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ized presence of Pushkin's troops. She waited until Raphael's scouts returned, then packed
away her gear and headed silently down the hillside.
He scented her long before the others knew she was there. She saw his head come up
and his gaze find her in the darkness between the trees. It was the blood. She'd washed
away the dirt and grime from the scrapes on her arms and stomach, and none of the cuts
were that serious, but a small amount of blood continued to ooze slowly from a few of the
deeper scratches. It was enough that her t-shirt was sticking in places, and apparently
enough for the vampire lord to smell her coming. Nice. Not.
He watched her steadily as she came into the light, his nostrils flaring, his eyes glimmering
with silver like frost on a black pearl. The others noticed her belatedly, whether because of
Raphael's attention or because they smelled her themselves, she didn't know. But they all
stilled as she strolled into their midst.
"Cyn. Raphael's voice was deep, humming with a sensuality that had desire racing along
her nerve endings, raising her nipples to hard points and sending a shiver along her skin. She
cursed her traitorous body and fought to keep her face from showing what she was feeling.
"Raphael, she said lightly. I believe what we have here is a failure to communicate. She
said it mockingly, with an exaggerated Southern accent, and heard a movie buff back in the
pack cough to cover a laugh. If Raphael got the joke, he didn't show it. He was in full glower
mode.
"Duncan, he said softly.
His lieutenant hustled the other vampires farther into the park, disappearing around the
bulky mission building itself.
Raphael gave her one of his slow, seductive smiles, came closer and prowled around her
in a tight circle, bending over to sniff lightly at her hair, the skin of her cheek. You're bleeding,
Cyn, he murmured.
Cynthia stepped deliberately out of his circle, then spun around and glared at him. Don't
you dare, you bastard, she hissed. You think I don't understand what went on behind those
black eyes of yours yesterday? You don't want me, fine. But don't think you can fuck me into
submission. I may be easy, but I'm not that easy."
His jaw tightened angrily, but his eyes were hot with something other than anger. Cyn
watched his fangs slide over his bottom lip and swallowed hard.
"I could throw you down and have you right here, sweet Cyn, and you'd do nothing but
scream for more. You are mine. My blood sings in your veins; it calls you to me even now."
Cyn felt tears pushing behind her eyes, but refused to give him the satisfaction. You're
right, she whispered harshly. I do want you. But there's a difference between wanting and
having, Lord Raphael. That's a lesson I've had to learn. And I won't have anyone, she
snarled. Who doesn't want me."
The heat bled out of his eyes as he stared at her, replaced by surprise and ... pain? God,
she hoped so. She hoped he felt even a fraction of what it cost her to stand so close to him
and know he wasn't hers.
She closed her eyes and drew a steadying breath, then asked, What did your scouts tell
you?"
He studied her without answering, then shrugged minutely. You were right about
Pushkin's headquarters. This house He gestured up the hill. is no doubt his true nest.
There are vampire guards at the gate, and... He paused as if uncertain how to explain it.
The scent is right."
"That's not the main house, she said wearily. She'd expected to feel triumph at bringing
him this piece of information, satisfaction that she'd proven her worth. Instead, she just felt
tired. She wanted this case to be over with. She wanted away from Raphael and his infernal
games, away from his constant toying with her emotions, her desires. She just wanted away.
And I think I know where they're keeping Alexandra."
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Chapter Forty-five
"You've got to spring the trap, Cyn insisted, when Duncan and the other vamps had come
back around. If you hadn't known the other house was the main building, if I hadn't told you,
what would you have done tonight? How would you have gotten through the gate?"
Duncan glanced at Raphael, who was half-seated on the picnic table, his long legs
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