“Excellent. I’m quite confident you’ll find your visit . . . fulfilling.”
Mexico City, Mexico
Cyn strolled into the building on Raphael’s arm. Raphael was as devastating as always in one of his elegant suits, while Cyn had chosen a dark gray silk sheath. It was sleeveless, in deference to the muggy heat of a Mexican spring, form-fitting and simple, except for the plunging neckline in back, which bared skin down to her waist. Raphael loved that dress, which was why she’d worn it. Meetings among powerful vampires reminded her of those Mafia movies where a guy’s success was judged by how his woman dressed. Except, of course, in those movies the women had no taste at all, whereas Cyn had an excellent sense of style . . . if she did say so herself.
She hugged Raphael’s arm closer as they left the muggy nighttime air behind and entered the building. Jared and Juro followed, while the rest of Raphael’s security took up positions outside. To all outward appearances, this was nothing but a friendly visit from one lord to another, a welcome-to-the-club sort of meet-and-greet for the new Lord Vincent.
But no one was fooled. The tension level soared the minute Raphael stepped foot into the foyer of what used to be Enrique’s Mexico City villa. Cyn glanced around. It was an ancient dinosaur of a house, dark and dusty. She preferred a more modern style, more air, more sunlight . . . or at least moonlight.
“How old is this place?” she asked Raphael, fighting to keep her distaste from showing.
“Nearly as old as Enrique . . . before he died, of course.”
“You are so proud of yourself for that one,” she chided softly.
Raphael paused as a pair of doors opened directly in front of them. Jared started to move around, to take up a protective position, but Raphael stopped him with a low signal.
“It’s Vincent,” he assured his lieutenant.
The doors opened fully and Vincent emerged. Cyn had only seen him once before, and that was from a distance. He was big, tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a dark jacket and slacks, but with a black silk shirt and no tie. He had longish black hair and a rather elegant and neatly-trimmed beard and mustache. Combined, the hair and beard gave him a rakish handsomeness, although he didn’t need the enhancements. He was a very good-looking guy. Nothing compared to Raphael, of course, but good-looking nonetheless. And he’d definitely perfected that master-of-the-universe attitude that Cyn associated with all of the powerful vampires. It was more than arrogance, it was a confidence that when he walked into any room, anywhere, he’d be the toughest badass in the place.
Except in this case, that wasn’t quite true. Vincent was certainly one of the toughest badasses in the world, but in this room, he was outclassed by Raphael. And he knew it.
That was part of the reason for the soaring level of tension she was sensing. The other part came from the simple fact that two powerful vampire lords were meeting in a confined space. Vampire lords didn’t play well together.
Which was another reason that this meeting was a little unusual. In the normal course of things, it wouldn’t be one lord, but the entire Council who would meet to welcome to the new lord to the club. And they would in this case, too. Just not until after Raphael took home the gift that Vincent was holding for him.
Vincent stepped forward, looking relaxed, belying the tension in the room. “Raphael, welcome to Mexico.”
Raphael kept several feet between them. “Vincent,” he said, nodding an acknowledgement. “I don’t believe you’ve met my mate, Cynthia Leighton.”
“Ms. Leighton, a pleasure,” Vincent said smoothly, giving her a smile that she was sure had charmed the pants right off of women all over Mexico.
“Call me Cyn,” she said dryly. She might have offered her hand if Raphael hadn’t been there, but then she might not have. Cyn tended not to trust vampires she didn’t know. And for all that Raphael had played a crucial, behind-the-scenes role in Vincent’s rise to power, neither he nor Cyn really knew Vincent.
“Cyn,” Vincent amended, then turned slightly and put out his hand, as if reaching for something . . . or someone, Cyn saw, as a tallish woman took Vincent’s outstretched hand and stepped up next to him.
“Lana, this is Raphael,” Vincent said. “And I believe you’ve spoken to his mate, Cynthia Leighton.”
Lana either didn’t feel or didn’t care about the stress in the room. She came right up to Cyn and offered her hand, saying, “Cynthia, it’s so good to finally meet you in person.”
Cyn met her halfway. “Call me Cyn, and likewise.”
Lana Arnold was lovely and not at all what most people would have expected from a bounty hunter. She was dressed much more simply than Cyn, in black slacks and a red silk blouse that did wonderful things for her coloring, with a pair of stylish, but simple black pumps.
Someone who didn’t know the two of them might think Cyn and Lana Arnold had nothing in common, but Cyn knew better. Cyn dressed the way she did, looked the way she did, because she enjoyed it. But her looks didn’t define her any more than Lana’s did. Lana Arnold was going to be a terrific addition to the Mates Club, although that conversation would probably have to wait for the next full Council meeting. Or maybe a nice long Skype chat. Tonight’s visit wasn’t going to last long enough for social niceties. Vincent had told Raphael he had a gift for him. And Raphael had told Cyn that the so-called gift was almost certainly the vampire who’d killed Raphael’s sister, Alexandra. And very likely the one who’d orchestrated the assassination attempt on Raphael, too.
That being the case, Raphael wouldn’t want to question the vampire under Vincent’s roof. The plan was to accept delivery of the gift, take him back to California, and question him there. After which, he would die a painful death at Raphael’s hand.
Cyn agreed that the foreign vampire needed to be interrogated and executed. They needed to learn as much as they could about the plot to take out Raphael and the larger strategy behind the Europeans’ planned invasion of North America. And, of course, having tried and failed to kill Raphael, the vamp had to die. But as for Alexandra’s death . . . to Cyn’s mind, that bitch had earned her fate. Although Raphael didn’t see it that way.
“Come inside,” Vincent said, returning to the business at hand. He glanced around the wide open foyer. “We’ll have more privacy.”
Vincent led the way into a well-appointed room with oversized wood and leather furniture and a huge stone fireplace, cold now that the weather was warmer. Vincent’s lieutenant, a tall blond surfer-boy type whom Vincent had introduced as Michael, was there along with a hulking male vamp named Ortega, who looked like he should be guarding the velvet rope at a nightclub.
Ortega and Juro stationed themselves on either side of the closed doors, Ortega giving Juro a challenging eyeball which Juro ignored the way one would a misbehaving puppy. He was kind about it, but he left no doubt who would win if Ortega was naïve enough to throw down a challenge.
Cyn smiled, then slid her hand down Raphael’s arm and laced her fingers with his. Let Vincent think what he would, let him think she was nervous and needed the reassurance of Raphael’s touch. The reality was that Raphael was riding a fine line of rage. He wanted the vampire who’d killed his sister. It was necessary to play this little game of diplomacy to get him, but Raphael’s patience was not unlimited. Cyn’s touch drew him back from the edge, and, since touching Raphael wasn’t exactly a hardship, she was happy to be of service.