Cynthia bristled automatically and Raphael chuckled. "Delightful," he said. He touched her cheek with one cool finger, sliding it over her jaw and down to her neck, where he stroked it twice over the gentle swell of her jugular. "Delightful."

Cynthia swallowed, torn between wanting those cool fingers to touch her some more and wanting to get as far away as possible. She looked up at him, meeting his eyes. "Are you going to wipe my memory of tonight?"

Raphael pulled his hand back, clearly unhappy. "You do know a lot about us, don't you?" He looked thoughtful, then tilted his head, as though listening. "Duncan is waiting for you downstairs. He has a.s.sembled Alexandra's security team and will stay with you while you talk to them."

"I'll need some privacy; they have to be interviewed individually."

"Whatever you need. Duncan will see to it." He pulled a thick white business card from an inside pocket and handed it to her. "Should you want to get in touch with me ... for any reason ... you may call that number. I expect to receive regular updates on your investigation, and I don't have to tell you that time is of the essence. We will proceed with our own inquiries from this end, and should we discover anything pertinent to your own efforts, I will get a message to you."

Cynthia understood a dismissal when she heard one. "I should have something for you by tomorrow night, a place to start looking. I, uh ... thank you, my lord." He seemed preoccupied, having turned again to stare out the window, and Cynthia took a step toward the door.

"The answer is no, Cyn."

She looked back at him. "My lord?"

He stood perfectly still, not even looking at her. "Your memories of this evening will not be erased. You will remember me."

"Oh," she said, fl.u.s.tered. "Thank you..." But he was lost in his silent study of the night.

Raphael listened to Cynthia's footsteps as she walked around the balcony and down the stairs. Her scent lingered in the room; not perfume, but something lighter. Shampoo perhaps. Something fresh and clean that barely registered, even to his extraordinary sense of smell. His eyes shifted when he heard the side door open and close, looking to the right where the driveway curled around the house. He could barely make out the two figures, Cyn and Duncan, as they made their way down the drive. It was more their shadows he watched, not them. An engine started up and he smiled to himself. Duncan had ordered a car brought around so she wouldn't have to walk back through the trees. As the sound of the engine faded away, he turned back to the room that was so much Alexandra's. The entire house had been built and decorated with her in mind, but it was this room more than any other where she felt comfortable. She'd personally picked out every piece of furniture, selected every delicate fancy of porcelain crowding the tabletops. The piano had been the crowning glory; he could still hear her delighted laughter when she'd woken to find it installed, already tuned and waiting for her elegant hands. One of the few times, she'd exhibited a genuine affection for him.

He sat down at the piano and sighed, running his long fingers lightly over the keys. Unlike Cyn, he'd never had a single lesson. There had been no time for such things where he grew up, no money to pay for it if there had been. He pulled the cover down over the keys, resting his hands on the shining black lacquer. Hands that were soft and well-cared for, nails manicured and buffed. A gentleman's hands, not the hands of a peasant. Not anymore.

Muscovite Russia, 1472 Vadim Nestor closed the door of the ancient barn, dropping the heavy bar down to secure it for the night. They'd had a problem with wolves lately, d.a.m.n clever things that seemed to find their way in through every hole or crack in the worn siding. He'd spent a goodly amount of time today, filling in holes dug under the walls, patching any gap he found. It would be hard enough trying to get through the winter with only the two healthy animals left to them; they didn't need to lose any more to the d.a.m.n wolves. He sighed, gazing out over fields lying fallow, fields that would have been ready for late harvest if his older brothers had not gone off in search of better lands, a better life than this hard scrabble farm. Vadim hoped they found it, but he'd heard sorry tales of harsh servitude in the new lands.

"Volodya!" His little sister's voice carried across the hard, dry yard as she ran to him, her long, black hair flying loose from its proper braid, her pale legs flashing as she lifted her skirts away from the dusty ground.

"Sasha," he scolded, "you must remember to act like a lady. What would Arkady think if he saw you running across the yard like a hoyden?"

"Pffft, what do I care about that old man? He stinks of pigs. I don't care what Father says, I'll run away to Novgorad like our brothers before I marry that toothless relic." She looked up at him, her face flushed with the cold air, her black gypsy eyes, so like his own, sparkling with mischief. How he loved her, and how he hated the idea of her going to the bed of a pig farmer.

"Softly," he said, pulling her around the side of the barn, away from the shabby house where no doubt their father was watching their every movement. "You mustn't speak so where Father can hear you."

She leaned into him, resting her head against the middle of his chest. "I'm not afraid of him. Besides, you'll protect me, won't you, Volodya? You won't let him hurt me again."

"No," he whispered fiercely, drawing her into his embrace. "No, he will not lay hand on you ever again." He kissed the top of her head. "But we must be smart, dushenka. This is still his farm, no matter that I do all the work. He could throw us both off the land, and then what would we do? We'd have to find somewhere else to live, somewhere to work. I worry about our brothers, worry they're little better than slaves working for strangers."

She shivered in his arms. "Papa wants rid of me," she said in a small voice. "He says my only value is between my legs and Arkady will pay good silver."

Rage burned in his chest until he thought he'd choke on it. "I'll kill him first, Sasha. You won't be wasted bearing brats for an old man."

It was her turn to urge caution as she put her fingers over his lips. "Sshhhh, Volodya! Don't say such things. Father Feodor says G.o.d is listening."

"Then let G.o.d show us the way, little sister. Or I will find my own."

It was full dark outside when Vadim sat up straight, shivering in the cold air as his furs fell away. Something had woken him. Was it wolves? Were they at the barn again? He listened, reluctant to venture outside. The animals came in packs, vicious beasts with no fear of man, especially not one armed with nothing more than a pitchfork.

Something was moving on the other side of the thin wall. Not the snuffling padding of wolves, but softer, more furtive. Feminine laughter lilted close to his head, and he leapt from his pallet, staring at the wall. Sasha? Was she outside on a night like this? He raced for the door, grabbing his heavy tunic as he ran, then chanced to look across the room where his parents slept, where Sasha lay deep in slumber on her pallet next to the fireplace.

The door rattled softly and he dropped his tunic, shuffling backward on all fours, reduced to a terrified animal. Something was out there. Something unnatural. His skin shivered over his bones and his breath froze in his lungs as he stared at the pitiful wooden latch holding the door closed. It shook slightly as something pressed against it from the outside. The stink of sweat filled his nostrils as his own fear ran down his chest to his belly.

There was more laughter, then. Louder. Not just a woman anymore, but men too, laughing like animals braying in the night. He heard the cows lowing and cried out at the thought of the poor animals helpless against whatever ravening beast was upon them.

"What?" His father's gruff voice sounded from the alcove. "Vadim, something's at the animals." He sat up in bed and began pulling on his boots, his lip curling with disgust when he saw his youngest son crouched on the floor in fear. "What's the matter with you, boy? Afraid of a few wolves? I'll show you what-"

Vadim jumped up and grabbed the old man, wrestling him back to the bed before he blundered into the night and cost them all their lives. "Listen! Listen, Father! It is not wolves, not this time. Listen, you fool!"

"Fool?" his father roared, bringing one thick arm around to knock Vadim to the floor. "You dare call me fool?" He stormed over to the door, grabbing the pitchfork as he yanked it open. "I'll show you-"

Vadim shouted in horror as the creature grabbed his father's outstretched arm, jerking him out of the house and sinking impossible teeth into his neck. Blood sprayed over the old man's chest, his body convulsing like one of Arkady's pigs at the slaughter. Sasha's screams joined their mother's, jolting Vadim from his own shock. Their mother streaked by, leaving the safety of their home to beat on the creature holding her husband. Sasha followed, clinging to her mother's arm, trying to drag her back into the house. Vadim jumped up and grabbed the fallen pitchfork, charging into the yard and stabbing at the monsters, shouting at his mother, at Sasha, to get back. But it was too late. The dreadful creatures were everywhere in the yard, tossing his father's body between them, playing with him as the barn cat played with a dead mouse. His mother's b.l.o.o.d.y form was draped over the grisly arm of another, its fangs buried in her neck and making obscene slurping sounds as the life drained from her body. Vadim swung about in terror. Sasha. Where was his Sasha? A shrill scream spun him fully around and he moaned in horror. Two of the creatures had her between them, their hands crawling over her body, ripping her bodice to bare her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, their foul mouths closing over tender flesh. Sasha's terror-filled eyes found his and she mouthed his name, no longer able to scream.

He howled, raising the pitchfork and thrusting it at her attackers, one of them shrieking in agony as the sharp implement buried itself in his side. The unG.o.dly creature turned to snarl at Vadim with gore-filled teeth, and he thrust the pitchfork mindlessly, again and again, until they were forced to let go of his sister and deal with him.

"Run, Sasha," he screamed. But she lay limp and lifeless, fallen to the ground only to be taken by yet another monster who lapped the blood from her torn neck like the sweetest cream. Vadim fell to his knees, numb with horror and loss, waiting for the creatures to take him, to tear his throat out and let him join his family in death.

A woman's laughter drifted over his shoulder. He shrank from the sound of it, watching fearfully as the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen circled around him, her hips swaying seductively beneath a wh.o.r.e's tight dress, her tongue sliding out to lick full, red lips.

"Don't," she snapped.

Vadim twisted around to find one of the creatures backing away, hissing at the woman, its eyes glowing red in the dark night.

"I want this one," the woman said, jerking Vadim's attention back to her. "He's pretty." She strolled around him, running a delicate hand through the silky black length of his hair, along the breadth of his shoulders. "And so strong." She leaned her face into his and he almost gagged on the carrion stench of her breath. "Would you like to live forever, pretty one?"

Vadim shook his head in denial, fighting to break away from the impossibly strong grip of those delicate hands.

"Too late," she whispered. And then she laughed again, her shrieks rising into the night sky as those red, red lips opened and her fangs sank into his throat.

He stumbled down the rutted track, weak with hunger, with unquenchable thirst. Dried blood caked his clothing, his hair ... he lifted his hands and stared at the crusting of black beneath his nails. Not the clean earth of mother Russia, but blood. An endless amount of blood. Wolves followed along in the underbrush, whining pitifully, drawn by the smell of flesh, but confused by the scent of danger exuded by this pitiful remnant of a human.

He was only peripherally aware of the wolves. All that mattered was satisfying this overwhelming hunger, a craving as if he'd never before eaten in his life. He heard human voices and lifted his head. A monastery shone in the darkness, candles lighting its windows, the sound of singing echoing over the green fields surrounding it. He blinked, suddenly confused, not remembering how he came to be standing on this road covered in blood, knowing only that he was empty, hollowed out by grief. He howled his anguish to the night sky and the wolves shrank away, their bellies pressed to the ground in fear.

"Jesu Christu!" A monk hurried out from the gates, a lantern held out before him to light his way. "My son," he said, his voice filled with a terrible compa.s.sion when he saw Vadim. "My son, do not despair, G.o.d is with you. He is with all of us." The monk circled him with strong arms, ignoring the b.l.o.o.d.y stench surrounding him. "Come," he said. "Come inside. We will find a way. G.o.d will help us." He put his st.u.r.dy shoulder beneath Vadim's arm and pulled him to his feet. "A short way, my son. A little further to the succor of G.o.d himself."

Their progress was slow, but steady, down the dirt pathway and back through the gates of the monastery. Vadim looked up and spied the chapel with its cross and welcoming light and cried out, falling once more to his knees. It was a desperate cry, full of pain and grief.

"What terrible fate has been visited on you, brother, that the sight of G.o.d's house reduces you to such a state." The monk eased Vadim once again to his feet, guiding him to the guest quarters where wayward travelers were cared for, supporting him as he fell to the small cot, then pulling back the rough woven blanket. "Rest," the monk said. "I've water and bandages. And some food when you've recovered enough." He bustled about the spa.r.s.e room, dashing outside to fetch water, then back to the bedside where he set about tending Vadim's many horrific wounds.

"It is a miracle you live, my son. G.o.d's miracle. Surely he has a special purpose in mind for you that he has saved you and sent you to us." Vadim's eyes fluttered open as the monk began bathing his face, his tongue lapping out almost without volition to taste the skin of the other man's arm. "What is your name, my son?" the monk continued talking. "What shall I call you?"

Vadim stared at the monk with eyes empty of everything but grief. "No matter," the monk a.s.sured him. "I shall call you Raphael. It means 'saved by G.o.d,' and surely you have been saved by Him for some great purpose. Do you like that name?" The monk dropped the b.l.o.o.d.y rag into the basin, then surveyed Vadim's clothes, what little was left of them. "I'm afraid your clothing is ruined, Raphael. But I shall fetch you one of the brothers' robes. We've none so tall as you, but it will be enough for now. We will make a proper robe for you before long." He patted his arm. "You wait here and do not fear. You are with us now, Raphael. You are safe. I will be back soon with food and clothing. You rest now."

Vadim stretched to his full height and gazed around the b.l.o.o.d.y hall. His savior had been the first to fall, but the others had succ.u.mbed readily enough. Holy men, learned men, living by the book, grown soft with their prayers and meditations, no match for the blood thirst of one freshly risen, especially one gifted with the size and strength of a Muscovite farmer.

He licked his lips, the hunger already beginning to gnaw at him anew. Would it never end? Would no amount of blood slake this thirst? He felt the pull of his mistress, far away and to the west, but turned from it easily enough. She was not calling him. If he survived, if he grew in strength, she might one day summon him to her side, and to her bed. But for now, he was alone. He spied the grisly corpse of the monk who'd found him and felt a momentary sadness. The man had tried to help him, and in the end had helped him in the only way he could. His blood had been rich and plentiful. Still, death seemed a poor recompense for his efforts. Vadim stared at the monk's body. Vadim? No, he thought. No more. Vadim Nestor had died with his family.

What was the name the monk had given him? Raphael. Saved by G.o.d. A small tribute to his rescuer then, a fitting gesture. He felt the sun over the horizon like a warm wind on his face and made his way downstairs to the wine cellar where it was cool and dark. As he fell into nothingness, he whispered his new name. Raphael.

Chapter Twelve.

"Sire?"

Raphael blinked at the sound of Duncan's voice, his eyes unfocused, lost in the past. He stood from the piano bench. It was uncomfortable, too short and narrow for his large frame. Pushing it away, he turned to face his lieutenant.

"Ms. Leighton is settled?"

"Yes, my lord. I have put her in the staff conference room beneath the garages and instructed the guards to answer her questions. They were reluctant, but will do as you bid."

"Of course. You should stay with her, Duncan. She is uneasy with us still, but she will learn."

"Master..." Duncan paused, but Raphael understood, smiling fondly at his loyal aide.

"Rest easy, Duncan. She serves our purposes for now."

"Of course, Sire, I would not-"

Raphael laughed. "You would, Duncan, which is why I value you. Come, there are few hours left in this night and much to do."

Chapter Thirteen.

Cynthia blinked owlishly as she came up the stairs from the bas.e.m.e.nt and opened the door to the narrow vestibule. After too many hours spent in the controlled and windowless cavern below Raphael's estate, even the wan light through the small hallway window seemed harsh and glaring. She had expected the vampire lord's house to have an extensive bas.e.m.e.nt, but it was so much more. An entire subterranean level, every bit as elegantly finished as the house itself, with a security and communications center rivaling CNN and London combined. She'd pa.s.sed multiple conference rooms, entertainment centers and, of course, kitchens sporting large refrigerators and little else. And there had been an entire wing locked behind a heavy, vault style door that she suspected guarded the private daytime sleeping quarters for the many vampires who lived on the estate.

Duncan had deposited her in a well-appointed conference room, offering her food and drink before setting her up with a list of relevant employees and their functions. She'd started with the vampires, interviewing everyone on Alexandra's security staff, those on duty the night of the abduction, and all the others as well. And not one of them had anything to tell her.

The vampires had little to say; they'd been dead to the world, quite literally. Having watched the surveillance video, she probably knew more about what transpired than they did. The only things coming through loud and clear were an absolute loyalty and obedience to Raphael, and a complete unwillingness to talk about anything beyond her immediate investigation. As it was, she'd had to prevail upon Duncan to get them to tell her their names, for G.o.d's sake. It was either that or list her interview subjects by description-male vampire, blond, blue eyes, scar on cheek; female vampire, brown/brown, stud in nose. And it went downhill from there.

Every one of them, male and female, made her feel like dinner on the hoof. Duncan had remained with her for the most part, keeping the vampires on their best behavior. A couple went so far as to sniff her and another, taking advantage of Duncan's momentary absence, actually bent to lick her neck, although it was more for effect than anything else ... she thought. Which reminded her ... she sniffed herself discreetly. She wanted a shower in the worst way.

She pushed open the single, reinforced door in front of her, not exactly sure where it led, other than outside. The morning was foggy, the sun's rising shaded by the building behind her. Still, what little sunlight there was felt wonderful on her face, if for no other reason than it a.s.sured her there were no more vampires lurking about. She looked around and discovered she'd come out very close to the garages ... and there was her Land Rover parked not twenty yards away. Feeling an almost giddy rush, she hurried around the hood, opened the driver's door and peeked inside. Not only were her keys in the ignition, but her Glock 17 rested on the pa.s.senger seat. The G.o.ds apparently smiled on foolish PI's who trafficked with vampires.

A soft scuffing sound alerted her and she spun around to find one of Raphael's human guards coming toward her from the main house. As he drew closer, he smiled.

"Ms. Leighton," he said, holding his hand out. "Steve Sipes, Head of Daylight Security for Lord Raphael."

Cyn shook hands, eyeing the computer discs he was holding. "That for me?"

"Yes, ma'am. From Duncan. He said to remind you it's not to be shared with the police, People magazine, or anyone else."

"Duncan needs to get a life," she said sourly as she accepted the discs. "I don't give my word lightly."

"Hey, those are his words not mine. I'm just the messenger."

Cyn glanced at her watch. She needed at least some sleep today if she was going to be any good to anybody. "Daylight Security, huh? So if I wanted to talk to the human guards from that day, you're the guy to talk to?"

"Everyone on duty that day was killed."

Cyn looked at him in surprise. "Everyone?" She'd seen the video, of course, but it never occurred to her no one else was around. Although, it made sense. Otherwise the gunfire would have drawn more of a response from the main house.

"Yes, ma'am," he said grimly. "We run a light shift during the day, especially when the master's out of town."

"What about ... I don't know workmen and stuff?"

"No one pa.s.ses the gate during daylight. Deliveries are scheduled at night, same for any work that needs doing."

"That's why your guards were arguing with the driver."

"Yes, ma'am. Those guards knew their job and paid for it with their lives. Everyone on the estate was put on alert as soon as the bodies were discovered, and we've been locked down since then."

"No reinforcements brought in?"

"Not necessary. We work three-day, twelve-hour shifts. There's at least two full rotations in residence on the estate at all times."

"I see." Cyn bit the inside of her lip thoughtfully. "Why kill everyone like that?" He seemed to understand she didn't expect an answer, and she said, "Tell me something." He nodded. "Why no redundancy on the security between the houses? It's a simple thing and it could've made a big difference that day."

"You're right and I argued for it from the beginning. But the lady..." He frowned. "She likes her privacy. Wouldn't even consider it was the word I got."

"What's the deal with her and Raphael, anyway?" Cyn asked casually. "If someone thinks she's important enough to use for blackmail, it would be helpful to know why."

Steve's face closed up immediately, his friendly expression disappearing. "This is a good job, Ms. Leighton. Pays well, treats everyone right. I plan to keep it for a long time. You want information, you should ask Duncan."

"Right, sorry. I didn't mean to pry. I do appreciate the help."

He nodded briskly. "You about ready to go?"

"More than ready," she agreed, suddenly wanting nothing more than a shower and the fresh sheets on her own bed.

"I'll call ahead to the gate."

"Thanks. See you around, I guess."

The look Steve gave her suggested he wasn't thrilled at the prospect, but he was as good as his word about calling the gate. The guards looked her over carefully, but permitted the heavy gate to roll open, pa.s.sing her through without incident. Before long, she was speeding down Pacific Coast Highway on the way to her own beachfront condo and hoping it was true vampires couldn't enter a home without being invited.