Jabril (Vampires in America #2)

Jabril (Vampires in America #2) Page 23

Cyn frowned. “Who?"

"Lord Raphael. You said he'd be nice and he is."

"I don't think I ever used the word ‘nice’ to refer to Raphael,” Cyn responded sourly.

Mirabelle blushed. “No, not exactly. But he is,” she insisted. “Are you guys—"

"No!” Cyn said quickly. “Well, not anymore,” she amended. “He may be nice, but he's also an asshole. Never forget that, Mirabelle. Men can be all nice and sweet when they want to, but underneath they're still a bunch of assholes."

Mirabelle stared at her with that carefulness one uses with the utterly mad.

"Never mind. You don't need to worry about that. Yeah, Raphael's a decent guy when he wants to be, and he will protect you. Let's leave it at that. Now. There's a bathroom right here.” She walked over and pushed open the door, sticking her head inside to make sure there were towels and everything else a person might need for a night ... or a day. “The bed's comfortable...” Her voice trailed off as she saw Mirabelle again looking around anxiously. “Listen, Mirabelle, that closet is plenty big enough. If you'll feel better, we can—"

"No,” Mirabelle said quickly. “No. I'm done sleeping in closets.” She drew a deep breath and pulled her shoulders back. “I'll be fine. This is wonderful, Cynthia. Thank you."

Cyn smiled, relieved to see the girl recovering her backbone. Not a girl, Cyn. She's not that much younger than you are, no matter how she looks. “All right. I'll leave you to it. If you need anything, I'll be right outside, or upstairs. My bedroom's one floor up, but if you call out I'll hear you, okay? And I promise I'll be here all day. I'm totally wiped; you'll probably wake up before I do."

"Okay. Thanks."

"No problem. Sleep tight.” It was indicative of how weird her life had become that Cyn didn't even think it was odd to say those words to a vampire going down for the day.

Chapter Twenty-three

Cyn thought Raphael was already gone when she walked back into the dimly-lit kitchen. She was both relieved and oddly disappointed. But then she saw him standing near the windows, his back to the room as he stared out at the ocean. He blended perfectly into the shadows, and she was reminded again of how powerful he was, that he could draw the darkness around himself like a cloak against normal human eyes.

"Why did you call Duncan?” he asked.

Cyn blinked, surprised out of her contemplation of his masculine perfection. “What?” she asked, confused.

He spun with an uncanny grace that made every movement seem like a dance. “Why Duncan? Did you think I wouldn't help her?"

"No,” she protested. “No, I knew you would; that's why I brought her here."

"Then why call Duncan?"

She didn't want to answer that question. She didn't want to admit how much it hurt to talk to him, to see him standing there studying her with eyes as silver as the low moon on the ocean outside. “It's getting late, isn't it?” she said. “Don't you need to be back at the estate?"

He smiled, amused at her clumsy change of subject. He crossed the room, coming close enough that she could smell the light, spicy scent of his aftershave, could see the slight press of his fangs against lips that she knew for a fact were amazingly soft. “Worried about me, my Cyn?” he murmured.

She closed her eyes briefly against the urge to close those last few inches and bury herself in his arms. “I'm not yours,” she whispered desperately. “I'm not anyone's."

Raphael reached out to tangle his fingers in a lock of her hair and tug her closer. His nostrils flared as he drew a breath. “He touched you."

"No,” she objected, before remembering the clingy sensation of Jabril's casual touch. “Just my arm, I didn't want—"

"I should kill him for that alone.” His mouth was against her skin, his breath warm against her temple, and she couldn't remember when he'd gotten so close. Soft lips nibbled down her cheek to her waiting mouth. She whimpered a weak protest when his mouth closed over hers, when his arm wrapped around her back and pulled her against the solid length of his big body.

There was nothing of romance or seduction in the kiss. It was hard and demanding, hunger and need. Fangs ran out, nicking her tongue, and Raphael hummed with pleasure as her blood flavored his mouth. She pressed herself against him, needing to feel his arousal, to know he wanted her as much as she wanted him. He lifted her off her feet, letting his fangs sink deeper into the softness of her lower lip, and growling when the warm blood began to flow. The feeling brought a rush of desire, and Cyn twined her arms around his neck, threading her fingers through his short hair. She bit him back, pressing her human teeth into his soft mouth, reveling in the taste of his blood in turn, feeling a surge of ecstasy as it slid down her throat.

Raphael cupped her ass in one hand and brought her leg around his hip, grinding his erection into the cleft between her thighs. She cried out, wanting him more than life at that moment, wanting to feel his weight pressing her down, spreading her legs and plunging his cock deep inside her, hard against soft, satin against silk.

And she remembered Duncan telling her how vampire lords marked their human lovers. Cold reality washed over her.

"No!” She forced the word out. Her body screamed in anger, eager to fuck him; her heart broke once again as she pushed him away. She chose the anger over the grief, gathering it up and shoving both hands against his heavy chest. She stumbled slightly when he let her go. “Why don't you just tattoo your name across my fucking forehead!” she snarled, wiping their mingled blood from her mouth with one hand.

Raphael reached out impossibly quick and snatched up her hand to lick the blood away with a sensuous glide of his tongue. He stepped back, licking his lips and staring at her, his eyes hot with desire, letting her know how good it tasted. “If I had known you were going to Texas,” he said silkily. “I would have."

"Bastard."

He drew closer once again, his breath mingling with hers as he stroked a finger down her cheek to rest against the big vein her neck. “Tell me you don't want me, sweet Cyn,” he murmured. “Tell me, and I'll leave you alone forever."

She sucked in a hard breath, shocked at the idea of never seeing him again. “Go away, Raphael. It hurts me even to look at you."

He dropped his hand and drew away from her. Something very like pain flashed in his eyes before it was quickly shuttered and replaced by his usual carefully blank face. Cyn felt a momentary regret for hurting him, chased by a surge of disgust that he could still manipulate her so easily.

"Your Mirabelle needs to present herself,” he said flatly. “This is my territory, Cyn."

"How does she do that?"

He smiled, once again the image of confident arrogance. “Call for an appointment. How else?” He spun around and swept up his coat from the back of her sofa. “It's nearly dawn. I have to run.” Before she could stop him, he'd grabbed the front of her shirt and pulled her against him for a hard, quick kiss. “Until later, my Cyn.” And he was gone, no more than a blur of movement, out the front door and down the outside stairs before the door had even swung closed.

Cyn walked over and slid the deadbolt home, wondering why she bothered when the biggest threat to her could obviously walk in anytime he wanted. She glanced out the window where the sky remained dark over a black ocean, the moon finally set. Somewhere on the eastern horizon the sky was already beginning to pale in advance of sunrise, but her condo faced west. She pulled the drapes against the coming day and climbed the stairs to her master bedroom on the third floor, turning off the small kitchen light as she passed through.

It was completely dark in her bedroom; only the glow of various LEDs outlined the familiar shapes. She stripped out of her clothes, letting them drop to the floor, and slid beneath the baby softness of her thousand thread count sheets. Her eyes closed and long postponed exhaustion claimed her, releasing her to dream of the vampire lord's embrace.

Chapter Twenty-four

The wooden deck was cool beneath her bare feet, the piped railing wet in the misty night air. She rubbed her arms against the chill and Raphael stepped up behind her, pulling her against the firm muscles of his deep chest. It wasn't true what they said about vampires. They weren't icy cold, nor were they dead. Their hearts pumped, their blood pounded, their lungs bellowed. Their body temperature ran a little cooler than human norm, which was probably the reason for the old superstitions. But when Raphael's arms enfolded her, she felt warm and safe, sheltered against the damp night and any threats it might hide.

"I remember my first sight of the ocean.” His voice was a deep murmur, his cheek nestled in her hair. “It was crowded and noisy, filthy with the stench of unwashed bodies and much worse. I could barely see the water for the ships moored three and four deep against the docks."

Cynthia listened, still and quiet. He never spoke of his past.

"St. Petersburg was the center of the world then. Or so we told ourselves. It was the center of the empire and that was enough."

Russia, Cyn knew. He was talking about Imperial Russia.

"The port city of Brest, in France, was equally bad when I finally left Europe to come here, and New York even worse. I never knew the beauty of an ocean until I moved west. I remember coming over the hill, drawn by the freshness of the air, the salt tang of the water. There was a full moon that night and I stared like an untutored boy at the vastness of the horizon, stretching as far as the eye could see and not a hint that man had ever been here with his noisome habits.” He drew a breath, tightening his hold on her, letting his lips linger against her temple.

"I knew then that this would be my home. I have houses in other cities, beautiful places with spectacular views of their own. But I have only one home, sweet Cyn, and it is here."

His head dipped and his lips trailed along the line of her jugular and up the side of her neck to place a gentle kiss at the corner of her mouth. She entwined her fingers with his, letting her head fall back against his shoulder and closing her eyes, listening to the gentle murmur of the waves, feeling the beat of his heart match the pulse in her own veins.