The vampire lord stood, bringing Mirabelle with him. He spoke to her again, and she nodded, giving him a shy smile which she then transferred to Cyn.
Cynthia walked over, careful to keep Mirabelle between her and Raphael. “Come on, Mirabelle, sunrise can't be far away. Let me show you your room, and you can get changed into something comfortable. You don't want to sleep the whole day in those clothes."
Without looking back, she shepherded the young vampire into the hallway beyond the kitchen and from there into the larger of the two guest bedrooms. It was a pleasant, albeit impersonal, room since Cyn rarely had guests to speak of. At one time her half-sister Holly had been a regular, if self-invited, visitor. But the last time Holly had come to stay, she'd tried to break into Cyn's private study to steal photographs and videos of Cyn's vampire clients. Holly figured the purloined items would be worth a lot of money to the various tabloids, both print and television. She was right.
Fortunately, Cyn had caught her before she and her incompetent burglar boyfriend had managed to get through the locked door. Which had probably saved their lives. Vampires didn't take you to court if you violated their privacy. Their solutions tended to be more permanent.
Of course, Holly didn't see it quite that way. Not that Cyn cared. Holly was no longer welcome under any circumstances.
Cyn walked over to the closet where some of her sister's clothes still hung. One thing she had to say about Holly; the woman had excellent taste. “Let's see what we have here,” she said mostly to herself. She shuffled through the clothes and came up with a predictably lovely and expensive silk nightgown that looked as if it had never been worn. “How about this for tonight? Tomorrow we can go shopping and pick up some things of your own."
She turned around, holding the nightgown, but Mirabelle was by the window, pulling the drapes back and forth, checking their coverage. Cyn threw the nightgown onto the queen bed and walked over. Reaching past the girl, she stretched up and pulled down the blackout shade. “There, you see,” she said reassuringly. “The shade covers the whole window, but to be absolutely sure, we can pull the drapes across as well.” She suited action to words. “Believe me, Mirabelle, nothing gets through. This room is pitch-black in the daytime."
"He's nice,” Mirabelle said abruptly.
Cyn frowned. “Who?"
"Lord Raphael. You said he'd be nice and he is."
"I don't think I ever used the word ‘nice’ to refer to Raphael,” Cyn responded sourly.
Mirabelle blushed. “No, not exactly. But he is,” she insisted. “Are you guys—"
"No!” Cyn said quickly. “Well, not anymore,” she amended. “He may be nice, but he's also an a**hole. Never forget that, Mirabelle. Men can be all nice and sweet when they want to, but underneath they're still a bunch of a**holes."
Mirabelle stared at her with that carefulness one uses with the utterly mad.
"Never mind. You don't need to worry about that. Yeah, Raphael's a decent guy when he wants to be, and he will protect you. Let's leave it at that. Now. There's a bathroom right here.” She walked over and pushed open the door, sticking her head inside to make sure there were towels and everything else a person might need for a night ... or a day. “The bed's comfortable...” Her voice trailed off as she saw Mirabelle again looking around anxiously. “Listen, Mirabelle, that closet is plenty big enough. If you'll feel better, we can—"
"No,” Mirabelle said quickly. “No. I'm done sleeping in closets.” She drew a deep breath and pulled her shoulders back. “I'll be fine. This is wonderful, Cynthia. Thank you."
Cyn smiled, relieved to see the girl recovering her backbone. Not a girl, Cyn. She's not that much younger than you are, no matter how she looks. “All right. I'll leave you to it. If you need anything, I'll be right outside, or upstairs. My bedroom's one floor up, but if you call out I'll hear you, okay? And I promise I'll be here all day. I'm totally wiped; you'll probably wake up before I do."
"Okay. Thanks."
"No problem. Sleep tight.” It was indicative of how weird her life had become that Cyn didn't even think it was odd to say those words to a vampire going down for the day.
Chapter Twenty-three
Cyn thought Raphael was already gone when she walked back into the dimly-lit kitchen. She was both relieved and oddly disappointed. But then she saw him standing near the windows, his back to the room as he stared out at the ocean. He blended perfectly into the shadows, and she was reminded again of how powerful he was, that he could draw the darkness around himself like a cloak against normal human eyes.
"Why did you call Duncan?” he asked.
Cyn blinked, surprised out of her contemplation of his masculine perfection. “What?” she asked, confused.
He spun with an uncanny grace that made every movement seem like a dance. “Why Duncan? Did you think I wouldn't help her?"
"No,” she protested. “No, I knew you would; that's why I brought her here."
"Then why call Duncan?"
She didn't want to answer that question. She didn't want to admit how much it hurt to talk to him, to see him standing there studying her with eyes as silver as the low moon on the ocean outside. “It's getting late, isn't it?” she said. “Don't you need to be back at the estate?"
He smiled, amused at her clumsy change of subject. He crossed the room, coming close enough that she could smell the light, spicy scent of his aftershave, could see the slight press of his fangs against lips that she knew for a fact were amazingly soft. “Worried about me, my Cyn?” he murmured.
She closed her eyes briefly against the urge to close those last few inches and bury herself in his arms. “I'm not yours,” she whispered desperately. “I'm not anyone's."
Raphael reached out to tangle his fingers in a lock of her hair and tug her closer. His nostrils flared as he drew a breath. “He touched you."