Lord Jabril's large eyes raked her from head to toe. It was more, and somehow less, than the lusting appraisal she usually got from men. As if he wanted her, but not as a woman. Or not only as a woman. She assessed him silently, waiting for him to make the next move. Typical, she thought. There he sat, the vampire lord on his make-believe throne, a prince and his courtiers. Raphael might be a treacherous pig, but he never styled himself a prince, at least not that she'd ever seen.
She grew irritated as the minutes dragged on, feeling more and more like a specimen in a zoo, but past experience with vampires and their games kept the irritation from showing on her face. Did this jerk think she would wilt under the weight of his regard? Not likely. She pasted a look of mild curiosity on her face and waited him out.
He gave her a full smile of genuine delight. “My associate, Asim,” he said, gesturing. “I believe you spoke with him on the phone."
Cyn looked. Asim was altogether unremarkable, tall and skinny, with a sunken chest, dark hair worn a little too long, and the sallow skin of someone whose swarthy complexion no longer saw the sun. He gave her body a sweeping look from narrow, brown eyes, not even pretending courtesy, his gaze finally coming to rest on her face. Lovely man. Cyn was so very glad she'd come all the way to Texas to work for these guys.
Jabril stood and took the single step down off the dais, which left him standing too close to Cyn. She held her place, just barely. He was shorter than she, especially with her high-heeled boots, but that did nothing to mitigate the sheer force of his personality. She should have been prepared for it, having dealt with Raphael. Jabril Karim was a Vampire Lord. Hundreds, possibly thousands, of vampires, each powerful in his or her own right, owed their very lives to this man. He was dangerous and deadly, and Cyn would do well to remember that if she hoped to get back to California with her body and mind intact.
"Perhaps we should take our discussion into my office,” Jabril said, his gaze never having left Cynthia's face.
She inclined her head in agreement and he turned immediately. Asim ignored her to trail after his master and the half-naked bodyguard, but Cyn was so distracted by the dance of Jabril's progress across the room that she forgot to follow. The entire room sprang into motion at once, with every one of Jabril's vampires swaying into his path and away, balancing their desire to be acknowledged against the fear of impeding his movement. Asim turned abruptly to spear a sharp look in her direction, indicating with an imperious jerk of his head that she should come along. Cyn bit back a laugh, enjoying the irritation on his face as she strolled slowly toward him.
As she neared the door, she passed the young woman, the single oddity in this room full of men. This close, the girl didn't look much over twenty—no matter that her youthful body was hidden beneath those bulky clothes. Of course, it was hard to tell with vampires, but something about this one said “young” to Cynthia. Human years young, and female. Definitely out of place here.
"Mirabelle.” Jabril Karim's voice broke into Cyn's thoughts. The girl jumped, her eyes going wide with fear. “Come,” he ordered.
Cyn frowned as the girl followed automatically, leaning forward like a dog on a leash. A dog who was afraid of being beaten if she disobeyed.
Jabril led them all into a small office. Asim entered last, closing the door on the eunuch bodyguard who remained outside in the great room, presumably guarding his master's privacy. The inside of the office was filled with tidy and somewhat effeminate furniture—a lovely Chippendale desk that looked almost too fragile to hold the weight of the ornate lamp on its corner, a few glassed-in bookshelves, and two brocade upholstered chairs with spindly legs that sat before the desk. A beautiful, and no doubt priceless, rug covered most of the floor, its colors vibrant in spite of their subdued shades of maroon and blue. Jabril circled the desk and sat, indicating with a graceful hand that Cyn should take one of the two chairs. Asim didn't sit, but stood behind the desk next to his master.
Cyn glanced at the girl, Mirabelle, expecting her to take the other chair, but she remained standing in the back of the room, huddled close to a second set of doors as though ready to bolt at the slightest opportunity.
"I trust your flight was uneventful?” Jabril Karim said to Cyn. He had a melodic voice, measured and even. She didn't know why it surprised her; he wasn't a bad looking man, his features stamped with the harsh lines of his desert ancestors, with lips as full as a young woman's and eyes that were a tad too prominent. But Cyn realized in that moment that she didn't like this vampire lord very much and wondered what had turned her against him. There was the faux throne room, of course, but she found that mostly amusing and not really much of a surprise. He was probably more than a few hundred years old and from a time when princes had real power. And though he might be insufferably arrogant, the truth was that as a vampire lord his power was also very real, and so a certain amount of arrogance was almost expected.
No, she decided, it was the girl that had made her take an instant dislike to Jabril Karim. The young woman was treated like an ill-favored pet and made to dress as if her femininity was something shameful to be hidden. Cyn didn't care how old the vampire lord was or where he came from. That kid was young and scared, and those big, blue eyes had been born in America, or Cyn would eat her boots.
She realized Jabril was waiting for a response and leaned forward slightly, crossing her legs in a deliberately seductive move. “The flight was what one expects these days,” she dismissed. “You mentioned a matter of some delicacy, my lord?” Jabril's eyes flicked from her crossed legs to her face, where he held her gaze for a heartbeat before saying coolly, “Indeed. A very troubling matter, but one that requires a certain ... discretion, I'm afraid. A young girl in my care has gone missing—"
"A girl?” Cyn's surprise was evident. A missing girl was the last thing she would have expected from this assignment.
Jabril's cool cracked a little at the interruption, but he continued smoothly. “Elizabeth Hawthorn. Her parents were dear friends of mine, and when they died I thought the least I could do was care for their children in familiar surroundings. It's so important for children to have some ... constancy in their lives, wouldn't you say? I was pleased to find the courts agreed with me."
Cyn privately found it appalling that any judge would turn a child over to this bloodsucker and wondered what the going price was these days for a child's life. “Might I ask how old the missing girl is?"
"Seventeen,” Jabril answered with an obviously calculated sigh. “And troublesome as all children are at that age, I'm afraid—the small rebellions of childhood."
Good God! A seventeen year old girl living with this bunch. No wonder she ran away. “How long has she been missing?"
"A week, at least. You understand, Ms. Leighton, it has been difficult for her, living here.” He gestured around him with another deep sigh. “We are Vampire. She, of course, is not, being too young yet to make such a commitment, although I have hopes she will choose to join us."
He stood then and walked around the desk. Cyn rose automatically, stepping back to avoid touching him, but it was almost as if he pursued her intentionally, coming close enough to run his fingers down her arm to trail over the skin of her hand.
There was an odd feeling as he moved away and his fingers left hers. A spider web kind of feeling, as though he'd left something clinging to her skin. She fought an instinctive shudder, but he seemed not to notice, his attention already fixed on the silent young woman in the back of the room. She cringed as the vampire lord wrapped an arm around her shoulders. It was a practiced and yet awkward gesture, made more so by the difference in their heights—something Cyn hadn't noticed before now because the girl's submissive posture made her seem so much smaller than she really was. Cyn watched uncomfortably as Jabril all but dragged the terrified girl forward.
"Mirabelle chose to stay with us, didn't you, my treasure?” The threat was so thinly veiled Cyn couldn't imagine he thought anyone was fooled by the fond words. The girl gave a jerky nod, her gaze fixed firmly on the floor.
"Ms. Leighton can't hear you if you don't speak, darling girl."
"Yes!” she squeaked quickly. “I mean, yes, my lord. I wanted to stay."
He beamed like a proud parent. “My darling Mirabelle is shy, Ms. Leighton. She is our youngest and I'm afraid we indulge her. Children are so rare among us."
And thank the gods for that. “How long have you been living here, Mirabelle?” The girl's head came up, her eyes meeting Cyn's directly for the first time. In that brief moment, Cyn saw the rage burning behind the fear, quickly shuttered to show nothing at all.
"I was born here, ma'am,” Mirabelle said softly. “This was my home before—” She swallowed hard. “After the accident, my master was kind enough to move his household here so Elizabeth and I—"
"Nonsense,” Jabril interrupted. “How could I do anything less, child? Such a terrible loss for one so young. But we do what we can—"