“What is your business?” she asked. Raphael had seen her do this before, using routine questions to relax the subject.
“I’m an accountant, a CPA. I do taxes mostly.”
“How well did you know Marco? Or Preston?” Cyn asked, naming the two dead vampires.
Jeremy shook his head. “I knew them, naturally. We’d met a handful of times, I suppose, here at the compound. I didn’t do their taxes or anything, if that’s what you’re asking. They did their own. Computer geeks, you know,” he gave a half smile. “They’ve got a program for everything.” His smile fled. “Or they did.”
“Okay.” Cyn was still sitting next to him, close enough that Raphael felt her draw a fortifying breath before continuing. She was no more eager to hear the details of this outrage than Jeremy was to tell them, but she would do what needed to be done. He rested his hand lightly against her back, offering his support.
“I need you to tell me what happened during the attack, Jeremy. I’m going to ask that you leave nothing out, no matter how ugly, no matter how painful. I’ll try not to interrupt you with questions; I’ll save those for later. Just take your time.”
Jeremy glanced from Cyn to Raphael and back, then nodded and began talking.
By the time the story had been told in full, with Jeremy’s voice breaking over and over again as he was forced to remember his mate’s agony, the anger of Raphael’s vampires was a sharp, bitter tide of emotion in the room. He scanned them slowly, sharing their outrage, but mindful, too, of the potential for disaster. Their anger would be useful once they began hunting their prey, but that would not happen tonight. He was aware of Duncan standing next to him, hyperalert and as watchful as Raphael himself. From across the room, Juro met his gaze silently, shifting slightly to block the closed doors.
And sitting beside him, tears overflowing her eyes as she listened to the story, her hands fisted in a frustrated anger of her own, was his Cyn.
“I’d recognize their voices,” Jeremy was saying, his voice all but a whisper now. “But I didn’t see any of their faces. They kept those black ski masks on the whole time. And when I woke at last, they were gone. When I saw her . . . I was nearly mad with grief. The only thing keeping me sane was the need to get help for her. I knew she was alive, barely, but alive. Colin was trying to help when I—”
Cyn straightened abruptly. “Colin?” she repeated. “Who’s Colin?”
Jeremy blinked. “He’s, I guess—”
“Colin Murphy,” Loren provided. “He’s sort of the police in Cooper’s Rest.”
Cyn scowled. “Sort of? How can someone be sort of the police? I thought you guys were under the County Sheriff’s jurisdiction.”
“We are,” the security chief agreed reluctantly. “But we’re a long way from the nearest Sheriff’s station. They’re not eager to drive all the way out here, and frankly, we’re not that eager to call them. And it’s not just us either,” he added, indicating his fellow vampires. “The human locals here about tend to be loners for the most part. There’s probably more than a few survivalists among them, although not all will admit to it.
“Colin Murphy’s a former Navy SEAL. He did more than ten years before he decided to get out while he still had a few bones intact. The stories he tells . . .” Loren shook his head admiringly, before looking around and cleaning his throat. “That is, he’s a skillful guy. Knows weapons, martial arts, tactics, and a bunch of other stuff I’m sure he can’t talk about. He came here with a buddy when he got out, a guy named Garry McWaters. McWaters grew up here, but he didn’t stay long. His family were all dead or moved away, and he couldn’t take the weather anymore.
“But for some reason, Colin stuck. He’s a good guy. Takes care of nuisance calls, checks on the old ladies, hustles the drunks out of town, that sort of thing. If someone suspected something bad was going on over at Jeremy’s that day, Colin would be the one they’d call.”
Cyn returned her attention to Jeremy. “So this Colin was there when you woke up?”
Jeremy nodded. “I think he was calling an ambulance or something. He had his phone out, and I knew even then that he was trying to help, but . . . I kind of went off on him anyway.” He looked away uncomfortably, still young enough to be embarrassed by what he saw as a loss of control.
“Your mate was under attack,” Raphael reassured him. “You lay there for hours, knowing what was happening, and unable to come to her aid. And then you woke to find a human with his hands on her.” He shook his head slightly. “This Colin Murphy is lucky to be alive. I don’t know if I could have shown such restraint.”
Jeremy flushed with pleasure at Raphael’s praise, then drew a breath and continued more strongly. “Colin backed away as soon as he saw me. I picked up Mariane and brought her here.”
“I should talk to him,” Cyn said, turning to Raphael. It was more of a statement than a suggestion, but Raphael hesitated. “I need to know what he found when he got there, Raphael,” she added in a low, urgent voice. “It’s possible he arrived soon after the attackers left. He might have seen something more, something Jeremy didn’t notice because he was so focused on Mariane. Besides, if he’s the law in town, it might be useful to have him on board with our investigation. If nothing else, he knows the people and that gives our own hunt the imprimatur of the local authorities, such as they are.”
Loren was watching Raphael, waiting for his decision.
“Arrange a meeting for tomorrow night,” Raphael told him.
“I’ll see to it,” Loren said immediately.
Raphael stood and everyone stood with him. “Thank you, Jeremy. I know this was painful. Return to your mate, now. She needs you.”
Jeremy bowed briefly. “Thank you, Sire.” The vampire was visibly exhausted. Even with Raphael’s assistance, the depletion of Jeremy’s strength would be severe, his mate’s need a constant drain. He paused for a few seconds, long enough to steady himself before walking slowly out of the room.
Raphael raked his gaze over the remaining vampires. “An outrage has been perpetrated on us, and it will not stand. No one . . . no one touches what is mine and lives. Prepare yourselves, gentlemen. Tomorrow, we hunt.”
Chapter Six
Vancouver, British Columbia
True to Larissa’s word, the cottage was already warm by the time Sophia made her way through the garden. Given the size of Lucien’s manse, she was certain there were plenty of guest rooms in its basement. But she preferred the privacy of these old cottages, and this one in particular. Although spacious enough for comfort, it was nonetheless the smallest of the three guest houses and the farthest from the main building. But it was also the most secure. Like all the others, the windows were for show only, completely blocked by sealed metal shutters inside. That alone made it safe enough for most vampires. But this particular cottage also had a basement level, accessed through a hidden door beneath the floor of the generous closet. Decades ago, Lucien had shown it to her, the last time she’d visited him here in Vancouver.
Sophia opened her suitcase and began hanging up the few clothes she’d brought with her, delaying the inevitable moment when she’d have to open Lucien’s envelope. She held up a wrinkled silk blouse, wondered if it was worth getting the thing cleaned and pressed, when there was a knock on the cottage door. She listened carefully first, then reached out with her vampiric senses. It was a human male, probably one of the servants with her blood.
She dropped the blouse and crossed the room, verifying before opening the door that no one but the single human waited on the other side. The cottage’s low light cast a yellow square of illumination on the man who stood on the narrow porch step. He was taller than she was—most men were anymore—although this one was not by much. She judged him to be in his late twenties, pretty, slender and boyish in the way she liked her men to be these days. His dark good looks and soft brown eyes reminded her of the lovely young men so common to the cafes and clubs she frequented in Rio de Janeiro. She eyed him appreciatively, up and down, frowning when she saw that his hands were empty. Maybe this wasn’t her blood delivery, after all.
“Mistress,” he whispered, those big eyes lingering briefly on her face before dropping submissively.
Sophia barely managed to hide her grimace of distaste. She’d forgotten Lucien’s penchant for blood slaves, which meant he rarely had bagged blood on hand. Not that his slaves weren’t willing donors—Lucien didn’t keep any other kind. And it wasn’t that she objected to taking blood from the vein. Quite the contrary. All of her young men in Rio were very much aware of what she was and more than willing to spend a night, or longer, with her. It was a rare thing that she resorted to bagged blood anymore.
But none of her lovers were blood slaves, either, those men and women who existed solely to be used by their vampire masters, humans who hungered for the sexual release that such use provided. It was an addiction every bit as powerful as the drugs sold in dark alleys all over the world. And like any addiction, it could be used as a weapon against the addict, forcing them to perform unspeakable acts, to endure horrific treatment that too frequently crossed the line into torture.
Lucien’s slaves were all well cared for, however. She gave him that much. Abuse was never tolerated, not in this house. Even so, his slaves were so . . . pathetically eager. With an emphasis on the pathetic.
She sighed. It was too late to arrange for something less personal, so it was either this lovely young man or she’d have to wait until tomorrow night. She suspected tomorrow would be even worse than today because the one thing she knew, there would be nothing good in that elegant envelope of Lucien’s.
She stepped back. “Come in, gato.”
The slave was certainly skilled. Sophia wondered if Lucien had perhaps trained this one himself. Her Sire was quite the hedonist when it came to his lovers, choosing men and women equally. And always the pretty ones.