The third time someone tripped over her feet, Cyn said screw the upholstery and curled her legs up beneath her on the short leather couch. Hell, her boots probably cost more than the damn couch did anyway, which was odd because the house itself, with its acres of pasturage, hadn't come cheap. Of course, it obviously hadn't come with any taste either. A sprawl of Southwestern design, it featured every kitschy decorating element in garish abundance. Antlers of various ruminants hung on the walls, interspersed with an assortment of Southwestern art, none of it good. Black and white cow patterns graced—if such a word could be used in conjunction with cows—not only the throw rugs scattered about, but much of the furniture as well. And completing the questionable theme were chairs that looked like tractor seats, saddles and, of all things, camp stools.
She glanced at her watch. Almost nine o'clock already. She'd spent nearly two hours playing wallflower and watching the ebb and flow of the party. And there was a lot of ebb and flow going on. Russian music pounded loudly, pulsing through rooms packed almost claustrophobically with men in expensive but ill-fitting suits and women who'd clearly spent a fortune on their clothes, but who'd never met a designer they didn't love. Which meant there was way too much jewelry and not enough style involved. Not that it seemed to bother anyone but Cyn. There was an almost manic quality to the gaiety, a level of excitement that seemed unwarranted from what she'd observed. Party goers kept disappearing into the back rooms of the house and reappearing later, usually after only a few minutes, but sometimes much longer. Cyn figured there were probably drugs being handed out in the nether regions of the house, but she had no interest in finding out for sure. Drugs had never been her substance of choice. She didn't even drink that much anymore. It was, as always, a matter of control, and Cyn liked to be in control. And then there was the whole disgusting idea of actually snorting anything up one's nose. Ick.
She swung her long legs back to the floor with a thump, admiring her boots as she did so. Maybe they didn't do much for the narrow, black knit dress, but they sure as hell blended with the decor in this house. Time to blow this party, Cyn. A vice cop would have had a field day in this place, but there was nothing here for her. Time to find Benita and make like the birds. She stood and looked around with a frown; she hadn't seen her friend in some time. Damn.
She'd taken a single step toward the back of the house when a meaty arm came around her waist, nearly tugging her off her feet. “Hey!"
"Where've you been hiding, pretty thing. Come on, I pick you."
Cyn flinched at the rank breath of her captor, leaning away to glare at him. And froze in surprise. Vampire. Shit! They weren't doing drugs in the back; this was a feeding hole just like Lonnie's beach house. But...?
The truth jolted her. Raphael had said all along that Alexandra's kidnapping was the first move in an attempted takeover. Someone had gotten to Kolinsky, who'd blackmailed Judkins to get Barry on the estate and set the kidnapping plot in motion. And that someone was running a feedlot right here on the ranch, right in the middle of Raphael's territory. She had to get out of here now. And where the hell was Benita?
The vampire was all but carrying her down the dim hallways, passing closed doors on every side. It was like a teenage grope party at someone's parents’ house, or maybe a whorehouse, and Cyn had no intention of joining either activity. She grabbed a passing doorway and dug in her heels, jerking the surprised vampire to an abrupt halt. He spun around and gave her a dull-witted look of puzzlement, as if he couldn't figure out why they'd stopped moving.
"I have to find my friend,” she explained. “Benita."
A light clicked on in the blank eyes. “Benita? Sure, I know Benita. I'm not allowed to touch her though. Boss's orders."
Cyn's heart lurched sickeningly. Benita said her target was someone higher than Kolinsky. Good God, would she go so far as to let her target feed from her? And if she had, could she be trusted anymore? This kept getting worse and worse. And Cyn was a lousy actress.
"Okay, listen,” she said. “This is a mistake. I'm not supposed to be here, I didn't know it was this kind of party, so maybe I'll just turn around right now and go home.” She put action to her words, spinning on one heel, intending to go straight to her car, find a clear spot and call Raphael. She took a step and was pulled up short. The vampire was like a rooted tree holding her in place.
"But I'm hungry,” he whined. “Boss said we could take whoever we wanted here."
Cynthia took a deep breath. “Look. I bet your boss only lets you take volunteers, right? Because it's against the law to force someone, and if you break the law, your boss could get in big trouble, couldn't he? Isn't that how it works? Now, I know you're hungry, but there are lots of perfectly willing donors out there. Tell you what, why don't I go with you and we'll pick someone out. Someone pretty. Wouldn't that be fun?"
"Another girl?” He grinned eagerly.
Cyn blinked at him in confusion. “What?” she said, and then it dawned on her. Oh, geez, what was it with guys and the lesbian fantasy? “You bet,” she said. “You'd like that, wouldn't you?” Creep. But it got them moving in the right direction.
"Yeah, I—"
"And what is this, Tommy?” A new voice intruded from the now-open door they'd just passed. Tommy paused, stopping Cyn dead in her tracks yet again.
"I got a pretty one, Albin."
"I can see that."
Cyn froze when she heard the name. Albin. Raphael's traitor, the vamp who had killed Matias and kidnapped Alexandra. He grabbed Cynthia's other arm as Tommy tightened his fingers and yanked her closer. Both vamps were holding her painfully tight, and Cyn found herself hoping they'd somehow forget about her and go after each other before they turned her into a human wishbone.
"Tommy,” Albin said softly. That's all he said. Just the name. Cynthia could feel the slight pulse of his power, could hear the threat beneath the bland voice.
Blowing a long, rancid breath into her face that nearly triggered her gag reflex, Tommy let go. As he shoved past angrily, Cyn knew her best chance of an easy escape had just stormed away.
"Ms. Leighton,” Albin purred. Her heart jumped hard against her ribs. “Someone wants to talk to you."
"Look,” she said breathlessly, desperately pretending she had no idea who he was. “I didn't know what this place was. Not that I care. It's your business. Let me go home and I'll happily forget this whole evening."
"Very amusing.” Albin's voice was hard as he yanked her down the hall, shoving her ahead of him and into a room at the very back of the house. Cyn tripped forward, struggling to stay on her feet. The heavy weight of the gun in her pocket slammed into her hip, and Cyn could only hope she'd have a chance to use it.
"Chica!"
She straightened in shock. Benita lounged on a king-sized bed, her shoes kicked off onto the floor, one strap of the tight, red dress, hanging down her arm, baring the brown areola of a plump breast to curve above the fabric. And she wasn't alone. Stretched out next to her, one heavy arm draped around her shoulders, was another vampire. Handsomely Latin with fine features and straight, black hair, the vamp grinned at Cynthia with bright, white teeth, fangs fully displayed.
"Benita?” she whispered.
Benita laughed too loudly, waving a dismissive hand at Cyn's obvious shock. “Don't look so surprised, girl. Like you haven't shared a little blood in your day. All those gorgeous vamps hanging around Malibu? You'd be crazy not to."