?” Mathys’s throat was so dry that his voice rasped the words. Cyn laughed out loud. She couldn’t help it. This strange tableau had already gone on far too long. Mathys’s head snapped up like a snake’s at the sound of her laughter, his dark eyes fixing on her unerringly, limned with the red glow of a low-level vamp. “You,” he sneered. Cyn met his gaze without flinching. She’d faced down much tougher vamps than this diplomatic flunky. “Have we met?” she sneered right back at him. Instead of answering her question, he turned to Raphael. “My lord, you cannot trust this . . . human.” He said the word like a curse, like something filthy. “I regret to inform you, my lord, but she’s playing you for a fool. She and her lover —” Cyn strode from the dais, pulling her Glock as

she went. Her booted foot came out and knocked Mathys to the ground an instant before her gun was pointed at his head. Mathys stared, plainly shocked that she’d moved fast enough to take him down, but just as shocked that Raphael continued to permit it. “My lord,” he said, in obvious affront, “I come as an envoy from Lord Laurent, and this—” “Be very careful of the next words from your mouth, Mathys,” Raphael cautioned quietly, still sitting relaxed on his throne. Cyn grinned up at him. “Can I kill him?” “Cyn.” She scowled. “You have a use for him?” “I might.” “Well, shit.” She gave the vampire a hard kick to the head, mostly for form’s sake—he was a vampire, so she couldn’t kick him hard enough to do real damage—and then stepped away. “Fucker,” she snapped, and turned away to rejoin Raphael. “Whore,” Mathys all but spat at her. Raphael growled, his eyes flashing silver as he came off the throne, his power lashing out to wrap around the vampire’s throat, cutting off his air. “If you want to survive the night, you will be cautious when addressing my mate.” He released the vampire as quickly as he’d seized him. Mathys didn’t give up. “You didn’t see her, my lord,” he wheezed, rubbing his throat.

“Neither did you, vampire,” Cyn snarled. She cut a look at Raphael, begging him to let her kill the guy. “Later,” Raphael murmured, rubbing a hand down her back. She couldn’t argue with that, although she really wanted to. She and Robbie had put on a show to be sure they were noticed. To be sure that Raphael’s arrival was noticed by anyone in the world who hadn’t caught the coverage on TV. Because a lot of vampires, especially the old ones, didn’t pay much attention to the human media. But even without the gossipy TV news, any vampire in the vicinity should have sensed Raphael’s arrival, because he hadn’t made any effort to conceal himself. The more powerful local vamps might even have guessed who he was. Having Cyn stroll down the streets of Paris with a bodyguard on her arm, along with the rest of her security and her limo, had been designed to ensure that the human spies of the local vampire lord paid attention, as well. Cyn was recognizable enough as Raphael’s mate to let everyone know who it was that had crashed into their senses so powerfully. But for this worm to suggest that she was cheating on Raphael. . . . It was too fucking insulting. Unfortunately, Raphael had plans for Mathys

that required his brain to be intact, at least for now. So, she couldn’t shoot him. Raphael gave her a half smile as she rolled her eyes in disgust. “Look at it this way, lubimaya,” he murmured. “He’s not going to like anything I do to him tonight.” She brightened a little at that. “Can I kill him afterwards?” His smile bloomed into a grin. “If there’s anything left of him to kill.” “Okay.” She gave him a hard kiss, climbed back onto the dais, and slumped down onto Raphael’s throne, where she flipped Mathys the finger. “My lord—” Mathys sputtered in outrage. But Raphael held up a hand, shutting him down. “I require information from you.” “I will not betray—” “Yes, you will,” he said calmly. “Although, if it’s any consolation, you won’t enjoy it.” MATHYS SANG LIKE a bird before he died. Unfortunately, the dedication and loyalty that he felt for his master wasn’t returned in kind. Laurent hadn’t made the mistake of underestimating Raphael. He’d sent Mathys assuming that Raphael would wring him dry for information. Which meant they couldn’t rely on the accuracy of his information, Cyn thought the next

morning. She was too restless to sleep, too agitated to lie there staring at the ceiling. Part of it was her eagerness for the coming battle. Raphael was determined to avenge not only Mathilde’s attack, but the more recent attacks by Tristan Fabrice, who was one of her spawn. And he’d do it even if it meant taking out every vampire she’d ever sired. Especially if it meant that. Cyn figured there couldn’t be too many of Mathilde’s children left, since she’d dragged over 100 of them with her to Hawaii to support her attack on Raphael. Never let it be said that the bitch hadn’t come prepared. She’d known she couldn’t defeat Raphael one-on-one, so she’d brought her own army along to support her. It had almost worked, too. But wars were never won by “almost.” Mathilde had died along with every one of the vampires she’d drained dry and taken down with her. Cyn didn’t know how many children a vampire lord could make over the course of a few centuries. She didn’t even know for sure how many children Raphael had, since most of them lived quiet lives far away from Malibu. Mathilde was older than Raphael, but her territory was smaller. So, how many children did Mathilde have left? And how many of them were sitting in Nice, waiting for a chance to kill Raphael? She climbed out of bed and began pacing the

darkened bedroom where Raphael was deep in his daytime sleep. She was never happy when circumstance forced him to sleep outside the security of his own homes. Places like this bothered her especially. It was just a regular house, with lots of big rooms, and windows that they’d covered with blackout drapes. Granted, Steve Sipes and his team were on the job outside, but every vampire here was helpless. Even Raphael. She stopped her pacing to stare at him, and her heart squeezed. This was more than jet lag, more than nerves over the planned attack. She was never nervous going into battle. Not like this. “That’s it,” she muttered and began pulling on clothes. Not the kind she’d worn during her shopping trip with Robbie, but black combat-style pants with multiple pockets, a long-sleeved T-shirt in the same color, and lace-up combat boots that had enough wear on them to be comfortable. She bound her hair into a tight pony tail as she crossed to the table that held her weapons. One Glock went in her shoulder holster, the other in a flat holster in the waistband at her back. A switch blade went into a pants pocket. Extra magazines for the duplicate Glocks went into pockets on each leg to balance out the load. She did a thorough check of her weapons, popping the magazines and slapping them back, and then did a quick survey of the room to be certain she wasn’t forgetting anything. They were

on the second floor of the house. The only window was a sliding glass door that led to a balcony overlooking a thirty foot drop to a thickly wooded hillside. Not an impossible task for an attacker, but a difficult one, especially with daylight guards all around the base of the house. But she needed to get outside to see for herself. Walking back to the bed, she bent over to kiss Raphael. He was aware of her even when he slept, powerful enough to follow her movements during daylight if he thought she was in danger. And he always knew when she left his bed. “I’ll be right back,” she whispered, brushing her lips over his again. He had such soft lips for such a deadly man. “I love you.” The room had two sets of doors, because it was a master suite of sorts, with a small sitting area outside the bedroom. Neither was secured with anything more than an ordinary knob lock, something Cyn could have silently disabled in less than a minute. Still, she closed the doors behind her, for what little security they provided. The big house was silent when she stepped into the hallway, her footsteps creaking on the wood floors as she covered the few feet to the main stairs. As usual, there were no guards inside the house. Steve Sipes, Raphael’s daylight security chief, had authority to enter in an emergency, but other than Cyn herself, there were no other humans

inside the house during the day. The human guards had their own rooms in a guest house on the property. The accommodations weren’t up to Malibu estate standards—not for vampires or humans—but they were as comfortable as they could be, given the short notice of their departure and the vampires’ unique requirements. Cyn moved as quietly as possible out of the house and down the short path to the main security set-up. Two men glanced up as she entered the makeshift command center. One sat in front of two large computer screens with several camera angles displayed on each. He nodded at Cyn, but most of his attention was fixed on the screens, and on the reports coming in over his headset. The other man was Robbie, her shopping companion and daylight bodyguard. He gave her a surprised look. “Are we going somewhere, Cyn?” She shook her head. “I’m just restless. Is anything happening? Anything weird?” Some men might have dismissed her concerns as nerves or hormonal shifts, but not Robbie. He’d been in too many critical situations with her, had literally kept her guts from spilling out of her body long enough for Raphael to save her life. He nodded once. “Let’s take a walk.” He grabbed one of the HK semi-autos hanging on the makeshift armory shelf in what used to be the pantry. These were the MP5K-PDW variant of the

Heckler & Koch weapon, designed for close quarter battle and, theoretically, home defense. “You want one of these?” he asked, as he slapped in a fresh mag, then deposited spares in the pockets of his combat pants, much as Cyn had earlier. The difference was his 3 inches of extra height and about 100 pounds of mostly muscle, which made it a lot easier for him to tote MP5 mags around in his pockets. Still . . . “Okay,” she said and closed her fingers around the offered gun, checking the mag much as he had and slapping it back in. “It’s probably nothing,” she said, but she didn’t believe it. “Somehow, I doubt that.” Robbie tapped the control operator’s shoulder, then gestured toward the kitchen door. It was a small door and led to a surprisingly steep set of stairs, which made it easily defendable. Any attackers would have to come up single file. It was one of those movie scenarios that rarely happened in real life. Cyn sighed. “I’ve got an itchy feeling, you know?” He nodded. Robbie had been part of the Army’s Delta Force. He believed in gut feelings. Robbie exited first. He respected Cyn’s abilities, but he was still her bodyguard. “We’ll do a circuit,” he murmured. “Tell me if anything pings wrong.” She nodded, her eyes scanning the heavy brush

as they made their way down the hill. An army could easily hide in there. She frowned. It would have to be an army of humans, though. A daylight attack. That had once been standard procedure in vampire society, but they’d done each other so much damage, that centuries ago it had been forbidden. The problem was there was no such thing as truly “forbidden,” for vampires, since no policing body existed to enforce it. Back home, any vampire who tried a daylight attack would be destroyed by whichever of the North American lords he was sworn to. But this was Europe, where a lot of the ancient traditions still ruled. What a feather in someone’s cap it would be, if they managed to destroy Raphael. “Remember, Rob,” she whispered, “we’re dealing with a human army.” “Got that.” It was a big property, with more than a few outbuildings. Several minutes into their patrol, Cyn began to sweat under all the gear she wore, but she didn’t consider going back. Because the feeling in her gut was getting stronger. She was missing something. What was it? “Wait,” she said softly. Robbie, who was several feet ahead of her, paused in mid-step, shrinking back into the shadows beneath the trees until she could barely see him. That was a neat trick. She’d have to get

him to show her how he did that. Assuming they survived today. Doing her own version of his disappearing attack, she hunkered down and surveyed the surrounding valleys and hillsides, trying to shake loose the track of her thoughts so that whatever was niggling her brain could bubble up. As she sat there, she heard the soft whir of one of the security cameras as its motion detector ability reacted. Cyn glanced up, then followed the camera’s path, catching a flash of white as some small animal ducked back into the brush. She stared and waited for the camera to pan back, which it did, remaining on the long-gone flash of white for a full minute or so. That was a long time. She frowned some more, picturing the camera angles she’d seen on the computer screens, then she stood up and compared the wide hillside to those pictures. “Robbie,” she said quietly. “If you were planning this attack, which way would you approach?” He didn’t even have to think about it. “I’d take the driveway. Security is tight all around, but no one would expect a frontal assault. I’d start with 2, maybe 3, people—no visible weapons—and walk right up to the front door and ring the bell like a friendly neighbor. And while security’s trying to figure out if I’m what I appear to be, I’d slap some

C4 on the door and blow it wide open, then deploy the rest of the team in the resulting chaos.” She stared at him. “You’re right. Let’s go.” “Cyn, I’m sure Steve—” “I’m sure, too. So, let’s give him some help.” A small herd of sheep burst from the brush as they rounded the house, clattering over the paved driveway, bleating like the hounds of hell were on their heels, drawing the attention of several cameras and more than one guard as they crossed the entire front perimeter of the house. With Robbie’s caution in mind, Cyn ignored the sheep and saw two young women skipping up the drive, aiming for the main house. She tapped the Bluetooth ear bud she wore to gain the command center’s attention. “Heads up on the front door,” she snapped, then abandoned stealth in favor of speed as she headed in that direction. Robbie caught up and passed her. “You’re not wearing a vest,” he growled. Maintaining cover behind the thick trees, Robbie called out, demanding the women stop. They smiled and kept coming, one of them giving a friendly wave, while the other . . . “Gun!” Cyn shouted and fired, her shot crossing that of the second woman who’d been aiming at Robbie. Cyn was more accurate. She fired three shots, all center mass, hitting the woman and killing her. She fell without a sound. But as if

that was the signal they’d been waiting for, the main body of the attack force suddenly swarmed out onto the road and advanced in a stuttering wave of destruction. Some took advantage of what cover the trees provided, while others stormed closer with little apparent regard for their own safety. There was a fanaticism to their actions that worried Cyn. Fanatics always spelled trouble. Had they been promised a rebirth through vampirism if they died? It didn’t work that way, but they might not know it. Or were they in thrall to a powerful vampire? Raphael could have created such an army. It wasn’t much of a stretch to think some other vampire might be able to do it, as well. Steve Sipes’s security team had flooded into the area in front of the house and now responded with a barrage of gunfire. Steve was snapping orders over the comm, making certain the entire perimeter remained protected. Cyn took up a position behind the engine block of one of their SUVs, thankful she’d accepted the MP5 from Robbie. Aiming over the hood of the vehicle, she worked on semi-auto, firing short bursts of three shots. Mindful of her limited ammo supply, she sited before shooting, feeling her gut clench in satisfaction every time one of the enemy went down. And there were a lot of enemies. Laurent, or whoever had sent them, must have emptied out his friends list to get this many human fighters. But no

matter how many there were, in the end, they were doomed. They were out-gunned and outnumbered, but, most critically, they were amateurs facing hardened professionals. A few were as heavily armed as Cyn or any of Sipes’s people, but the rest carried single fire pistols or rifles, and none were wearing body armor. Every time one of them left cover to advance up the drive, someone on Cyn’s side would take them out with a single burst of automatic gunfire. But just when Cyn thought they’d reached a standstill and begun to worry that the attackers would escape by retreating down the hill among the thick trees, a small group broke free under a fresh volley of covering gunfire. Cyn counted five attackers, all wearing bulky ballistic vests and headgear, with what looked like more vests strapped awkwardly around their thighs. They were shooting wildly as they raced directly up the driveway, not even seeming to aim at anything as they screamed something in French so garbled that not even Cyn—whose years in a private French prep school had left her fluent in the language— could understand what they were yelling. But, in the end, it didn’t matter. They weren’t surrendering, so they were a target. She rose slightly to lean over the SUV’s hood, but realized in the next instant that she was nearly out of ammo. She squatted down to pull a fresh mag and caught

sight of two women sneaking through the trees on the side of the house, almost directly behind her. They saw her at the same moment she saw them, and they started running for the main building. “Robbie!” He turned, following her line of sight to the two women who’d succeeded in smashing a window on the side of the house. One of women turned, her weapon raised, as if to protect the second woman who was holding something that, from a distance, looked like a whole lot of dynamite strapped together. It was nothing elegant, not like Robbie’s C4 scenario, but it wouldn’t have to be. If the bitch was willing to sacrifice her life to set it off, if the bomb knocked down walls or collapsed the ceiling between the floors, vampires would die. There was enough sun in the afternoon sky that exposure for longer than a few seconds could be fatal. Cyn and Robbie both stood and fired in a single movement. The shooter fell, crying out in pain, but at the last moment, she raised her eyes to stare at Cyn with a triumphant glare. And the world exploded.

Chapter Nine CYN HUDDLED NEXT to the bulky SUV, arms wrapped around her head as debris fell like rain. It seemed to go on forever, while she listened, over the ringing in her ears, to the cries of people injured in the blast. Human cries, attackers and defenders both. There’d been no vampires in this house, though Raphael’s people had gone to great lengths to make sure their enemies thought there were. This was the house where Mathys had approached Raphael, and where he’d died. So, maybe one vampire had died here, after all. She didn’t give a damn about Mathys, or about any of the attackers who were crying in pain. Let them suffer. But Sipes people . . . New calls broke through her awareness, and she realized it was her comm which had fallen from her ear. She slipped it into place and heard the reassuring sound of Steve Sipes organizing the recovery, even as he made sure the estate perimeter was being guarded. “Robbie.” She went to stand up, reaching

automatically to her pocket for a fresh mag and . . . Fuck, that hurt! Her arm was bleeding like a motherfucker, and it burned like the fires of hell. Shot or maybe sliced by some of that debris, she didn’t know which. But it wasn’t much of a wound. Her arm was still working, so nothing was broken. But where was— “Damn it, Cyn.” Robbie’s welcome voice had her spinning around to find him covered in ash as he dragged her back to the ground. “There are still shooters out there,” he snapped. “And fuck, what’s this?” He took hold of her arm, shaking his head as he pulled a small first aid kid from one of his many pockets. “They’re running away,” she complained, realizing even as she said it that, broken bones or not, she might be a little shocky. “Don’t worry about them. Sipes has it,” he muttered, and it was as if she was hearing him through water. Weird. A warm thread of blood was doing a slow creep down her arm where Robbie had ripped her T-shirt sleeve out of the way. It matched the warm trail of tears on her cheeks. She looked up at him. “You know what this means, right?” “Yeah, it means we’re going to war tonight.” “A vampire war. You and I should steer clear.” She met his eyes a moment before they both started laughing.

Maybe, if they’d been back home in Malibu, she’d have been right. Vampire battles were short and brutal and usually didn’t involve human soldiers. But here on foreign soil, Raphael would want to use every weapon at his disposal, including his very well-trained and heavily armed human fighters. Not her, of course. Despite the years they’d been together, and his recognition of her skills, Raphael would still have preferred leaving her behind to keep the home fires burning. She never did, but that didn’t stop him from trying. “Good one, Cyn,” Robbie said. He finished with her arm and put away his kit. “Come on, let’s get you away from this fucking mess.” He helped her up, and they took a moment to stare at the wreckage of what had once been a 150year old villa. The owners were going to freak the fuck out. She shook her head as they made their way around the house, and down the twisting path, until they reached the steep stairs to the house where Raphael and the other vampires slept. They stood at the base, studying the steep incline, then sighed and started climbing. SHE LET HERSELF quietly into the suite she shared with Raphael, closing the outer doors, with another shake of her head for the crappy lock, and then opening the inner doors to the bedroom. A

quick check told her Raphael was still breathing slowly, deep in his daylight sleep, although she was certain he was already aware of the attack and the toll it had taken. While she and Robbie had made their way back, they’d gotten a casualty report from Sipes. The attackers were all dead, no injured. She suspected that was because the injured had been helped along into death, but she didn’t comment. They’d tried to kill Raphael and his vampires. They’d earned whatever fate vampire justice demanded. There’d been several injuries, some severe, among Sipes’s people, but no deaths. And Cyn knew that all those injured would be treated and healed once the vampires woke for the night. Raphael was loyal to his people, all of his people. She unfastened her shoulder rig and let it slide down her arms and to the floor. The movement pulled on her wound, but she stifled any cry of pain. This close, Raphael would hear every whimper, every strained breath, even while he slept. And when he woke, she’d hear about it. Her boots came next. It took entirely too much time to untie them using mostly one hand, but it was finally done, and her pants were easy. The shirt was something else. It was already torn, but getting it off would mean yanking it over her head, and that wasn’t going to work. So, she dug the small scissors out of her cosmetics case and cut the damn

thing off. She managed to do it without stabbing herself, which she counted as a win. After that, her sports bra unzipped from the front, and her boy shorts were easy. After a quick shower, she climbed into bed with Raphael, curling up next to his comforting bulk and pulling the covers over them both, before slinging her leg over his muscled thigh and resting the fingers of her wounded arm against his hard abdomen. She half-expected to lie there awake, listening to the adrenaline zinging through her veins. But she closed her eyes, and in a matter of minutes, she was out. RAPHAEL’S ARMS went around Cyn the moment he woke. He was careful, far more careful than usual, because she was still asleep and she’d been injured. He held her for a long time, listening to her breathe, hearing her heart beat steadily, strongly. One of the most frustrating, infuriating, aspects of his long life was this ability of his to follow her during daylight. He’d never been able to do it with anyone—man or woman—before. But even before they’d been mated, he’d had a unique connection with his Cyn. He’d haunted her dreams for months after they’d first met, when she’d been keeping vampire hours and sleeping during the day. They’d been separated for a time, and it had been his way of holding on to her. But with every day that had

passed since their mating, their bond had grown, and so had his ability to follow her while he slept. On the one hand, he liked knowing how she spent her days, being able to share that part of her life. But at times like this, when she needed him and he was useless to her, he thought he might prefer ignorance. She could be murdered in front of his eyes, and all he’d be able to do was cradle her lifeless body once he woke. That, and take his revenge by destroying the entire fucking world and everyone in it. The one truth that he’d come to accept was that he had no desire to survive her. If she died, he’d tear the world apart, and then walk into the sun. But not today. His Cyn was alive and well, and lying warm in his arms. He bent his head to kiss her, feeling her lips move beneath his as she came awake. “How’s your arm?” he asked. She smiled. “You’re not pissed?” “Only at the vampire depraved enough to assault my people in daylight when I’ve done nothing to warrant such an outrageous attack.” “Well, you did show up without an invitation,” she said, sliding her silky body over his as she stretched into wakefulness. “And you are you.” “Daylight warfare among us has been prohibited for centuries. And for good reason. Laurent could have at least asked why I was here,

before crossing that line.” “He did send his little buddy Mathys to welcome you.” Raphael snorted. “To spy on us you mean. He was riding Mathys’s mind the entire time he was here.” She’d gone up on one elbow and tilted her head curiously. “Even when you were interrogating him?” He gave her a dry look, and she returned it with an innocent smile. As if. “No, I guess not,” she said, laughing. “So, Laurent probably thought the info feed from Mathys cut off because you killed him. Well, a lot sooner than you really did anyway.” “Which is why Laurent will be completely unprepared when we attack him tonight.” “You think he’ll believe his daylight attack succeeded?” “You have reason to think he won’t?” She sat up suddenly, her expression intent as she considered his question. “No,” she said slowly. “You can wait for Sipes’s report, but I don’t think any of his people survived to report back to him.” Raphael tilted his head studying her. She was the picture of seduction as she sat in his bed, the sheet pooled around her crossed legs, her dark hair tousled, her beautiful breasts bare, nipples peaked and begging to be bitten. His cock hardened

instantly. She’d had that effect on him from the moment he’d met her. He started to reach for her, but his gaze snagged on the white bandage marring the golden skin of her arm. “How’s your arm?” She smiled. “It’s fine. I’m fine. There were other fighters hurt much worse.” His gaze traveled down her delicious body and back up again, and he saw the glint of challenge in her eyes. He grinned. “You’re the most dangerous fighter I have. Because you love me.” “Your vampires love you.” He slid an arm around her waist, pulling her against his chest. “Not the way you do, lubimaya.” Her arms circled his neck and she threaded her fingers through his short hair. “Well, that’s true.” “You know what else is true?” She eyed him cautiously. “You love me, too?” “More than life itself,” he agreed. “Which is why, tonight, Laurent is going to die for spilling even a little bit of your blood.” He kissed her hard, then stood up and released her with a smack on the ass. “Get dressed.” “Tonight? Wait, Raphael, you—” He spun so fast that she was startled into silence. This wasn’t her loving Raphael anymore. This was Lord Raphael, the strongest, most terrifying vampire alive. “It’s not only Laurent’s cowardice in attacking during daylight that

demands I kill him, though that would’ve been provocation enough. It’s that they won’t stop coming until they’re all dead.” “They? They who?” “Get dressed. I’m only going to have this argument once.” CYN WAS FUMING by the time Raphael had gathered his inner circle, which included Juro, and his twin brother, Ken’ichi, Jared, Cyn herself, and, for this trip, Steve Sipes. Normally, Steve wouldn’t be included in discussions that revolved around vampire affairs, but because they were on foreign soil, and since Laurent’s attack had happened in daylight, he’d been invited. She didn’t like it that Raphael had made her wait, but admitted to herself that it made sense. If he planned to attack Laurent tonight, then time was of the essence. They had whatever intel Raphael had managed to rip out of Mathys’s brain, and with Raphael doing the ripping, she was sure he’d managed to bypass most of whatever false intel Laurent had tried to plant in there. She was also certain that Raphael had spies of his own. But that didn’t change the basic facts. They were operating in unfamiliar territory, going up against an opponent who was holed up in the most secure location a vampire could ask for—his own lair. But it didn’t matter. Raphael’s vampires were gunning for blood

just as hard as he was. “We’re going in tonight, Sire?” Juro’s opening question told Cyn everything she needed to know. Except what she was missing. Who were “they?” Raphael had said they wouldn’t stop coming until they were all dead. It couldn’t be European vamps in general. That was too much for even Raphael to undertake. So, who the hell were they? Raphael nodded in response to Juro’s question. “He won’t expect it.” “What if he’s planning his own nighttime attack?” Jared asked, swinging a chair around, but not sitting on it. They were all standing, as if sitting would take up too much time. “Laurent’s more cautious than that. He sacrificed that idiot Mathys because he wouldn’t launch even his daytime assault without feeling us out first.” “He lost his entire attack force today.” “But they were only humans. Mathilde never placed any value on humans, and neither will Laurent. He’ll know his people breached the house and detonated their bomb. I’m shielding myself and most of my fighters, so he may believe he succeeded in killing at least some of us, possibly including me. He’ll send in his vampire scouts next, to gauge the effect of his attack, before deciding how to proceed.”

“Wait,” Cyn insisted. “How do you know—” “Laurent is one of Mathilde’s,” Raphael said, turning to spear her with a look. “Psychotic bitch that she was, she demanded absolute devotion from her children, and made sure of it by destroying any vampire of her making who displayed other than religious zeal in their love for her. If we don’t wipe out the nest, they’ll just keep coming.” She understood suddenly. They were all of Mathilde’s vampire children. And Raphael meant to kill them all. Raphael was studying her, waiting for her reaction. She stared back at him, holding his gaze for a defiant moment. Then she grinned and shrugged. “Okay, I get it. What’s the plan?” RAPHAEL STARED at his Cyn, his eyes tracing the elegant line of her jaw, the sweep of lashes over green eyes. Every protective instinct he possessed wanted to order her to remain behind, to remain safe. He swallowed the words before they were more than a thought, but she heard them anyway. She’d read his mind. Not literally, but it hardly mattered. The effect was the same. She grinned at him, her eyes gleaming with challenge. He didn’t ask her to forgive him for even thinking about leaving her behind. But he didn’t

need to. “Apparently, being in the old country is changing me already,” he murmured by way of an apology. “The plan is, we’re going to kill them all, and then we’re going home.” And, just as she’d known his earlier thoughts, she understood what he was saying now. He needed her by his side. Even in war. She leaned close and said softly, “It’s okay, fang boy. If you want to kill Laurent and everyone else in Mathilde’s filthy brood, I’m with you.” Raphael kissed her forehead, and then raised his voice to include the others. “We have one hour to formulate a plan.” THEIR STRATEGY WAS straightforward. Most of Raphael’s were. Hell, most vampire battle plans were. There was a code of sorts in vampire society that said the guy with the most power wins. And among vampires, power was measured not in how many weapons or warriors you could bring to bear, but in the raw power of the lord leading the attack. Sure, it mattered how strong his vampires were, because they kept the other guy’s fighters off his back, and served as a reservoir of power for him. But in the end, it still came down to one guy. Mathilde had tried to get around that by using magic, but it hadn’t worked. Magic could only augment what was already there, and she simply hadn’t had the power. She’d been forced to

confront Raphael one on one, and she’d paid the ultimate price. Laurent had followed in his mistress’s sneaky footsteps when he’d sent his assassin, Tristan, to take Raphael out, and again with his forbidden daylight attack. With all these exceptions to tradition, Cyn had begun to speculate out loud about how much longer the traditional code would continue to hold sway. For Raphael, however, the old traditions still mattered. Not only because he was five hundred years old, but because he had so much more power than any of his enemies. He didn’t need to resort to daylight subterfuge or any kind of assassination. If there was going to be any killing, he’d do it himself. And probably enjoy the hell out of it. Like tonight. Little more than an hour after sunset, Raphael’s people were already moving to surround Laurent’s villa, while he shielded them against detection. The villa itself was ancient, but the dim lights showing through the covered windows told him it had been updated. This had been Mathilde’s headquarters for hundreds of years. Raphael himself had visited here when he’d been younger. She’d had a taste for handsome young vampires, but Raphael had proven far too powerful for her peace of mind. He hadn’t remained in her court for long. Christian, who was now Lord of the South, and one of Raphael’s allies, had been Mathilde’s child—one who’d broken with

her over her plans to use magic against Raphael. He held no love for Laurent and had been more than happy to provide updated and detailed plans of the villa’s layout. The estate consisted of three buildings, all pale gray stone with peaked roofs of darker gray shingles. One of the outbuildings was a barn that had been converted to a garage, while the other contained the estate’s human residents—its daylight guards and few human servants. At least those who hadn’t died in the daylight assault. If they stayed out of the fight tonight, Raphael would leave them alone. If they joined in, they’d die like everyone else. Raphael’s focus was the main building. Two stories and a basement, with—he scanned a second time to be certain he hadn’t missed anyone— twenty-three vampires inside. Laurent stood out, not only because of his power—which was considerable—but because he was the only vampire who carried the mantle of a lord. That responsibility marked a vampire on the level of what some would call magic—it was the effect of all those vampires drawing life-giving energy from their lord. But it was also a source of power. Because just as those many vampires drew from their lord, he could draw upon them, too. He could drain his people dry in an emergency, killing them one by one as he fought to save his own life. It

wasn’t something Raphael or any other honorable lord would do, but he had to consider it when dealing with his enemies. Mathilde had sucked every last ounce of life from more than 100 master vampires when she’d fought against Raphael. He had to believe that her favored child, Laurent, would do the same. “Going in.” Raphael sent the message telepathically to the more than two dozen vampires in his attack force. Steve Sipes and his people weren’t part of the attack; they had another role to play tonight. Raphael approached the door flanked by Jared and Cyn. The safest place for her was next to him where he could protect her. Or, he thought in amusement, where she could protect him. He knocked, or maybe pounded, on the door, making his presence known. Before the sound finished rolling through the villa, he sensed Laurent’s shock and knew the other vamp would be scrambling for protection, trying to figure out how Raphael had managed to reach his doorstep without a whisper of warning. The door was opened by two bulky vampires, obviously security types—both dressed all in black and carrying visible weapons beneath their welltailored jackets. The two vamps did a lot of bowing and welcoming, none of which was necessary. Raphael didn’t need anyone’s invitation to enter

this house, it was already his. He’d killed Mathilde. Everything and everyone she’d owned belonged to him, no matter whose ass currently sat on her empty throne. Leaving Laurent’s greeters behind, he strode with Cyn and Jared down the wide corridors to Mathilde’s old throne room, where he could sense Laurent’s presence. But even if he hadn’t felt Laurent’s power there, he’d have known where to find him. Mathilde had been firmly entrenched in the social and political mores of her human youth, when powerful men and women had proved their superiority by forcing others to stand around in useless attendance. Laurent was her child. He’d be no different. Seeing where he was headed, Jared increased his pace enough to shove the throne room doors open and enter ahead of Raphael. He paused for the briefest few seconds—long enough to verify the absence of any surprises, but not enough to break Raphael’s stride—and then stepped aside as Raphael strolled in with Cyn at his side. “Raphael, I assume,” Laurent said pleasantly. He sat on the same throne that Mathilde had used all those centuries ago, one vampire by his side— presumably his lieutenant—and several others simply hanging about, though they all stiffened to attention when Raphael entered. “Welcome to your lovely mate, as well,” Laurent continued. “Ms.

Leighton, yes? Though I’m told they call you ‘Cyn.’” Cyn gave him a bland stare, then turned away with a yawn. Laurent snarled in anger before he could stop himself, but Raphael laughed out loud and pulled Cyn close enough for a brief kiss to her temple. “Welcome to Nice,” Laurent said, forcing the words through gritted teeth. Raphael eyed him silently. “I hardly need welcome to that which is mine.” The other vampire’s eyes narrowed in fury, but he controlled his reaction. He might not be a match for Raphael, but he was too shrewd to be easily provoked. “Fine. Let’s not pretend, then. You come into my territory with no invitation, no warning, and now you claim it as yours? On what grounds, Lord Raphael?” “By the most ancient law of our people, Laurent,” Raphael said, intentionally leaving off the honorific. “I killed Mathilde, therefore her territory is mine.” “You killed Lady Mathilde, but you never claimed the territory,” Laurent countered. “Her many vampire subjects were abandoned. They would have died, had I not stepped in to take care of them. That makes them mine.” Raphael smiled slightly. “We both know that’s not true,” he said, quietly enough that only those

closest could hear. “I made sure Mathilde’s people were well-protected when she died. And my power is protecting them still.” Hatred brightened Laurent’s eyes with the redbronze glow of his power. “Well, you can stop wasting your power, then, because they’re now under my care.” “If that’s true, then why waste that power trying to kill me. Not once, but twice.” The vampires lingering at the edges of the room stirred nervously, glancing at Laurent, as if sensing the growing tension in the room, and waiting for their lord’s orders. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Laurent said with an elegantly dismissive wave of his hand. Raphael’s laugh was loud, full of genuine amusement . . . until it wasn’t. Humor fled as his expression turned cold, his black eyes frosting with the starlight gleam of his power. “That’s a lie, Laurent,” he growled. “And the last one you’ll tell.” As he said it, he telepathed a single word to his vampires. “Now.” In the instant the attack began, Raphael lashed out with his power, a blast aimed at pinning the self-styled Lord of Nice to his throne. But Laurent was no weakling. He anticipated the blast and raised a protective shield in seconds. The hasty shield whined with the friction of power on power,

but it held, even as his many vampire minions hanging around the room jumped into the fray. None of them attacked Raphael directly. They were too smart for that, too protective of their own lives. Raphael was Laurent’s job. Their job was to go after Raphael’s people, to distract him and deprive him of their support. Some went after Jared, not realizing that the vampires of Raphael’s inner circle were among the strongest vampires in North America. Jared was one of those. He spun to face the attackers, to protect his lord’s back, to kill his enemies. His weapon of choice was knives. He especially enjoyed using his power to drive the blades through flesh and bone. He liked swinging them through the air in a dance that was as much magic as skill, and then stepping over the bloody remains of his dead enemy as he moved to the next. The outcome of his battle was never in question. Two of the attackers fell to dust with knives in their hearts, and one of the others was in danger of bleeding out on the marble floor as arterial blood began to pump around the hilt of a third well-placed knife. The final fighter circled warily, testing Jared’s power against his own, looking for weaknesses, something to exploit. An expression crossed his face, one of determination and resignation. He had no choice but to fight. He’d watched his fellow vampires fall one by one, and now hated Jared with every ounce

of rage in his body. This was Laurent’s territory, and he would defend it to the last drop. But even as Jared was dispatching his final opponent, Raphael’s attention was on Cyn and the vampires swarming around her. Laurent’s people had made a critical mistake. They looked at her and saw a woman, a human, a victim. And they forgot the most basic rule. Guns kill. It wasn’t only Raphael’s vampires who trained ceaselessly to fight and kill. Cyn trained right along with them. Hell, she trained harder than any of them. She was ruthless and disciplined in a fight, a born killer—which was something she only admitted to herself in the dark of night when no one but Raphael was around to listen. She hadn’t needed Raphael’s telepathic order to know when it was time for the battle to commence. Her instincts had lifted her weapon a heartbeat before he’d whispered the word of command in her head. Her MP5 was firing while the single syllable was still drifting in the ether, the deadly weapon on full auto with a 100-capacity mag. A stake to the heart might be the traditional favorite, but his Cyn liked the raw efficiency of a good machine gun. She swept the room, mowing down vampires, wading into the blood and guts to kill up close and personal, where death wasn’t certain. One or two vampires tried to come at her from behind, but Raphael took them down with brutal precision, covering her back just

as he did Jared’s, without ever breaking his concentration on Laurent. Out in the rest of the house, Raphael’s fighters attacked from all sides, coming in through doors and windows, snaking down hallways, battering their way into every room. Where they encountered resistance, they fought and they killed. And what they lacked in power, they drew from Raphael. He was aware of every one of his people, his presence a thundering wave of power that crashed through doors and cracked walls. It terrified his enemies and reassured his fighters. Lights flickered and died, as modern electricity met ancient power and lost, as vampires welcomed the darkness with eyes that gleamed with power. Raphael was aware of every death, every wound, even as he waged his own fight against Laurent in the throne room. They battered each other’s shields, neither breaking through— Raphael’s was like a brick wall, but one without so much as a chip in the stone. He stood there like a statue, his shield deflecting everything Laurent tried to throw at him, as he focused on the battle around them instead. The conflict turned almost too quickly, as Laurent’s people weakened and surrendered, or were killed, and Raphael’s people changed their strategy, no longer needing his protection. Which meant Raphael no longer needed to

share his power. His awareness withdrew from the wider front of his attack and returned to the throne room. He’d expected a barrage of gunfire to greet him. Instead he found gore-spattered walls and a floor covered in the bloody mud that resulted when too many vampires died a brutal death in too small a place. He needed to end this, before more people got pulled into a fight that Laurent simply couldn’t win. Mathilde hadn’t been strong enough to defeat him, and neither was her heir. Raphael checked Cyn first, noting the multitude of small cuts bleeding through rips and tears in her shirt, the dark bruise swelling over one cheekbone. But when she turned to check on him in turn, her green eyes sparkled, and her smile beamed. She was beautiful and ferocious in her victory, and she was his. His body stiffened with desire, but this battle wasn’t over yet. He slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her in for a quick, passionate kiss, satisfying the deep need to touch her, to know she was alive and well and with him. And then he turned back to Laurent, the vampire who’d killed Raphael’s people and attacked his home, who’d sunk so low as to send a daylight force to butcher his vampires while they slept. It was time. LAURENT’S EXPRESSION darkened when he

took in Raphael’s determined gaze. Girding himself for the fight of his life, he stepped into the center of the room and faced Raphael fearlessly . . . until Raphael let loose the full, terrible weight of his power, and Laurent recognized his mistake. He’d thought he’d already faced and survived everything Raphael had to offer, that he still had a chance. But no longer. He was going to die. And his followers—vampires he’d nested with for more than a century, vampires who’d been loyal to him when he’d risen to take over Mathilde’s territory, who’d counted on him to protect them—were going to die along with him. He might not value human life, but neither was he Mathilde, to throw away his vampires without reason. His heart broke at the realization that most of his people were already dead, and that the rest would soon follow. He opened his mouth to plead for mercy—not for himself, but for his people—and saw nothing but death in Raphael’s cold stare. RAPHAEL SAW THE moment Laurent accepted the inevitability of his own death. And he knew that Laurent would fight anyway. He couldn’t win, but he hoped to gain time for some of his people to escape. Raphael respected the hell out of that sentiment. He would have done the same. But he couldn’t permit any of Mathilde’s children to live.

If they’d accepted her defeat and left him and his alone, he’d have ignored them. No matter what he’d told Laurent, he didn’t want Nice or any other part of Europe. But they’d come after him, and, in doing so, they’d signed their own death warrants. They were Vampire, and there was no mercy in their world. Still, Raphael’s rage fell to dust in the face of Laurent’s devotion to his people. He couldn’t let them live, but he could make it quick. Without so much as an indrawn breath to give away his intent, his power reached out and stopped Laurent’s heart. Laurent’s brain fought to reconcile the sudden failure, the vampire symbiote in his blood racing to the stuttering organ in an attempt to save him. But it was too late. The symbiote was magic, but so was Raphael. Laurent died, and as he died, his people died. Vampires across the territory reached out for their new lord, but there was no one to save them. Raphael made sure of it. He watched impassively as Laurent’s dust settled to the floor, standing immobile until Cyn’s hand touched his back, her arm sliding around his waist. Lifting his arm, he pulled her against his chest as Juro rushed into the room and was brought up short at what he found. He exchanged a questioning look with Jared, and said, “Sire?” Raphael glanced up. “Is the plane ready?” Juro nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

“Then let’s go home.” The limos were waiting when they piled out of Laurent’s now empty villa. Raphael didn’t know what would happen to the property. Some new vampire would move in, maybe even try to rule the territory. He didn’t care. Europe’s vampire politics interested him only insofar as they tried to destroy what was his. He didn’t fool himself into believing this was the end of it, though. He’d destroyed Mathilde and her brood, and probably eliminated any threat from this specific region for the foreseeable future. Unfortunately, the basic problem presented by Europe remained. They had too many vampires and not enough territory. Three European vampire lords had attempted to invade North America and take territory by force— Mathilde and Hubert from France, and Berkhard of Germany. But Raphael’s spies told him many more would follow. Not on as grand a scale as those three, perhaps—the European vampires had learned from the others’ mistakes—but smaller incursions, attempts to snip away land around the edges, rather than seize an entire territory. It wouldn’t work. The North American vampire lords were stronger than the Europeans knew, reinforced by their newfound alliance. But lives would be lost in the trying, and that was unacceptable. There was a much simpler solution to the European problem—thin the herd. It was

something the European vampire leaders seemed unwilling to do. So, Raphael and his North American Alliance would just have to do it for them. CYN WAS HALF asleep with adrenaline crash by the time they arrived at the airport. She roused when their limo turned off the main highway and onto the utility road that circled the airport. Gone were the crowds and the paparazzi. Steve Sipes and his crew had ensured that Raphael’s private jet would be ready for him, waiting in a discreet hangar, well away from the main terminals. Most of the traffic on this road happened during the day, when the various mechanical crews reported in and out of their work shifts in the nearby maintenance hangars. Inside the hangar where the jet waited, there were no lights at all. They’d be taking off with a vampire crew. It was nearly impossible to fly from Europe to California without crossing through daylight, however, so a trusted human crew was onboard, ready to take over under Sipes’s supervision. Unfortunately, their abrupt departure meant they’d be landing in daylight in Los Angeles, which was even worse. They’d have to sleep on the jet again, until nightfall. “Daylighting on a fucking airplane. Again.” Raphael glowered at the jet from within the limo, as

if it was the plane’s fault somehow. “I know, baby,” Cyn said, patting his thigh. “But I’ll take care of you.” He slanted her a suspicious look, probably trying to decide if she was teasing him or not. She was. But that didn’t change the truth of what she’d said. Nothing would happen to him or his people on her watch. The limo stopped, with Juro bailing while it was still rolling. A whole bunch of other vampires followed, spreading out to secure the hangar, checking every corner, every cranny, to make sure no assassin lurked. That was highly unlikely, Cyn thought. The plane had been held under guard since the moment of their arrival, and orders for the final flight check hadn’t been issued until they’d left for Laurent’s estate. Only Raphael’s innermost circle had known that they wouldn’t be returning to their rented villa. But that didn’t stop his security team from doing their job. Cyn yawned and stretched as they waited. There was no greater high than the adrenaline rush one experienced during battle, but there was also no greater crash than when it was over. All she wanted was a hot shower—to wash away the blood and vampire dust—and a long nap with her honey. Unfortunately, the jet’s shower wasn’t all that hot, and it was too small for him to join her. But the bed was more than big enough.

She leaned in and kissed Raphael’s perfectly cut jaw, lingering to slick her tongue over his sharp cheekbone. His gaze shifted from his perusal of the many vampires running around outside the limo, and he smiled slightly. “I’m covered with things you probably shouldn’t be licking.” She licked him again. “So am I.” His smile widened. He knew she hated waiting around almost as much as he did. He also knew what she liked to do after they’d fought a good, bloody battle. “They’re almost finished.” The limo door opened on his last word. “Thank God,” she muttered, welcoming her first breath of the jet fuel-tainted air. Raphael laughed out loud and slid from the limo, pulling her with him into the noisy hangar. “Who gets the first shower?” he whispered, directly into her ear. “Pfft. You have to ask? I’m a girl.” She broke away and ran up the stairs, boarding the jet ahead of him. But only because he let her. CYN WAS CURLED up on the bed when Raphael emerged from a shower that had been cooler than he’d have liked. His Cyn had used up most of the bath’s hot water, probably washing her hair. But he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He loved the smell of her hair.

Checking the internal clock that told him how much time he had before sunrise, he pulled on a pair of sweats and turned for the main cabin. “Hey,” Cyn called sleepily. “Where’re you going?” “We did all this to provide cover for Quinn’s infiltration of Ireland. I want to know if it was worth it.” She sat up, the sheet falling away from her naked body. “Don’t kid a kidder, fang boy. You did this for revenge. Helping Quinn was just a bonus.” He sank to the bed and cupped one full breast, thumbing her nipple to hardness. She wrapped an arm around his neck and lifted her mouth to his, kissing him until they were both out of breath. “Don’t tell anyone,” he whispered, then pinched her nipple hard and stood up. “I’ll be right back.” Cyn flipped him off as he opened the door. He swallowed his laugh and headed directly to where Jared and Juro sat across from each other. They’d showered, as well, using the hangar’s facilities, and both looked up when he joined them, with Jared pulling a pair of cordless headphones out of his ears. “Anything?” Raphael asked. “It worked, my lord. Lucas’s people say Quinn arrived in Kildare on schedule, and he’s already made his way to Dublin, with not even a whisper of

interest among the Irish vampires.” “Excellent. Then I’m going to bed, and you should, too. We’ve done our part. It’s up to Quinn, now.”

Epilogue Howth, Ireland QUINN KAVANAGH sat in the portside café, thinking about the cold. He’d forgotten about the winters around Dublin. Sure, it got cold—fucking cold—in New England, where he’d lived and worked for the last several decades. But no one sat around a damp café, sipping tea in the middle of the night, either. He sighed and signaled for another pot. His reasons for being in the port city of Howth had nothing to do with the quality of the cafe, and everything to do with the two vampires lurking on the dock outside. The two males were deep in conversation, and not happy about it. Though he didn’t know whether they were unhappy about the conversation, or about the necessity that had brought them together in the first place. He didn’t really care, as long as he wasn’t the unhappy necessity. He was confident no one knew he was in the country, other than the people who’d helped him get there. But it never paid to be overconfident.

Regardless of whether he was the topic of conversation or not, however, the two vampires were both close to Orrin Sorley, who was the current Lord of Ireland, and that made them well worth some chilled bones. At some point, Quinn would have to face down and defeat Sorley in order to seize control of Ireland. But he wasn’t ready for that yet. He was just gathering information at this point, because information was power. And the more the better. He turned to greet the lovely waitress who was delivering his fresh pot of tea, trying to determine whether she was too young beneath all those lush curves, or if she might provide some entertainment later, when a flash of red hair drew his eye back to the scene outside the window. He gave the curvy waitress a faint smile and a big tip, but his attention was already focused on the sexy redhead in black leather and faux fur who was chatting up his vampire targets, with clear seduction in mind. She was human, no doubt of it, and from the looks of things, his two vampire thugs were more than willing to be seduced. Placing a flirtatious hand on one thuggish chest, she said something lighthearted and walked away. Two hard gazes swiveled to watch the sway of her hips until she turned into a narrow alleyway heading up the hill. The vampires exchanged quick grins, all but flashing fang in their eagerness, and

took off after her. Quinn told himself it was none of his business, that the woman had put herself in harm’s way, and even if the two males hadn’t been vampires, they were obviously bad news. But a moment later, he was pushing his chair back and leaving his fresh pot of tea, cursing himself for a fool with every step. He slowed when he neared the alley. He had enough survival instincts left for that. It was more of a passage between buildings than a true alley, climbing the steep hill, too narrow for any kind of vehicle, and too dark for most humans to feel safe at night. There was no light of any kind, no lit windows, no public lamps, just old brick walls and lots of dirt, with an overflowing garbage bin or two thrown in for good measure. He frowned. Why the hell would a woman alone walk this way? And where the hell was she? A familiar scent abruptly wafted through the air. Blood. And something else that had his fangs trying to slide over his lower lip, uncaring who saw. He drew a deeper breath and scowled, just as the young woman tripped back down the hill from the deepest, darkest part of the alley, the spiked heels of her leather boots—so impractical on the uneven streets and wooden docks—making it difficult for her to gain a firm foothold as she drew closer. Her gaze was focused downward, on the rough surface beneath her feet and the shadows all around, so she

didn’t notice him at first. But then some instinct kicked in, and she looked up sharply, suddenly realizing that she wasn’t alone. She raised a hand, and his vampire sight caught the gleam of a blade covered in blood. But it wasn’t the blood that drew his attention, it was that other scent, the one that had brought every one of his defensive instincts to high alert. The woman was covered in dust. Dust that had been two vampires before they’d followed her into that alley. Quinn stared. What the fuck? To be continued . . . (Please continue reading for more information)

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The Vampires in America Series Raphael Kindle Jabril Kindle Rajmund Kindle

Sophia Kindle Duncan Kindle Lucas Kindle Aden Kindle Vincent Kindle

The Vampire Wars Deception Kindle Christian Kindle Lucifer Kindle

The Cyn & Raphael Novellas Betrayed Kindle Hunted

Kindle Unforgiven Kindle Compelled Kindle The Cyn And Raphael Novellas: Betrayed, Hunted, Unforgiven, & Compelled

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About the Author D. B. Reynolds arrived in sunny Southern California at an early age, having made the trek across the country from the Midwest in a station wagon with her parents, her many siblings, and the family dog. And while she has many (okay, some) fond memories of Midwestern farm life, she quickly discovered that L.A. was her kind of town and grew up happily sunning on the beaches of the South Bay. D. B. holds graduate degrees in international relations and history from UCLA (go Bruins!) and was headed for a career in academia. But in a moment of clarity she left behind the politics of the hallowed halls for the better paying politics of Hollywood, where she worked as a sound editor for several years, receiving two Emmy nominations, an MPSE Golden Reel and multiple MPSE nominations for her work in television sound. Book One of her Vampires in America series, RAPHAEL, launched her career as a writer in 2009, while JABRIL, Vampires in America Book

Two, was awarded the RT Reviewers Choice Award for Best Paranormal Romance (Small Press) in 2010. ADEN, Vampires in America Book Seven, was her first release under the new ImaJinn imprint at Belle Books, Inc. D. B. currently lives in a flammable canyon near the Malibu coast, and when she’s not writing her own books, she can usually be found reading someone else’s. You can visit D. B. at her website dbreynolds.com for information on her latest books, contests, and giveaways.