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 God'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 sparse 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. God'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 assured him. “I shall call you Raphael. It means ‘saved by God,’ and surely you have been saved by Him for some great purpose. Do you like that name?” The monk dropped the bloody 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 bloody hall. His savior had been the first to fall, but the others had succumbed 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 God. 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 basement 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 basement, 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 passed 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 God'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 assured 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 passenger seat. The gods 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 passes 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?"