Chapter Four
CYN STUDIED THE ten-foot tall ice sculpture of the Eiffel Tower, with lights in the blue, white, and red of the French tri-colored flag coloring the ice. Winter in Paris. Not exactly an original theme. Maybe the fundraising committee figured Paris tied in to the artwork being offered in silent auction.
“Hello, Cynthia.” She spun at the familiar voice.
“Good evening, Grandmother.” She leaned in and brushed her grandmother’s cheek, felt her grandmother’s hand lifting to barely touch her shoulder. The Leightons weren’t a demonstrative people. Hell, if she’d been greeting her father, there wouldn’t even have been that much.
After the acceptable few seconds of touch, her grandmother straightened, her eyes doing a quick scan of Cyn’s dark blue velvet evening gown. It was a fairly simple design, strapless, with a draped bodice that clung to her breasts, before flowing into a floor-length skirt. A necklace of diamonds and sapphires, one of Raphael’s many gifts, adorned her neck, and she wore matching drop earrings.
“You look especially lovely this evening,” her grandmother said, stroking light fingers along her jaw.
“Thank you,” Cyn managed to say, stunned nearly speechless by the unexpected touch. “And you look as beautiful as ever. I hope those genes run in the family.”
Adela Leighton smiled slightly. Cyn did, in fact, take her looks from Adela’s side of the family, but it didn’t matter. They both knew that Cyn didn’t need to worry about aging, not with a vampire lover.
“I hear Lucia is engaged,” her grandmother said. Lucia was Cyn’s best friend and very active on the fundraising circuit. So was Adela, which meant the two women saw each other far more often than they did Cyn. In fact, Cyn was sure that Adela wished Cyn was more like Lucia. Lucia also happened to be engaged to Juro, the huge vampire who was Raphael’s security chief. Cyn wondered if Adela knew who and what Juro was, but, if not, she wasn’t going to be the one to tell her.
Cyn just smiled. “She is. Juro’s a good man, and a dangerous one. He takes very good care of Luci.”
“And is your dangerous man taking good care of you?”
Again, Cyn had to force her brain to come up with words. She couldn’t remember her grandmother ever asking whether Raphael, or anyone else, was taking care of Cyn. Granted, her grandmother had been the only person in her childhood who’d evinced any level of care for her. But this was like the pod people version of Gramma. The lonely little girl inside her, the one who’d spent far too many holidays alone, welcomed the concern. But the grown woman couldn’t help wondering what the hell was going on.
“Cyn and I take care of each other,” a deep voice said.
Adela’s gaze went over Cyn’s shoulder a moment before Raphael’s hand grazed the skin of her back, laid bare by the design of her dress.
“Adela,” he said.
She nodded, then shifted her gaze to Cyn once again. “You should come by the house soon. There are some pieces of jewelry I want you to have.”
Cyn blinked. “Of course. I’ll call next week.”
Her grandmother glanced away when someone called her name. “Well, I must circulate, I’m afraid. Do be sure and call, Cynthia.”
And then she was gone, making her way through the crowded room with the grace of long experience, saying a word here, touching an arm there. She stopped to exchange a few words with Lucia who turned with a smile and leaned in to exchange air kisses. Adela Leighton was the perfect society matron in an elegant chiffon gown of muted emerald that brought out the green of her eyes. The same green eyes she’d passed on to her only grandchild.
Raphael tightened his hold, pulling Cyn closer and touching his lips to her temple. “What was that all about?” he murmured.
“You saw it, too?”
“I think that’s the longest conversation you’ve had with Adela since I met you. At least, at one of these things.”
Cyn stared after her grandmother, troubled and trying to talk herself out of it. It had been a few words, nothing more. But she couldn’t stop the chill of foreboding that snuck up her spine. She hadn’t heard of any health scares concerning either of her grandparents, but then she wouldn’t. Such things were held close to the vest in the Leighton family, doled out as stingily as affection. She frowned, but brushed it away. Hadn’t she just been thinking about her grandmother and how skilled she was at social mixing? She’d have known people would be watching, and they’d have expected her to talk to her own granddaughter. That’s all it had been. Conforming to social norms.
“You know,” she said, forcing a lightness in her voice that she didn’t feel, “when you asked me about Paris, I’d really hoped you meant the real thing.”
Raphael’s fingers tightened briefly on her hip. She couldn’t pretend with him. He knew her too well. But because he knew her so well, he didn’t pursue it. At least not in that moment. He pulled her around to face him. “I thought the Eiffel Tower replica was very convincing,” he deadpanned, jerking his head at the Paris-themed décor for the evening.
She grinned in relief. “Very funny. And just for that, you’re buying me that metal sculpture I bid on.”
“Is that what your flurry of sign-ups earlier was all about? These silent auctions seem rather cut-throat. Quietly, of course.”
She groaned. “You’re full of jokes tonight, aren’t you?”
“I have my moments.”
“Uh huh. So, did our French guy show?”
“In fact, he did. You see the young man over there, the one currently hanging on every word your father is saying?”
Cyn’s gaze shot across the room. She hadn’t realized her father was here. Not that it would have mattered. But Raphael was right. There was a guy leaning close, taking in every word her father said. He was young—no more than early thirties—tall and fit, blond and handsome. A little too handsome. Cyn tilted her head curiously. “Vampire,” she whispered. She considered going over to rescue her father, but couldn’t come up with a reason why she should. “Who is he?”
“His name is Tristan Fabrice, and he was Mathilde’s favorite assassin.”
“What?” she asked in alarm.
But Raphael continued, unperturbed by the identity of their visitor. “Rumor has it that Tristan has a new master, a vampire named Laurent Pierre. Laurent was one of Mathilde’s newer lieutenants, around 200 years old, give or take a few decades, and with the power and ambition to rule. Since her death, he’s been systematically killing off anyone who stands between him and her empty throne.”
“But is it really empty?” she asked. “Aren’t you officially the lord of Mathilde’s old territory, even though you don’t want it? Did you ever do that whole bonding thing you all do when you claim a territory?”
He shrugged. “Something like that. Too many vampires would have died if I’d left the territory completely unclaimed. It’s the same as Lucas did when he killed Klemens. He didn’t want the territory, but he protected its vampires by holding them until Aden officially became the new lord.”
“But why send an assassin? Wouldn’t a phone call have been easier?”
“Laurent came up in Mathilde’s court, which was a treacherous place to learn the ways of Vampire. She encouraged in-fighting and murder among her people. It kept their killer impulses focused on each other, instead of her.”
“So, Tristan really is here to kill you.”
“He’s here to try.”
“That’s what I meant. No one’s going to kill you on my watch.”
He dragged her close. “My favorite bodyguard.”
“You better believe it. Why’s he talking to my father?”
“Two possibilities. One, he thinks to gain information about our daily routines, which your father doesn’t have. Or, two, he plans to kidnap him to force your hand.”
“You mean, force me to betray you? Using my father?”
Raphael shrugged. “He doesn’t know you very well.”
“I’ll say. But we should at least warn—”
“Already taken care of.” He lifted his chin across the room, and Cyn turned to see Juro having a serious conversation with her father’s longtime bodyguard. She and her father might not get along, but his security chief would listen to Juro, one professional to another.
“So, what now?”
“The recent attacks were meant to draw my attention, to force me to pull my forces in and huddle behind my estate walls.”
“I don’t see much huddling going on,” she muttered loyally.
He smiled. “But they don’t know that. My point is that they’ve succeeded, at least insofar as they’re aware. Which means—”
“Which means they’ll focus their energies on their true target. Which is you. So why are we standing here?”
“What should we be doing instead?”
“Round up Tristan and his buddies, and kill ‘em all. That’s your prerogative, right? They’re foreign vamps on your soil who haven’t even bothered to check in with you, much less gain permission to be here.”
“We know they’re coming. Wouldn’t it be better to capture and question them first?”
It was on her tongue to add that Raphael would like that, that he enjoyed “questioning” prisoners, but she held back, even though it was true. It was in his nature, as a powerful vampire, to derive pleasure from torturing answers out of his enemies. But it also took him to a very dark place. She’d seen firsthand the kind of cruelty he was capable of. And while she understood that such savagery was necessary sometimes in the world of vampire politics and survival, it took a terrible toll on his soul. She couldn’t joke about something like that.
“Question them about what? You already know why they’re here. Why give them a chance to try?”
“And after I torture them? After they’ve told me their secrets, and kill them?” Raphael was saying, his manner detached, as if he’d already descended to that cruel place. “After I learn what I already know, do I let the insult go unpunished?”
“Insult?” she asked faintly.
“That they dared steal into my territory with assassination in mind. Others must be taught the price of trying.”
She stared up at him for a moment, before going up on her toes and kissing him as hard as she could. She put all the love and passion she felt for him into that one kiss, pressing her body against his, as if to share the life and warmth in her veins. Raphael’s arms circled her automatically, but it wasn’t until his embrace tightened, until his response to her kiss was as hot and passionate as her own, that she knew he was back.
“Raphael,” she whispered against his lips.
“Lubimaya.”
“I thought I’d lost you.”
“Never.” He kissed her again, neither of them caring about the disapproving looks they were getting from some of the stuffier guests at the gathering. “I believe we’ve accomplished our goal for this evening,” he murmured, holding her close enough that she could feel his erection against her abdomen.
She forced a smile. “You still owe me that sculpture.”
He laughed out loud, drawing an entirely different sort of look from several of the women present. “I’ll make sure you get it.”
“Then, let’s go, fang boy. I have plans for you.”
“YOUR FAVORITE baby boy is here.” Cyn breezed into Raphael’s office two nights later, her long legs encased in black leather, hips swinging on the high heels of the boots she wore. She didn’t stop in front of his desk, but strolled around, pushed his chair back, and slid onto his lap. “Fortunately,” she continued, “he’s brought Kathryn with him, so I won’t be totally bored.”
“Oh, you mean Lucas,” Raphael said, as if he hadn’t understood exactly whom she’d meant before that.
“Ha ha, so funny. What evil doings are you two discussing tonight?” she asked, straightening his tie.
The tie had been fine, he was sure, but he loved that she felt the need to take such gentle care of him. He curled his fingers around her thigh, thinking of where he’d rather be at that moment.
“Stop that,” she whispered.
A smug smile curved his lips. His telepathy was very strong, and it had been a very detailed thought. “You wanted to know what evil doings I had in mind.”
“I don’t think that qualifies as evil anymore. We’re mated, which means anything goes.”
His eyebrows raised. “Anything?” He sent her another explicit image.
She sucked in a surprised breath, which had her full breasts swelling to press against his chest. “Say the word, baby. I’m all for it,” she whispered, her breath warm and moist against his ear.
Raphael laughed and hugged her close. He was still amazed sometimes that the fates had been kind enough to bring Cyn into his life.
“Get a room, you two.” Lucas strolled in and sat in his usual sprawl on the chair in front of Raphael’s desk.
“Good evening, Lucas,” Raphael said dryly.
He grinned and jumped back to his feet, giving a little bow. “Good evening, Sire,” he said, then shot Cyn a skeptical look. “Cyn.”
“Lucas,” she answered in the same vein. “What have you done with . . . well, I was going to say your better half, but that would imply you had a good one.”
He slumped back into one of the guest chairs in front of the desk. “Why is she here?” he asked Raphael.
“Because I want her here,” Raphael said mildly, giving Cyn a chiding hug when she stuck her tongue out at Lucas. “Can we return to business?”
“She started it,” Lucas muttered, then straightened somewhat and said, “You want to know what I think about Rajmund’s boy Quinn.” His tone was casual, as if he didn’t care. But Raphael wasn’t fooled. Lucas cared deeply about Ireland, and about whom Raphael chose to take on the island’s current lord. It was far more than a bit of ancestral land that bound Lucas to the country. Ireland was the only place that had ever defeated him. Though no one except Lucas saw it that way. He’d been only a small boy when his mother had died on the streets of Ireland, when his grandfather had chosen a political alliance over his own daughter, his only child. When he’d left his lands and title to cousins rather than acknowledge his bastard grandson.
Lucas took pleasure in the image of his grandfather rolling in his cold grave now that the bastard grandson was back and ruling his lands. But he still hadn’t exorcised his demons. Raphael knew he never would.
“You spoke with Rajmund,” Raphael said. It wasn’t a question. He knew that Lucas had consulted more than once with the Northeastern lord over the past week.
Lucas shrugged. “He wanted my opinion. I know Ireland better than anyone.”
“Well, maybe not anyone,” Cyn commented.
Lucas opened his mouth to respond, but his cell phone buzzed. “Kathryn’s on her way up,” he said, looking at the display. “She was on a call with her office.” He stood. “I’ll walk down and meet her.”
“Why do you torment him?” Raphael asked Cyn, once Lucas was out of earshot.
“Because he’s insufferably arrogant.”
“You’ve said the same about me.”
“Yes, but you’re mine. You should be arrogant.”
“Hmm. Lucas isn’t our only visitor tonight, you know.”
“Right. The new guy’s here for his audition. But you all don’t need me or Kathryn for that.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Quinn Kavanagh,” she said, as if tasting the words. “Sounds like a good Irish lad. Is he?”
“He has Lucas’s blessing.”
“That just means he likes to drink ‘til the bars close, then fuck until dawn.”
He smiled at her description. “Lucas doesn’t do that anymore. Besides, you don’t give him enough credit.”
“Oh, sure I do. Just not in public.” She grinned. “I know he’s a good guy. You don’t tolerate fools, no matter how much you love them.”
Her head lifted at the sound of voices from the hallway. Swiveling on his lap, she kissed him, taking her time about it, until they were both breathless.
“You be good while I’m gone,” she murmured, licking the seam of his lips.
“Where are you going?” His hand had slipped between her thighs while they kissed, and he left it there, soaking up the heat of her pussy.
“Shopping, of course. Lucas’s ranch is great and all, but Kathryn is looking for some serious retail therapy.”
“You’re not leaving the estate,” he cautioned. “Tristan’s been quiet, but you’re a desirable target.”
“Don’t I know it. Relax, we’re limiting ourselves to a newfangled experience called on-line shopping. We’re going to drink too much wine and log on. Elke’s coming with us, too. She’s become quite the shopper since she hooked up with Mal.”
Lucas’s laughter could be heard down the hallway, and then a woman’s voice. Probably Kathryn.
“Sounds like the fun times are over, fang boy,” Cyn purred, her tongue darting out to lick his ear.
Raphael gave her thigh another warning squeeze, reminding her that two could play that game. She just laughed and slid off his lap, then bent to give him a more decorous kiss. “Don’t wait up, honey.”
Raphael snorted. “I’ll hunt you down long before that becomes an issue.”
She grinned, then looked up as Lucas and Kathryn entered the room. “You ready to rock and roll, girl?”
“Yep. I saw Elke downstairs.”
“Excellent.” Cyn crossed the room to hook arms with Lucas’s mate. “Try not to have too much fun without us!” She blew Raphael a kiss, and then the two women were gone.
Lucas gazed rather longingly after them. When he turned finally and caught Raphael watching him, he laughed.
“You’d rather go shopping?” Raphael asked.
“No, but the rock and roll part sounds fun.” He sighed. “Oh, well. It’s a tough job being a master of the universe, but someone’s got to do it.”
“Sit down, and tell me what you think about Kavanagh.”
Lucas walked over to the bar and poured himself a drink before slumping back into the chair in front of the desk. “He’s easily the most qualified of the proposed candidates. It’s not about power. They all have enough power. But Quinn has roots in the land. That won’t matter to the vampires he’ll challenge and kill, but it will matter to the ones he’ll have to rule.”
“And your lands?” Raphael asked. “How does he feel about those? More importantly, how do you feel?”
“I won’t lie, Sire. My mother died for those lands, and I won’t surrender them to anyone. I’ll play nice with whoever takes over, whether it’s Quinn or someone else. But I want free passage. They’re not getting my lands.”
Raphael regarded him steadily. “Does Quinn know this?”
“Quinn knows because I told him to his face, but I’ve made no secret of it to the others, either.”
Raphael smiled. He’d known Lucas from the time he was a raw sixteen-year old boy, picking pockets on the streets of London. He knew the vulnerable heart Lucas concealed from everyone else, except perhaps his mate, Kathryn. And he knew Lucas was dying to know whom Raphael had chosen to take Ireland. But he’d never ask the question.
“I agree that Quinn is our best choice,” Raphael said finally. “That’s why I invited him here.”
“I thought this was just an interview.”
“No. The interviews are over. I’ve spoken to him at length by phone, but tonight we’re discussing specifics.”
Lucas grinned. “You did that on purpose.”
“Of course. Someone has to keep your ego in check. Where is Quinn anyway?”
“How the hell do I know? We didn’t have a fucking sleepover.”
Raphael gave him a look.
“Yeah, fine. He flew in last night. I don’t know where he stayed—we don’t trust each other that much—but I bet the big guy here,” he said, gesturing at Juro who entered the office at that moment, “can tell me the exact minute he’ll be arriving.”
Juro glanced at him sideways and gave a discreetly disdainful sniff before turning to Raphael. “Quinn Kavanagh is at the gate, Sire.”
Lucas laughed. “I knew it!”
Raphael stood. “Bring him to the conference room.”
“Lucas or Quinn?” Juro muttered, proving what Raphael and a few others already knew—that the big vampire had a sense of humor.
“I’ll take care of Lucas, you bring Quinn,” Raphael said, playing along.
“Sire,” Juro responded formally and left the office, heading downstairs to meet their visitor.
“I don’t think he likes me,” Lucas said thoughtfully. Raphael wasn’t fooled. The two vampires had known each other for more than a hundred years. Lucas was older by several decades, and had, in fact, been with Raphael on the night that Raphael had turned Juro and his twin brother, Ken’ichi, making them vampires. But while Lucas and Juro baited each other mercilessly, it was in the way of brothers. Competitive in peacetime, but fiercely loyal at the first sign of danger.
“None of us like you, Lucas,” Raphael murmured as he walked past.
Lucas gasped in feigned outrage. “That’s so not true. Cynthia loves me.”
Raphael snorted and led the way down to the conference room he’d chosen for the night’s meeting. It was one of three on this level and had the same spectacular view of the ocean as his office, but he’d chosen it for the size. It was grand enough to impress, but small enough that the three of them wouldn’t be lost among the empty chairs.
“Have you eaten?” he asked Lucas as he strolled to the head of the table. “There’s blood in the refrigerator behind the bar.”
“You noticed my mate was with me tonight, didn’t you?”
Raphael smiled slightly. Once a vampire was mated, he fed only from her, or him. Bagged blood would be consumed in an emergency, but only in an emergency. There was no replacement for a mate’s blood. It was . . . perfection.
Lucas turned as footsteps sounded on the stairs. Raphael had seated himself, but Lucas remained standing between him and the open door. Quinn was a potential ally, but still largely unknown. If he turned out to be a threat, Lucas would be in position to defend his Sire. All of Raphael’s vampires were fiercely loyal, but Lucas was something more. It was pointless to compare loyalties, but, if he ever did—even in his own mind—he knew that Lucas would be at the top of the list.
Juro appeared first in the doorway, leading Quinn. He’d never permit a stranger—vampire or human—to enter Raphael’s presence ahead of him, for the same reasons that Lucas had placed himself between Raphael and the door. The big vampire scanned the room, met Raphael’s gaze briefly, and then stepped aside.
“Sire. Quinn Kavanagh.”
Lucas kept his position between Quinn and Raphael, masking it as a friendly greeting as he held out his hand. “Quinn, we meet again.”
The other vampire shook his hand. “Donlon,” he said, greeting Lucas by his family name, the one that marked him as An Tiarna, a lord in historic Ireland. An interesting choice, Raphael noted, as Quinn moved past Lucas to greet him. “My lord,” he said with a small bow. “It’s an honor.”
Raphael tipped his head in acknowledgment and gestured at the empty chairs. “Have a seat. I trust your accommodations were acceptable?”
“Very much so, my lord. And the buffet was excellent,” he added, with a grin.
Raphael’s responding smile widened at Lucas’s reaction to their little interplay. Had he really thought Raphael would permit a powerful vampire to stay in his city without knowing exactly where he was sleeping?
“Lord Rajmund sends his regrets,” Quinn added. “He wanted to take part in this meeting, but Lucifer is stirring things up in Toronto, and there’s a lot of spill-over into Raj’s territory.”
“Understandable. I know you and Lucas met previously,” Raphael said, getting down to the purpose for the night’s meeting. “But I’d like to start at the beginning, if you wouldn’t mind. I’m not as familiar with Ireland as the two of you are.”
QUINN WASN’T fooled for an instant by Raphael’s self-deprecating comment. The bastard had probably been briefed three ways from Sunday on every aspect of their planned takeover. Or invasion. Whatever the hell they wanted to call it, it was the same thing. The North American lords were sick of fighting skirmishes with the Europeans and were declaring war. And Quinn was the spear tip. Some vampires might have quailed at the possibility, might have resented being pushed to the forefront of this dangerous endeavor. But not Quinn. He hadn’t chosen to become a vampire, but when presented with the fait accompli, he’d embraced his new reality. And the gods had been kind, because he wasn’t simply a vampire, he was one of the rare few who had the power and the drive to rise to the top. Being a vampire lord wasn’t so much a choice as an imperative. If you had the power, your nature drove you to use it.
That sort of drive wasn’t much of a stretch for Quinn. He’d always been competitive as hell, always sought out the most dangerous hobbies, and been driven to excel at whatever he tried. Of course, Harvard Law hardly compared to the Vampire Council, especially not one that included Raphael. The Council was a hell of a lot more challenging.
“Whiskey anyone?”
Quinn glanced at Lucas, somewhat surprised at the offer. Not because he was drinking whiskey—he knew about Lucas’s taste in liquor from their previous meetings—but because Raphael had the whiskey available. Quinn had never met the Western Lord before tonight, and he wasn’t close enough to either Lucas or even Rajmund to exchange any personal details they might have on the powerful vampire lord. What knowledge he had was from gossip and those few widely known, or assumed, facts. None of it led him to believe that Raphael ever let his hair down, so to speak, and indulged in alcohol.
“Quinn?” Lucas prodded, tipping a crystal decanter of amber liquid in his direction. “It’s an excellent bottling.”
“I will, thanks.” He waited until Lucas slid a matching crystal tumbler his way. No ice, he noticed. He could go either way, but he was American enough to prefer a single ice cube when it was offered. He took a polite sip and had to exercise some of that control he was so proud of. Calling this an excellent bottling was a vast understatement. He sipped again, letting the smoky flavor glide over his tongue and fill his sinuses before he swallowed. Because a fine whiskey deserved respect.
On the other hand, Raphael wasn’t going to wait forever.
“Without going into a level of detail that would be excruciating for all of us,” he began, “the plan is fairly straightforward. I’ll enter Ireland discreetly, but legally, using my Irish passport.”
“You’ve maintained your citizenship?” Raphael asked.
“Oh, aye. My parents insisted when I was younger, and I’ve kept it up on my own. Ireland was one of the first countries to grant vampires full legal rights, you know. Anyway, I’ll fly directly to Dublin using Lucas’s jet, and connect to Kildare, in case anyone’s watching. I’ll wait a day or two to gauge any reaction, then drive back to Dublin and get lost in the crowd. I’ll be shielding heavily, so as not to draw attention until I’m ready. I’ve visited my ‘family—’” He held up his fingers to indicate air quotes. “—a few times in recent years, but the vampire situation in Ireland has been extremely unstable since Orrin Sorley assassinated Donald Tiege and seized the country, or tried to. Tiege was Lord of Ireland for more than a century. He wasn’t so much beloved as he was comfortable. He let the local masters do their own thing, and didn’t interfere unless it affected his business interests, which were mostly of the criminal variety. Protection rackets, black marketing, including gun running. He had his fingers in a lot of pies. But most in Dublin. The farther you got from the city, the less he cared what was going on.
“Enter Orrin Sorley. He swore loyalty to Tiege, but was never fully trusted, because he wasn’t Tiege’s child. No one knows exactly who Sorley’s Sire was, and he doesn’t talk about it. He’s Irish by birth and has family in Doolin, on Ireland’s Atlantic coast. But he wasn’t turned there. He lived in China for several years in his thirties, and I’d guess that’s where he was made Vampire before returning to Ireland. The timing works out, but again, no one knows for sure, and he’s not talking.”
“Does he maintain any connections to China?” Raphael asked.
“Not that I can discover. But if his Sire was Chinese, and he was turned unwilling, it would explain why he’s avoiding the place.” He took a sip of whiskey. “Anyway, Sorley shows up in Tiege’s court, and he has enough power that Tiege pays attention, but they’re never going to be friends. Tiege gives him Belfast, which is a mixed blessing. Vampires don’t care which human government claims Northern Ireland. It’s on the island, so it’s Ireland, as far as we’re concerned. But hatreds run deep, even among Irish vampires. Sorley had his hands full with running it, which is, no doubt, what Tiege planned.
“But it wasn’t what Sorley planned,” Lucas observed.
“No. Sorley wanted the whole of the Irish territory and made no secret of it. He cracked the whip in Belfast, then turned his eyes southward to Dublin. He bided his time, building an army. Tiege should have seen him coming, but he seems to have been wholly unprepared. It makes me think there was a traitor in Tiege’s ranks. The battle was over almost before it started. Sorley challenged and killed Tiege. The rest was only squabbling. As I said, Tiege was liked, but not beloved. His closest lieutenants put up a fight, but none of them could stand against Sorley. The vampire’s an asshole, but he has power.”
“Can you defeat him?” Raphael asked bluntly.
“Oh, aye. I’ve never been introduced, never shaken his hand. I didn’t want to ping his radar. But I’ve measured his power, seen him fight lesser vamps once or twice. I can take him.”
“You seem confident.”
“I have reason to be. You measured my power the moment I stepped foot through your gate. You know what I’m capable of. But it’s not only raw power where I best Sorley, it’s intellect. I use my power better than he does, smarter. I’ll defeat him. No question.”
“All right. That takes care of Dublin, but what about the rest of the country?”
“Sorley simply took over Tiege’s network in Dublin, and the vampires there have seen little change. But where Tiege ruled the rest of Ireland with a gentle hand, Sorley uses more of an iron fist, which makes him very unpopular. The farther you go from the city, the more precarious his hold.”
“He’s got no support at all in Kildare,” Lucas commented.
Quinn gave Lucas a silent look, aware of Raphael’s black eyes studying his reaction. The fact that the vampires of Kildare gave the Vampire Lord of Ireland—whether it was Tiege or his successor, Sorley—no support was due largely to Lucas’s interference. He had ancestral lands in Kildare that he was determined to hold on to, and fuck any vampire, lord or otherwise, who thought differently. That was the real reason Lucas was at this meeting. Everyone knew he was Raphael’s fair-haired boy, and he was playing on that to give himself a seat at the table when it came to Ireland.
Quinn was as voraciously territorial as any other powerful vampire, but he actually liked Lucas Donlon. Or maybe he understood him. Donlon’s roots were in Kildare, just as Quinn’s were in Dublin. And though they’d both spent more years in the United States than anywhere else, they still felt the tug of home, which would always be Ireland.
None of this showed on his face as he sat in Raphael’s conference room in Malibu, however. He was a master at concealing his thoughts. The world saw what he wanted them to see and nothing else. “Kildare is loyal to Ronan Ivers,” he said, naming the vampire who managed Lucas’s estates. “And Ronan Ivers is loyal to Lucas.” He nodded in Lucas’s direction.
Lucas raised his whiskey in a silent toast, which Quinn returned. They both drank, and then turned back to Raphael, who was watching the encounter very closely. And why wouldn’t he? He needed to know that Lucas and Quinn weren’t going to sabotage this takeover before it even got started.
“And you’ve no problem with Ronan Ivers?” Raphael asked bluntly.
“I’ve never met the vamp, but I’ve no problem with Lucas, which is the same thing.”
“Hardly,” Lucas joked. “I’m one of a kind.”
Raphael shot Lucas a patronizing glance, but spoke to Quinn. “Will your cousin be traveling with you?”
Quinn nodded, not at all surprised that Raphael knew about his cousin, Garrick, even though few others did. Garrick was largely responsible for Quinn becoming a vampire, but that was another story, and one that Raphael undoubtedly knew already.
“Garrick’s loyal, he’s family, and he’s a good man in a fight. He’s got brains, too, though he does his best to keep that a secret. For the rest, Lucas and Raj both offered to recruit volunteers for a team to go in with me, but I’d rather gain support in-country. There’ll be less resentment that way. It’s bad enough I’m coming in from America to take over, which is how they’ll see it. The more locals I can bring—”
Suddenly, the entire building sank into darkness as every light went off at the same time.