Jabril Read online

  "I understand."

  "What now?"

  "She should return to the estate with me. She needs regular feedings—I didn't exaggerate her malnourishment. Jabril Karim should be staked for what he's done. Unfortunately, few of the lords are as enlightened as Lord Raphael."

  "What does Mirabelle want to do? Did you even ask—"

  "Cynthia, when will you learn we are not the monsters you think us?"

  Cyn drew in a deep breath. She was getting tired of apologizing. “I don't, you know."

  Duncan raised a quizzical brow.

  "Think you're monsters,” Cyn explained. “I don't trust humans either.” She grinned.

  "I am reassured,” he said dryly.

  "What's she doing in there now?"

  "Changing clothes, I believe. She was quite excited when I showed her your purchases. It was kind of you."

  "Yeah, well, I can be kind too, you know."

  "Yes, actually, I do.

  "Okay, now I'm worried. Why're you being so nice to me?” She was only half joking.

  "He will want to see you."

  Her good mood vanished. She didn't even have to ask who “he” was. “Why?"

  Duncan sighed impatiently, rubbing thick fingers between his eyes, as if he had a headache ... or maybe two of them. “Jabril Karim may indeed be a creep, as you put it, but he is also a powerful vampire lord. He surely knew of your connection to Lord Raphael—” He held up an impatient hand to forestall her protest that no connection existed. “You took blood from him; you had sex with him, more than once."

  Cyn felt a rush of embarrassment heat her face, but couldn't deny the truth of what he said.

  "For a powerful vampire, the exchange of blood is a way of marking those important to him, particularly human lovers. Jabril Karim almost certainly sensed that connection the moment he saw you. He may even have called you specifically because he knew you were Raphael's lover. The lords are fiercely competitive. The opportunity to take one of Raphael's...” He shook his head. “When we couldn't reach you, we feared the worst."

  She didn't know what to say. A part of her felt a little thrill at the idea that Raphael cared enough to worry about her. The more sober part resisted the idea that she was “marked” as anyone's property and resented being nothing more than a game piece between the two vampire lords, valuable only because the other wanted her. Or once had, anyway. “Well, I'm back now,” she said, letting some of her resentment show. “And I'm fine. You can tell him that. There's no need—"

  "And then there's the matter of Mirabelle."

  She looked at him, her mouth open in mid-sentence. “Mirabelle?"

  "I have shielded her for now from Jabril Karim's attempts to draw her back to his side. She would go mad otherwise, but it will not last. This is Lord Raphael's territory, and Mirabelle is the child of another. She is, as you pointed out, over eighteen and free to make her own decisions, but far too young and inexperienced to actually survive on her own. She will need Lord Raphael's permission to remain, and, more importantly perhaps, his protection to survive."

  "So?"

  He gave her a flat look. “Mirabelle must appear before Lord Raphael and petition him for protection, and I can guarantee that he will refuse to see her unless you agree to stand at her side. You are, after all, responsible for her being here in the first place."

  "If it's so important...” And if he's so worried, she thought privately. “...Why isn't he here now?"

  "Lord Raphael is otherwise occupied this evening."

  "Occupied how?” she asked quickly, ignoring an unreasonable and unwanted flash of jealousy.

  Duncan shook his head with a look that was half amusement, half exasperation. He drew a breath and frowned. “He received a call earlier from the human police."

  "The murders,” Cyn said almost breathlessly.

  He cut her a quick glance. “You know of these murders?"

  Cyn nodded. “I called Lucia Shinn when I got back to town. I need to find Elizabeth—Mirabelle's human sister. That's why Jabril hired me in the first place. Her eighteenth birthday's in a couple weeks and he planned to turn her the way he did Mirabelle."

  "Thus giving him control over the entire Hawthorn fortune."

  Cyn nodded. “Fortunately, Elizabeth isn't stupid; she figured out what he had planned and didn't stick around for the party. Which is where I come in. But once I got there, two things became obvious. First, Jabril only hired me out of curiosity and to piss off Raphael.” She shook her head at his expression. “I'm not totally clueless, Duncan. And two,” she continued, “while I will definitely find Elizabeth Hawthorn, I'll do my damnedest to see she never goes within a hundred miles of Jabril Karim ever again. Because monsters come in all shapes and sizes, Duncan, even vampires."

  "Indeed,” he murmured.

  "Anyway, Luci told me about the murders here in L.A. She's pissed and thinks not enough is being done to find the killer. So I made a few calls for her and found out the cops think they've got a serial killer vampire on their hands."

  "Not just any vampire, Cynthia. Lord Raphael."

  Cyn stared. “Raphael? They think Raphael's the killer, but that's ridiculous."

  "They claim to have a witness to one of the crimes."

  "But, surely. I mean, Raphael ... he's never alone, is he? His security—"

  "Precisely, ‘his security.’ The police do not credit any of our witnesses because they are, every one of them, Vampire."

  "Well, fuck. I told them it couldn't be a vamp doing this, that Raphael would never—"

  "They are questioning him at this moment."

  Cyn looked at him in alarm. “Why aren't you with him? Does he have a lawyer?"

  "My master ordered me to assist you instead, and yes, both of his lawyers are with him. The police originally wanted to question him at the station, but our people prevailed in that much. Lord Raphael is not without influence."

  "Okay. Okay.” She began pacing, thinking hard. “Look, I've already started looking into this for Luci.” She glanced up. “I'm supposed to see the bodies later tonight.” Duncan's face showed his surprise. “I'm not without influence either,” she snapped. “I don't know exactly when, but I'll need to stash Mirabelle somewhere—"

  "I've already said—"

  "Yeah, yeah, but I've been thinking about it, and she'll be better off with Lucia Shinn. Luci's used to dealing with scared, lonely kids, and that's what Mirabelle is, vampire or not. I'll pick her up before dawn and take her back to my place. She'll be safe there, for now anyway.” She stopping pacing. “You're right, though. She'll need something else in the long run, but I'm not sure Raphael's place is it. You didn't see the Texas testosterone palace. I did. She needs something ... else. I'm not sure ... Dammit. I need to move around if I'm going to follow up on this, and she can't go with me. She's not—"

  "Alexandra."

  "What?"

  "Mirabelle can stay with Alexandra. She is quite a bit older, of course, but their initial experiences are not dissimilar and Alexandra is ... lonely, I believe, since the kidnapping, since Matias died. They were together for a long time and very close. He was perhaps her only real friend. It might benefit her to care for someone else, someone she can identify with."

  "But...” Cyn drew a breath, trying to figure out a way to say what she wanted to without offending anyone. “Mirabelle is a modern teenager. Or she was before that asshole raped her and stole her life. She needs to be free, to be young again, and Alexandra...” She sighed, remembering the female vampire's perfect French manor home in the middle of Malibu, with its antique furniture and candlelit drawing rooms, not to mention her elaborate dresses right out of a big budget costume drama. “She lives in the 18th century, Duncan."

  "She did,” he corrected. “I believe the recent events were a wake-up call of sorts for Alexandra. She has been experimenting lately with other ways. In fact, she has asked Raphael on numerous occasions if you could visit."

  "Me?"

 
; Duncan nodded. “She was quite impressed with your, shall we say, businesslike dispatch of Albin, when you rescued her."

  Cyn gave a very unladylike snort, remembering the vampire Albin's death. It had been a contest between the vampire and an Uzi. The Uzi had won. Not that he didn't deserve it. Albin had not only betrayed Raphael and helped kidnap Alexandra, but he had nearly killed Cynthia as well. “Okay,” she said thoughtfully. “Tell you what. For tonight, Mirabelle comes home with me—if that's what she wants, of course, and then—"

  "That's what I want."

  They both looked up in surprise to see Mirabelle standing in the plane's doorway, wearing the clothes Lucia had picked out for her. For the first time since Cyn met her, Mirabelle looked like what she'd been before Jabril made her Vampire, what she would now always seem to be. A teenager. The faded denims were a little too big and the t-shirt a little too bright for her vampire-pale coloring, but it was clear that with a few weeks of decent feeding, she'd be quite lovely. Her blond hair had been brushed and tied back in a neat ponytail, revealing startlingly large blue eyes and a full mouth.

  Cyn smiled at her, delighted. “What say we have a bonfire and burn those old rags, Mirabelle? We can drink champagne and dance around the fire naked."

  "Whoa, can I come?” Lonnie was standing in the open door, staring at the girl.

  "No,” Cyn said, giving him a dirty look. “Girls only. Come on, Mirabelle, time to blow this joint. I've got a friend I want you to meet and these guys have business to take care of."

  Chapter Twenty

  Houston, Texas

  A deferential knock sounded on the door to Jabril's private suite. “Come,” he said, his attention focused on the last of his cufflinks. He looked over his shoulder as the door opened.

  "My lord, you wanted—” Asim stuttered to a halt, hunger warring with revulsion across his face as he surveyed the blood-soaked aftermath of his master's rage.

  "Asim,” Jabril said calmly, drawing his lieutenant's eyes away from the carnage and over to where he stood in the bathroom doorway. “I want the guards who were on gate duty at the sunrise shift change, both vampire and human, in my office ... no,” he said, changing his mind. “Better make it downstairs somewhere. There's likely to be a mess."

  "The isolation chamber, my lord?” Asim said faintly.

  "Excellent choice, Asim. Yes. The isolation chamber. See to it, will you?"

  "Yes, my lord. Sire..."

  Jabril cocked an eyebrow at him. “Asim?"

  "About this.” He gestured toward the enormous bed that took up most of the room.

  Jabril glanced around, as if seeing it for the first time. Blood covered every surface, spattering the walls and furniture, drenching the sheets and pillows. The remains of what had been his favorite blood slave lay in the middle of the bed, her long, blond hair dyed red, her throat torn out and her eyes glassy and staring. Deep, clawing furrows had ripped across most of her torso, partially concealed by the body of a second blood slave, who hadn't been a particular favorite of his, but who'd had the misfortune to be chosen to serve him late last night. Which meant she'd been with him this night, when he'd woken to the realization that Mirabelle was gone. Stolen away by that cunt, Leighton.

  A red haze covered his vision as raw fury threatened to overtake him once again, but he fought it down, bolstered by the life blood of the two slaves he'd recently feasted upon. Well, at least their lives had been well spent, then, he thought with satisfaction.

  "Yes,” he said absently, answering Asim's question. He was already thinking of other things, like how he was going to retrieve that ungrateful little bitch Mirabelle. She would pay for this little rebellion when he found her. It would be a very, very long time before she ever dared consider challenging his dominion again. “Have this cleaned up before morning,” he told Asim. He turned to his closet—thankfully the doors had been closed, his entire wardrobe could have been ruined—pulled on a fine, tailored jacket and shot the cuffs of his shirt to precisely one half inch, before crossing the room toward the door. “See to the guards first, however, Asim. I want to know how this happened."

  Asim nodded silently, leaving his head bowed and his eyes downcast as Jabril strolled past him and into the hallway. His lieutenant maintained his respectful posture until Jabril moved into the elevator and out of sight. Perhaps it was a good thing to demonstrate his power on occasion, Jabril considered thoughtfully. It reminded his minions of the price of failure—something the guards would be learning very soon.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Los Angeles, California

  Cynthia double-checked the address Eckhoff had given her, pulling to a stop in front of a two-story brick building. The street was quiet and dark as she climbed from her Land Rover; the only noise the sound of cars passing on Olympic Boulevard a couple of blocks away and there was little traffic this time of night. She looked up as she rounded the hood of her truck. At first glance, the building was indistinguishable from any other on the mostly commercial block, windowless and dark except for a few security lights around the perimeter. But the brick walls were new, and hidden among the security lights were discreet video cameras that tracked her progress as she made her way to the front door. There was no lock, just a keypad entry with an intercom.

  Cyn wondered if she should announce her presence by pushing the buzzer. When Eckhoff had finally called her, he'd been adamant that this visit was off the record. She'd been at Luci's dropping off Mirabelle when the call came. At first Mirabelle had been nervous about staying at the runaway house, but the kids had greeted her with their usual friendly suspicion, neither knowing nor caring she was Vampire. To them, she was one more of life's casualties, damaged but not yet broken. The tip-over had been when Luci had emerged from her office, gone directly to Mirabelle and given her a motherly hug. It never ceased to amaze Cyn that Lucia could hug a kid who topped her by a full head or more and somehow make the child feel safe again. When Cyn had left to meet Eckhoff, Mirabelle was sitting in the living room with the other kids, watching television.

  The door opened while she was still contemplating the intercom. “How long you gonna stand there, Leighton?” Dean Eckhoff was tall and skinny, with washed out blue eyes and hair that had once been red, but now showed mostly gray. To say it was thinning would be kind. He was dressed in his usual dark slacks and tweed sports coat, his button down shirt neatly pressed.

  Cyn shrugged. “I've never been here before. Is it new?"

  He nodded, his eyes scanning the street outside quickly before he hustled her inside and closed the door with a firm push. “Some bright light decided we needed a special holding facility for vamps. You know, no windows and all that. Then it was pointed out that maybe we should have a special morgue too. For their victims."

  Cyn frowned. “Their victims?"

  "Yeah, for when they rise from the dead after three days,” he drawled.

  She rolled her eyes. “Jesus, these guys need to stop watching Buffy reruns."

  He snorted. “You're not suggesting someone should actually study the matter before making a decision, are you, grasshopper? You know better than that."

  "Right. Sorry. What was I thinking? Okay, so you're telling me the powers-that-be have decided the latest vics should be stored here in case they rise from the dead."

  "Got it in one. You always were my best student. Come on, it's downstairs."

  "Of course, it is.” In her experience, morgues were usually in the basement. She didn't know why that was. Maybe the practice dated back to when there was no refrigeration and bodies had to be kept underground to stay cool. Or maybe it was some sort of symbolic burying of the unwanted dead.

  They walked past the elevator to a fire door. Eckhoff pushed through and headed down the stairs with Cyn right behind him. The basement door opened to that indefinable morgue smell of chemicals, cleaning fluids ... and something else, the smell of death. It wasn't putrid, nothing like rotting flesh or visions of zombies. But it entered her lung
s with the over processed air and lingered, taking up space and making her work twice as hard to catch a breath.

  "Cyn?"

  She looked up and realized she'd stopped walking. “Yeah, sorry. It's been a while."

  Eckhoff grunted. “You're not gonna wuss out on me, are you? Not gonna faint or, God forbid, puke? It'd be embarrassing."

  Cyn grinned at him. “Gee, Eckhoff, I didn't know you cared."

  "Not for you, Leighton. For me. I'd never live it down if one of my own rookies tossed her lunch over a dead body."

  She punched his arm lightly. “Don't you worry, old man. I'll be fine."

  He led her through a set of double doors, slapping the flat, metal switch on the wall to open the doors well before they reached them. It was designed for gurneys, so the techs could get the doors open ahead of the corpse.

  A wiry blond looked up as they entered, his eyes gliding over Eckhoff and settling on Cyn. He rose from behind his painfully neat desk and removed a pair of reading glasses with one hand while closing the folder he'd been looking through with the other. He seemed too young to need reading glasses, and Cyn wondered if it was an affectation.

  "Detective Eckhoff,” he said in a low, whispery voice.

  Eckhoff swung his arm, making a quick introduction. “Ian Hartzler, Cynthia Leighton. Ian's the night tech here at the para facility. Used to be downtown, but when they opened this place up, he volunteered."

  Cyn studied Hartzler. He was about average height, maybe five-foot-eight, with shoulders that were narrow but square and well-formed. He had wispy blond hair and eyes so pale they nearly blended into the white around them. Those eyes stared at her, almost unblinking. It kind of weirded her out.

  "Why?” she asked him.

  He raised his pale eyebrows in question.

  "Why'd you volunteer? I don't imagine there was exactly a rush for the position."

  He smiled, a thin stretching of his lips that bared no teeth. “I am intrigued by the unusual, and vampires are certainly unusual, don't you think?"

  Hartzler shot up on the weird meter from kind of to definitely, but Cyn kept that opinion to herself. “Well, they're different; I'll give you that,” she conceded.