"Che Leandro,” Raphael murmured. “Why was he there?"
"As far as I could tell, his only purpose was to lie on the bed and look attractive. And to lob nasty hints at me about my imminent and distinctly unpleasant death. He seemed to think I should be honored his Sire intended to do the dirty deed himself."
"His Sire,” Raphael said sharply. “He said that specifically?"
Cyn thought back. “Yes. He said his Sire wanted me for himself."
Raphael thrust to his feet, the stool clattering to the floor behind him. His hands clenched the tile counter top so hard that she thought for sure it would shatter beneath them. “Pushkin,” he snarled.
Cyn drew back a little, startled. “Mrs. Judkins mentioned the name Pushkin. She thought someone left her husband a message with that name. I didn't think much about it at the time. I mean ... everybody knows Pushkin, right?"
His dark eyes swung to her face, his gaze shifting to her injured shoulder beneath the thick sweater she'd put on after her shower. “What else did you find out?” he snapped.
Asshole, she thought. “I traced Odessa Exports to a Santa Barbara holding company. They list their corporate offices on State Street, but if you want to find this Pushkin, I suggest you look in Montecito. That's where you'll find him, and...” She squinted up at the angry vampire glaring at her across the brightly tiled countertop. “That's probably where they're holding Alexandra too."
"How did you escape Albin?"
She blinked, startled by the near non sequitur. “I shot him,” she said simply. “You guys tend to dismiss humans as harmless. Especially the old ones like Albin who grew up fighting wars without modern weapons. He never even searched me.” She crossed her arms, hugging herself against the memory. “He was coming at me,” she said, her voice soft. “So fast; you're all so fast. I barely got the gun out before he was on me, his teeth ripping into my shoulder. I thought I was dead, but I think he wanted to play first, wanted to hurt me, to hear me scream. I screamed all right. But while I was screaming, I shot the bastard with a nearly full load. I don't know if it killed him, but it put him down long enough for me to get the hell out of there. And that's all I cared about at the time.” She looked up and paled at the fury on Raphael's face. “So,” she said lightly. “When are we going after these guys?"
"You're not,” he said in a flat, hard voice.
"Think again, my lord," she said flatly. “This is my case and I intend to see it through. It may have escaped your notice, but I've got a few grudges against these guys myself."
"It will be far too dangerous. We won't be facing clumsy humans this time. If this is Pushkin's nest, he will be expecting us, expecting me."
"Yeah, well, news flash, bud. This clumsy human's coming to the party. And I don't need your f**king permission. You can take me with you or follow me there, but I'm coming along."
He glowered down at her, using his greater height and considerable size to intimidate her. Or at least he tried. Cyn refused to be intimidated by him or anyone else.
"Fine,” he snarled, spinning around and striding over to the stairs leading down to the garage. “Tomorrow night. I suggest you bring a few stakes along."
"Don't you worry about me,” she called after him, hurrying over to look down the stairwell. “I've got my own weapons."
Raphael paused before he reached the door, his broad shoulders hunching briefly as he looked up at her. “Cyn..."
She met his eyes and for a moment thought perhaps ... but, no. His expression hardened, his eyes going flat and blank once again.
"Be at the gate by eight o'clock,” he snapped. “I won't wait for you."
And he was gone using that preternatural speed that was little more than a blur of motion to her human perceptions. “Coward,” she whispered, sinking back down to the bar stool. “You f**king coward."
Chapter Forty-two
Cyn woke before noon, aching all over and feeling like she hadn't slept at all. She told herself it was leftover stiffness from Albin's attack, from her narrow escape. It couldn't be the result of a sleepless night spent dreaming of dark eyes and a sensuous mouth, or the ache of loss in her heart, or even the ache of desire between her legs. It didn't seem fair that the bastard could walk out of her life and still haunt her dreams. She rolled out of bed, determined to put Raphael and his heat-filled gaze out of her mind, out of her heart. At least until tonight. Which reminded her.
She called the vampire lord's estate and asked to speak to Dr. Saephan. Chances were, he kept night hours pretty much like she did, but he would have to wake up early today. Why should she be the only one suffering?
"Saephan,” a sleepy voice answered.
"It's Cynthia Leighton."
"Cynthia.” She could almost hear him trying to think. “You're not having any problems, are you?” he asked with quick concern. “You seemed—"
"No, no,” she assured him. “I called to apologize for the other day. For, you know, shutting you out."
"Oh. Well, thanks. That's good of you ... I guess. You could just have asked me to leave, you know."
"Yeah. I'm afraid living alone has taken a toll on my social skills."