He dropped the dying woman, remembering at the last moment to ease her to the ground before stepping into the corridor, his nostrils flaring. He stalked through the halls with new purpose, intent on finding the source of this disturbance, this thing that called forth a long dead emotion he could not even name.
Rounding a corner, he saw the pack of prison guards, their honest uniforms a sad imitation of his own forgery, their bodies no cleaner than the prisoners they watched over. They'd found some pitiful sport with one of the women; he'd seen it before, these scabrous street villains taking pleasure in the soft folds of a woman only a few months ago they'd never have dared even to gaze upon. They had this one backed into a corner, gathering around her like a pack of wolves. Her laughter danced over their heads and he frowned. Why would she—
One of the r**ists made his move, the entire pack shifting as he made a grab for the unfortunate girl. Raphael heard a howl of pain, and the mood shifted as the guards drew back in fear, some of those closest to him, turning to run. There was blood. He could smell it, ripe and fresh. He pushed forward, the guards shrinking back from him, their faces dazed as if—
Impossible. Raphael pushed his way through the filthy pack, throwing men aside, heedless of their cries of pain, of fear. They were nothing to him. She, she was everything. She was ... Sasha.
She stared up at him, her thick hair matted and dirty, her body reeking of the sweat and blood of too many men. The black eyes so like his own gave him a lazy glance, then sharpened in recognition, filling with disdain and something very like hatred. Her gore-filled mouth opened in a harsh laugh, revealing slender fangs.
"Well, well,” she mocked. “Look who's come to party with us, gents. My own dear brother. Come finally to take what you lusted after all those years, Vadim?"
"Sasha!” he said, shocked as much by her words as her very existence.
"Sasha," she mimicked cruelly. “No longer, Vadim. Such childish names are long behind me.” She shoved away the human in her arms and strode up to him, her eyes filled with anger as they took in his fine clothes and clean hands. “You left! You abandoned me to—"
"What is this, Alexandra?"
Raphael turned toward the oily voice, his lips drawing back in a snarl as a new vampire strolled into sight, his clothing as shabby and dirty as any prisoner's, his mouth wet with blood. He grinned when he saw Raphael. “The pretty one!” he said with a bark of laughter. “Tell me, were you with our mistress when she died? I heard it was quite gruesome.” He shifted his gaze to Alexandra, calling her with a jerk of his head. She sidled closer to him, rubbing herself against his side with a whine of fear.
Raphael's lip curled in disgust. “Alexandra,” he said sharply.
She didn't even look at him. The vampire laughed. “She's not yours anymore, boy.” He pulled her against him, one hand groping her br**sts obscenely. “She's all mine.” His fingers wrapped in her hair, jerking her head back to meet his gaze. “Aren't you, sweetling?"
"Yes, Master,” she whimpered.
Raphael clenched his jaw against a rage that threatened to burn him alive. “Release her and live to see another night,” he growled, his voice a low rumble of sound.
The vampire sneered. “That's not how this works, youngling. Our mistress is dead and you—” He sniffed in Raphael's direction. “You are unclaimed ... and doing well, it seems. I think a family reunion is in order.” His face hardened. “But it will be my will that rules, boy. Not yours.” He pushed Alexandra aside, drawing himself up in obvious challenge. Raphael laughed and let his power flow unfettered, relishing the other vampire's look of shock ... and fear.
"I think not,” Raphael said softly.
Alexandra fought him, fought for the life of her Sire who threw her into fray in a desperate bid for his own escape, showing no concern for her safety. Raphael's power swept over the fleeing vampire, crushing him to the ground, draining the life from him. Alexandra screamed, pounding ineffectually on Raphael's broad back, her filthy nails reaching for his face until he finally subdued her, shielding her from her Sire's death, claiming her for his own as the dead vampire crumbled to dust. She staggered against the wall, then slumped to the ground. Her whimpers tore at his heart as he wrapped her abused body in his cloak. He picked her up in his arms and strode down the fetid corridors into the fresh night air, unseen, unchallenged, hurrying through the violence-torn city, no longer hearing the screams of the dying or the raucous laughter of the killers.
Guilt overwhelmed him as he passed down the dark streets. He had thought her dead all these years. Had his mistress known Alexandra lived? Had she kept that from him? It didn't matter. Nothing mattered but Alexandra. She was with him again, and he would save her this time. He would save her for all eternity.
Chapter Twenty-two
Cynthia dragged her ass out of the Land Rover, wondering if she had the energy to make it up the stairs to her third floor bedroom. The guest bedroom on the second floor had a perfectly comfortable bed. For that matter, the couch in the beach room was looking pretty damn comfortable too. She slid her key card through the reader and pushed open the heavy door, letting it go as she stumbled through.
An unexpected thump sounded from upstairs and she looked up sharply, her hand going out to catch the door before it could slam shut and announce her arrival. “Oh, give me a break,” she muttered.
She lowered her backpack to the floor and slipped out of her leather jacket, then pulled the Glock from its shoulder holster and started up the stairs. Forcing herself to move slowly, she hugged the wall, keeping her sight focused upward, spinning around quickly at the short landing to clear her exposure to the next level. She could hear voices, on the top floor, she thought. Her office. Damn. Moving faster now, she peeked over the ledge as her eyes came even with the second level, then hurried up the last few stairs.
There were no lights on, but there was definitely someone up there. They were making no attempt to conceal their presence, and clearly hadn't heard her return. As Cyn eased through the kitchen, she saw a key card lying on the island countertop. Great. Not just burglars, but incompetent burglars. She was too f**king tired to deal with this shit. She paused at the last flight of stairs, listening. Whatever they were after, they weren't moving around much, not tossing her drawers or anything. In fact, they weren't moving at all. Frowning, she leaned against the wall and slipped out of her heavy boots and socks, then eased her way upward.
"Jesus, Billy, what's taking so long? She'll be home soon. Her vampire boyfriend's gotta be in his coffin by now."
"I told you, they don't sleep in coffins, you idiot. That's stupid movie crap. They sleep in beds like everyone else."
"Don't call me an idiot! Who got us this far?"
"Okay, okay. I'm sorry. Look, be quiet a minute, would you? I need to concentrate here. Are you sure the tape's in there? She doesn't like, lock it up or something?"
"This is locked up, dummy. And it's not a tape, it's a computer file. Christ, why am I messing with you anyway?"
"'Cuz I'm the one whose cousin works for Fox, baby. They'll pay us a bundle for this little home movie."
"Yes,” Cynthia drawled. “And it'll buy you the very nicest funeral after the vampires twist your heads off. But, hey, your parents will be so proud."