"Release her."
The man tightened his grip. “Come closer and she dies."
Raphael's mouth widened in a terrifying smile. “You think to bargain with me?” His eyes shifted to take in the blood oozing down Cyn's arm and running freely from the gash on her forehead. “Cyn?” There was a tenderness in his voice when he said her name. She licked swollen lips, tasting her own blood, and nodded to him.
Raphael's gaze returned to Kolinsky. “You are not dead yet, human. But you will soon wish you were."
He was not even a blur of movement. One moment, she was gripped against Kolinsky's burly chest, the gun hard in her back, and the next she was being smothered by Raphael's big body, his broad shoulders shielding her completely as he backed her against the wall. Kolinsky lay on the floor whimpering piteously, one arm gushing blood as shredded sinew strained to hold it to his shoulder. An animal-like whine escaped his lips as he raised himself on his one good arm and crawled away, scrabbling at the floor in desperation.
Raphael pressed against her suddenly, his low growl drawing her eyes away from the terrified man crawling out the door to the furious, and fully aroused, vampire holding her in place. He lowered his head to lick her face, and she heard him hiss with pleasure at the taste of her blood. Her heart was pounding with excitement, the adrenaline rush of the fight still coursing through her system. Raphael's mouth found hers and she reacted without thinking, twisting her hands in his short hair, crushing her lips against his. She wanted this, wanted him. She registered the slamming of a door, and somewhere in her head, her brain was telling her to stop, but her body refused to listen. Desire flooded her senses, overwhelming thought.
Raphael felt the surge of Cyn's hunger as if it was his own. His erection throbbed against her as she shifted, cupping its hard length in the burning triangle between her thighs. His fangs nicked her tongue and he groaned as her warm blood flowed between their lips.
"Sweet Cyn,” he murmured, sliding his hand beneath her sweater to tear her bra aside impatiently, then cupping the heavy weight of a bare breast, rubbing the nipple to hardness and beyond until the pain made her cry out with need. Unable to restrain himself, he snarled as he ripped her jeans open like the flimsiest silk and shoved his hand between her legs to find her slick and hot and ready for him. While his mouth continued to taste every inch of her face, her mouth, her neck, he yanked his own zipper open and stroked his hard shaft against the na**d skin of her belly. He lifted her to meet him, her legs opening to wrap around his waist.
Cyn's eyes seemed to clear with the sudden realization of what was about to happen, but he didn't give her the chance to protest. He raised her with both hands, crushing her against the wall. “Mine,” he growled and buried his entire hard length inside her with a single powerful thrust, swallowing her scream.
He groaned with pleasure at the feel of her. She was wet, so wet and so hot he thought she'd burn his flesh. Her tight walls gripped him, squeezing as he forced his way deeper yet. Her cries of surprise turned to moans of need, and he felt her begin to ripple around him as the first orgasm took her, arching her back, pulsing along his cock, hard within her. Wave after wave followed as she screamed into his mouth, until the spasms faded into shudders. Her eyes opened, blurry with desire, until a fire lit and they burned with a passion that equaled his own. Long legs wrapped more tightly around his waist, pulling him against her, holding him captive. The wall behind them quaked with the force of his pounding, and still she demanded more, her blunt human teeth biting his shoulder where it was bared by his wounds, sending tremors of incredible ecstasy shuddering through his body, tightening his c*ck to an unbearable hardness as her warm tongue licked the blood from his skin. He felt his own release building and lifted her higher, ramming himself into her until she climbed to a second cl**ax, her sheath caressing him, seducing him, surrounding him with a volcanic heat until he roared in orgasm and filled her with a wet heat of his own.
"More,” she whispered hoarsely and began moving against him once again, rousing him to meet her demand.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Cynthia woke slowly, jarred from an almost drugged sleep by pain. She rolled over and gasped, swallowing a groan as every muscle complained. What the hell? She opened her eyes, blinking at the unfamiliar surroundings. And then she remembered. The warehouse. Kolinsky. Oh my God, Raphael! She rolled over in a panic, thankful to discover she was alone. She closed her eyes in a different kind of pain, and tears found their way down her cheeks. You are such a fool, Cyn.
She groped to the side of the bed and stood. Spying a bathroom across the room, she made her way over to it, turned on the light and stepped in front of the mirror, almost afraid of what she'd see. The gash on her forehead where Kolinsky had hit her was closed, scabbed over in a neat line above her right eyebrow and surrounded by bruises that were already beginning to yellow with age. Twisting to one side, she frowned at the grazing bullet wound on her arm from early in the fight. A stab of pain answered her probing, but nothing more than an angry red scar marred her pale flesh. She wrapped her arms around herself uneasily. Had she been out that long? Long enough for wounds to heal or ... She flashed back to the small office in the warehouse, Raphael's eyes gleaming as he licked her wounds, her own mouth filling with...
She spun around and dropped to the toilet, vomiting uncontrollably, gagging in horror when she saw the black of regurgitated blood, like coffee crystals floating in the artificially blue water. Had she actually drunk some of Raphael's blood? And what did that mean? She only knew rumors about how vampires were changed, reborn, whatever the hell they called it. Was she a vampire now? Gripping the sink for support, she pulled herself to her feet and staggered back to the elegant bedroom. Heavy drapes covered the window, but she could see a line of light around the edges and hear the steady hiss of the waves. She walked slowly over to the glass and, cursing herself for an idiot, hesitantly slipped the fingers of one hand into the hot sunlight. Nothing. Okay. So she wasn't a vampire.
She yanked the drapes fully open. The sun was dropping fast. Which meant she had to get out of here now.
A frantic search of the bedroom turned up the remnants of her clothing. She tugged them on, snarling in frustration to find the zipper on her jeans torn beyond recovery. Her sweater was more or less intact, enough for modesty anyway, but it wasn't long enough to cover the gap at her waist. She opened the closet and found Raphael's long, leather coat hanging there, dark and stiff with blood and ... other things. A vague memory surfaced of the big vampire wrapping her in its warm depths before carrying her out to the cars where Duncan waited. Duncan and the other vampires. Waiting while she and Raphael had sex, for God's sake, in the middle of a fire fight. What the hell was wrong with her?
Her face hot with belated embarrassment, she dragged the heavy coat from its hanger and pulled it on. It would have to do for now. Her boots sat next to the bed, splattered with blood like everything else, but undamaged. It felt good to tug them on her feet, to have something solid, something of her own. A quick glance around the room sent her rushing over to a table near the door where her weapons lay waiting for her. Both had been cleaned and reloaded, one tucked into her shoulder rig. She took off the coat long enough to don the holster, then drew it back on quickly, sliding the other weapon into a pocket. That was it. No keys. Where was her car?
She stood next to the door, listening, but heard no sound from the other side. She twisted the knob slowly, then pulled the door open and peered into the hallway. No one. Orienting herself by the view from the window, she figured she was on the second floor, not far from Raphael's office. Probably where he stashed his blood donor du jour for easy access, she thought nastily. Reaching the first floor, she hesitated, edging down the hall and into the spacious entry.
There were guards here. Human guards. Looking past them, she could see her car parked outside, exactly the same spot as last time. So maybe the keys were in it again? Was she a prisoner? If she simply walked out like she knew where she was going, would they try to stop her?
Cyn straightened, tugging the heavy coat closed, and slipping her right hand into her pocket, feeling her spare Glock's reassuring weight. With a confident nod and a smile for the surprised guards, she strolled toward the glass doors and was out the door and into her car before they'd really registered her presence. The keys sat in the ignition; she twisted them quickly, and the Land Rover responded with its usual heavy rumble. The pressure rolled off her chest as she drove away from the house, then tightened again as she thought about the guards at the gate. Maybe that's why the house guards hadn't bothered to stop her. There was no need.
She slowed down as the guard stepped out of the gatehouse and approached the side of her car. “Ms. Leighton, I didn't know you'd be leaving."
"Going home to change clothes.” She wrinkled her face meaningfully. “You know how that is."
The guard looked uncomfortable, but nodded. “I guess I do, but I don't—"
"I'm not a prisoner, am I?” she asked, feigning confusion.
"Of course not, but—"
"Well, then, I want to go home and change clothes. It's only five minutes from here."
"Uh, okay. I guess. You'll be coming back?"
"Of course.” Eventually. Someday.
The guard frowned, but signaled his buddy and the gate rolled open. In only minutes, Cyn was breezing down the highway toward her own place.