Jabril (Vampires in America #2)

Jabril (Vampires in America #2) Page 4

Mirabelle felt a flush of pleased surprise. A simple exchange, the wink of an eye, that's all it was. But it said so much: We're together here, you and me. Two women in a room of fools. She returned a tentative smile, but quickly lowered her gaze, suddenly embarrassed at how she must appear to this elegant woman, with her ugly clothes and drab scarf, not even a brush of mascara to bring out the color of her eyes.

"Lord Jabril Karim?” The woman's voice carried across the silent room, breaking the frozen tableau.

Jabril gave her a predatory smile, one that bore much more than the simple lust of his minions. There was cunning in that smile, and an avid hunger. Mirabelle hoped to live the rest of her long life without ever having that smile turned on her. Jabril nodded in acknowledgment. “Ms. Leighton, join us please,” he said.

The woman started forward, the high heels of her fashionable boots clicking loudly on the marble floor. Like Mirabelle, she was dressed all in black, but the similarity ended there. Black pants clung to trim thighs before flaring slightly below the knee to accommodate mid-calf boots. She wore a cashmere turtleneck against the cold, and a leather coat fell to her ankles. Though Mirabelle was stifling, the woman seemed cool and at ease as she strode through the crowded room and stopped only inches away from the dais where Jabril presided.

Cyn knew as soon as she stepped into the room that it had been a mistake to come to Texas. Pausing on the topmost of two short steps down to the main floor of a big, echoing room, she could feel the eyes crawling over her skin, the testosterone so thick it was difficult to breathe. An idle scan told her there were only males here, and vampires every one of them. No, wait, there was one lonely female, young and terrified, wearing the cast off clothing from someone's Italian grandmother.

She drew a deep breath, taking some comfort from the weight of her Glock in its shoulder holster beneath the long, leather coat. They hadn't searched her, hadn't so much as asked if she was armed. At first, she'd thought it was the usual vampire dismissal of a mere human, but then realized it was not her humanity that made her less. It was her gender. The realization made her both more confident ... and more cautious. Confident because she knew she could handle herself far better than most men expected. Cautious because she couldn't count on the norms of courtesy when dealing with Neanderthals of that stripe, especially not when those Neanderthals were also Vampire.

And speaking of Neanderthals ... Her gaze ran over a half-naked giant standing to one side of the vampire lord, eyeing her suspiciously. Cyn wondered if he was a eunuch. She smiled to herself and looked directly at Jabril.

"Lord Jabril Karim?” she asked, although really who else could he be?

He gave her a regal nod and invited her forward. She crossed the space with a deliberately casual sway, using her height and long legs to good purpose. She paused at the base of the dais and considered taking that final step up onto the dais itself, wondering what the eunuch bodyguard would do if she tried. Self-preservation made her pause and give a little bow from the waist instead. “My lord,” she said.

Lord Jabril's large eyes raked her from head to toe. It was more, and somehow less, than the lusting appraisal she usually got from men. As if he wanted her, but not as a woman. Or not only as a woman. She assessed him silently, waiting for him to make the next move. Typical, she thought. There he sat, the vampire lord on his make-believe throne, a prince and his courtiers. Raphael might be a treacherous pig, but he never styled himself a prince, at least not that she'd ever seen.

She grew irritated as the minutes dragged on, feeling more and more like a specimen in a zoo, but past experience with vampires and their games kept the irritation from showing on her face. Did this jerk think she would wilt under the weight of his regard? Not likely. She pasted a look of mild curiosity on her face and waited him out.

He gave her a full smile of genuine delight. “My associate, Asim,” he said, gesturing. “I believe you spoke with him on the phone."

Cyn looked. Asim was altogether unremarkable, tall and skinny, with a sunken chest, dark hair worn a little too long, and the sallow skin of someone whose swarthy complexion no longer saw the sun. He gave her body a sweeping look from narrow, brown eyes, not even pretending courtesy, his gaze finally coming to rest on her face. Lovely man. Cyn was so very glad she'd come all the way to Texas to work for these guys.

Jabril stood and took the single step down off the dais, which left him standing too close to Cyn. She held her place, just barely. He was shorter than she, especially with her high-heeled boots, but that did nothing to mitigate the sheer force of his personality. She should have been prepared for it, having dealt with Raphael. Jabril Karim was a Vampire Lord. Hundreds, possibly thousands, of vampires, each powerful in his or her own right, owed their very lives to this man. He was dangerous and deadly, and Cyn would do well to remember that if she hoped to get back to California with her body and mind intact.

"Perhaps we should take our discussion into my office,” Jabril said, his gaze never having left Cynthia's face.

She inclined her head in agreement and he turned immediately. Asim ignored her to trail after his master and the half-naked bodyguard, but Cyn was so distracted by the dance of Jabril's progress across the room that she forgot to follow. The entire room sprang into motion at once, with every one of Jabril's vampires swaying into his path and away, balancing their desire to be acknowledged against the fear of impeding his movement. Asim turned abruptly to spear a sharp look in her direction, indicating with an imperious jerk of his head that she should come along. Cyn bit back a laugh, enjoying the irritation on his face as she strolled slowly toward him.

As she neared the door, she passed the young woman, the single oddity in this room full of men. This close, the girl didn't look much over twenty—no matter that her youthful body was hidden beneath those bulky clothes. Of course, it was hard to tell with vampires, but something about this one said “young” to Cynthia. Human years young, and female. Definitely out of place here.

"Mirabelle.” Jabril Karim's voice broke into Cyn's thoughts. The girl jumped, her eyes going wide with fear. “Come,” he ordered.

Cyn frowned as the girl followed automatically, leaning forward like a dog on a leash. A dog who was afraid of being beaten if she disobeyed.

Jabril led them all into a small office. Asim entered last, closing the door on the eunuch bodyguard who remained outside in the great room, presumably guarding his master's privacy. The inside of the office was filled with tidy and somewhat effeminate furniture—a lovely Chippendale desk that looked almost too fragile to hold the weight of the ornate lamp on its corner, a few glassed-in bookshelves, and two brocade upholstered chairs with spindly legs that sat before the desk. A beautiful, and no doubt priceless, rug covered most of the floor, its colors vibrant in spite of their subdued shades of maroon and blue. Jabril circled the desk and sat, indicating with a graceful hand that Cyn should take one of the two chairs. Asim didn't sit, but stood behind the desk next to his master.

Cyn glanced at the girl, Mirabelle, expecting her to take the other chair, but she remained standing in the back of the room, huddled close to a second set of doors as though ready to bolt at the slightest opportunity.

"I trust your flight was uneventful?” Jabril Karim said to Cyn. He had a melodic voice, measured and even. She didn't know why it surprised her; he wasn't a bad looking man, his features stamped with the harsh lines of his desert ancestors, with lips as full as a young woman's and eyes that were a tad too prominent. But Cyn realized in that moment that she didn't like this vampire lord very much and wondered what had turned her against him. There was the faux throne room, of course, but she found that mostly amusing and not really much of a surprise. He was probably more than a few hundred years old and from a time when princes had real power. And though he might be insufferably arrogant, the truth was that as a vampire lord his power was also very real, and so a certain amount of arrogance was almost expected.

No, she decided, it was the girl that had made her take an instant dislike to Jabril Karim. The young woman was treated like an ill-favored pet and made to dress as if her femininity was something shameful to be hidden. Cyn didn't care how old the vampire lord was or where he came from. That kid was young and scared, and those big, blue eyes had been born in America, or Cyn would eat her boots.

She realized Jabril was waiting for a response and leaned forward slightly, crossing her legs in a deliberately seductive move. “The flight was what one expects these days,” she dismissed. “You mentioned a matter of some delicacy, my lord?” Jabril's eyes flicked from her crossed legs to her face, where he held her gaze for a heartbeat before saying coolly, “Indeed. A very troubling matter, but one that requires a certain ... discretion, I'm afraid. A young girl in my care has gone missing—"

"A girl?” Cyn's surprise was evident. A missing girl was the last thing she would have expected from this assignment.

Jabril's cool cracked a little at the interruption, but he continued smoothly. “Elizabeth Hawthorn. Her parents were dear friends of mine, and when they died I thought the least I could do was care for their children in familiar surroundings. It's so important for children to have some ... constancy in their lives, wouldn't you say? I was pleased to find the courts agreed with me."

Cyn privately found it appalling that any judge would turn a child over to this bloodsucker and wondered what the going price was these days for a child's life. “Might I ask how old the missing girl is?"

"Seventeen,” Jabril answered with an obviously calculated sigh. “And troublesome as all children are at that age, I'm afraid—the small rebellions of childhood."

Good God! A seventeen year old girl living with this bunch. No wonder she ran away. “How long has she been missing?"

"A week, at least. You understand, Ms. Leighton, it has been difficult for her, living here.” He gestured around him with another deep sigh. “We are Vampire. She, of course, is not, being too young yet to make such a commitment, although I have hopes she will choose to join us."