He came to a stop in front of the wide desk. “Lord Raphael,” he said, tipping just slightly into a bow from the waist in recognition of Raphael’s position as Lord of the West . . . and a scary, fucking vampire lord.
“Christian Duvall,” Raphael acknowledged, the silver gleam of his eyes hinting at his power. “My mate, Cynthia Leighton,” he said, touching the woman’s leg briefly.
“My lady,” Christian said politely, despite the hostility radiating from her every pore.
No one introduced the two other vampires standing to Raphael’s right, but Christian had done his research before coming here, and didn’t need an introduction. The black vampire was Jared Lincoln, Raphael’s lieutenant. And standing next to him was Juro, who was Raphael’s longtime security chief. He was also an identical copy to the huge vampire who’d admitted Christian to the room, and who now stood guarding the door—or blocking it, depending on one’s perspective.
“Gentlemen,” Christian said, ignoring the fact that they were both eyeing him with only slightly less hostility than Leighton was.
“Are you here about Mathilde, Christian?” Raphael asked, getting right to the point. “She was your Sire, I believe.”
“She was, my lord. But as you know, she was not universally beloved among her people.”
“Why would I know that?”
Christian regarded him for a moment. “You spent time in her court. It was long before I was turned, but Mathilde spoke of you often.”
“In nothing but the most glowing terms, I’m sure,” Raphael said dryly.
Christian permitted himself a small smile. “Not exactly, my lord. Your rejection of her advances were, in part, what drove her to undertake such a reckless invasion.”
“You were privy to her plans?”
He nodded. “She wanted me to anchor the power circle which was intended to imprison you. I declined.”
“Why?” Cynthia Leighton demanded. “Were you afraid she’d lose?”
Christian switched his attention to her. “The probability of Mathilde’s victory, or lack of it, had no bearing on my decision. Although I did warn her that her plan was likely to fail.”
“But you didn’t bother to warn anyone else,” she said bitterly.
He regarded her quizzically. “It is not the vampire way, my lady. We live by a single rule . . . you keep what you win. And winning means challenging your opponent and besting him. I did not endorse Mathilde’s decision to resort to trickery against Lord Raphael, but she was my Sire. My duty was to maintain her confidence, whether or not I approved of her plans. On the other hand, I owed no allegiance to Lord Raphael. It was his burden to survive Mathilde’s plot, no matter how underhanded or ill-conceived.”
He nodded in Raphael’s direction. “Your mate understands, my lady, even if you do not.”
His words didn’t have the hoped-for effect on the woman. If anything, she seemed even angrier than before. He saw Raphael’s hand stroke the back of her thigh in a move both possessive and soothing. Although the gesture didn’t seem to cool her anger any more than Christian’s explanation had. She was every bit as fierce as the rumors had painted her.
“So, then, why are you here?” Raphael asked.
“As I said, my lord, I did not agree with Mathilde’s strategy. I urged her to reconsider, but she was blinded by her hatred for you.”
Raphael gave him a look that said, Get to the point!
“As you know, Anthony intends to abdicate in favor of whoever wins a territorial challenge. I wish to compete, and I want your permission to do so.”
Raphael tilted his head, staring at him from beneath lowered brows. “You don’t need my permission. I don’t rule the South.”
“Not in name, my lord. And I mean no disrespect to you or to Anthony, but everyone knows it is your power that holds the South together.”
He braced himself for an angry response, but Raphael seemed mildly amused instead. “Assuming that’s true . . . why would I grant this blessing you seek? What do I gain? You are, after all, the child of my enemy. My very dead enemy.”
“I want only to compete fairly, my lord, as vampires have done for centuries.” He deliberately met Raphael’s hard, glittering gaze. “As for what you gain . . . when I win, you will gain a powerful ally in the war which we all know is coming. Mathilde is dead. But Hubert is not, nor Berkhard. And there are others.”
Raphael’s gaze sharpened shrewdly. “And being such a staunch ally, you will, of course, want to share everything you know of their plans.”
Christian was silent for a moment. He’d intended to share what he knew, but not until after he was Lord of the South, when they’d become allies in fact. If he told Raphael everything he knew right now, the Western Lord could simply decide to kill him before he could leave tonight. Telling him would be an act of trust, something not easy to come by in the world of powerful vampires.
“Trust is not a common currency in our world,” Christian said.