Chapter Eight
Paris, France
RAPHAEL’S ARRIVAL in Paris was an event, a spectacle to rival the biggest movie star. There were bright lights and paparazzi, along with a whole phalanx of security people, vampire and human. Hell, there was even a fucking red carpet. Ordinary humans—travelers, workers, agents—stopped to stare, snapping pictures with their cell phones. Speculation was rampant about who he might be.
Cyn played her part, hanging onto Raphael’s side, dressed like an action movie star in tight leathers and bristling with far more weapons than usual. As least, the visible ones. She fought the urge to drag Raphael back to the plane, or straight into the limo. She could already feel the gun sights lining up on him from every raised surface within a one-mile radius. With the right weapon, a talented sniper could make that shot, or better. Death could come out of nowhere.
Raphael had wanted to make a splash. After all, the main purpose of this trip was to draw attention away from what was happening in Ireland. But that wasn’t all of it, because nothing was ever that simple with Raphael. He was furious at the attack on his estate and was using this visit as a giant “fuck you” to his enemies. It was a blatant challenge. Here I am. Fight me or crawl back to whatever hole you came from.
Cyn understood his reasons. But she still couldn’t stop scanning the surrounding buildings—every rooftop, every open stairway. Hell, even the windows on the terminal building, though she knew they were way too thick to fire an accurate shot through. And then, there was the noise—the jet engines winding down, the rumble of trucks and equipment. Hell, even the idling engines of what seemed like an entire fleet of limos and SUVs. If the noise was distracting for her, it had to be hell for the vampire security team, with their super hearing. How could they do their jobs?
Not for the first time since they’d walked down the stairs from the plane, she edged in front of Raphael and felt his hand immediately wrap around her hip and pull her back to his side. If there hadn’t been so much fucking noise, she’d probably have been able to hear him growl.
A camera lens glinted in the lights far overhead. Her gaze shot to the rooftop of the terminal. Someone was up there with a long lens. If a camera could be up there, why not a gun?
“Fuck,” she swore, then shot her gaze around, looking for Juro. When she found him, he was giving her the same look she was aiming at him. It was time to end this damn circus, whether Raphael liked it or not.
Raphael’s vampire guard closed in and began moving with purpose, herding him toward the closest thing to safety on this fucking runway, which was one of the heavy limos. He could have stopped them if he’d wanted. No one pushed Raphael where he didn’t want to go. But he’d clearly seen reason at last, or maybe he’d just decided the spectacle had served its purpose.
Cyn stayed close to him, one hand looped into the belt of his black jeans, the other on the butt of her weapon. When they reached the vehicle, Raphael acted before she could stop him, putting his hands on her hips and pushing her ahead of him into the back seat. She twisted to protest, but caught sight of Juro and his brother standing between Raphael and the crowds, covering him with their combined bulk. She settled for grabbing hold of Raphael’s leather jacket and pulling him in to sit next to her, breathing a heavy sigh of relief when the door closed, and blessed silence filled the air.
She held her breath, waiting, as his gaze turned her way, silver sparks exploding like fireworks in the depths of his black eyes. But instead of growling at her for trying to protect him, he pulled her across the seat and into his arms . . . and started laughing.
Cyn punched his shoulder. “Stop that,” she snarled, and was rewarded with a kiss. It was long and wet, with lots of tongue, and it almost made her forget why she was so angry at him. Almost. “What was that?” she finally asked, still somewhat breathless. Raphael’s kisses were as potent as he was.
He hooked her around the neck and kissed the top of her head. “That, my Cyn,” he said smugly, “was a statement of intent.”
She blew out a breath as she shrugged out of her jacket. “I know we talked about making a splash, but did you know it would be that bad?”
He shrugged. “It wouldn’t have been much of a distraction if we’d snuck into town.”
“I hate this.”
“I know.” His arm dropped down around her shoulders.
“What happens next?”
“We’ll go to the house and get settled in, just as they’ll expect.”
She gave him a knowing look. “You’re enjoying this.”
“It’s a change of pace,” he said offhandedly.
“What? Life hasn’t been challenging enough for you lately, with Europeans coming out of the woodwork trying to kill you and everyone else? I like this shit, and even I’m sick of it. I want a vacation.”
“Well, we are in France.”
“Ha ha. Not a working vacation. A real vacation, where no one tries to kill you or me, or anyone we love.” She felt tears pressing against her eyes and lowered her head, so he wouldn’t see. No such luck. Raphael didn’t need to see her tears, he could smell them. He also knew her well enough to understand that she wasn’t only talking about him.
Putting both arms around her, he pulled her into an embrace and started making shushing sounds. Cyn didn’t fight it. Being held by Raphael, being loved by him, was like . . . being tossed like a rag in a hurricane and, suddenly, you’re pulled to safety. Like wandering the terrifying dark all alone and out of nowhere there’s light—warm, and bright, and yours. His love was deep and powerful and absolute. Cyn was a strong person. She knew that about herself and never doubted it. She could be reckless, but only with her own safety, never that of others. She mourned her grandmother, but she would survive. It was the natural order of life.
But because she understood herself, because she was honest with herself, she knew that the one loss she’d never survive, the loss she wouldn’t want to survive, was Raphael. If he walked away from her, or if the unthinkable happened and he died . . .
“Stop,” Raphael ordered, pulling her hair sharply to get her attention.
She sat up, feeling disoriented, lost in the nightmare of her own thoughts. “Stop what?”
“Cyn. Lubimaya. Do you have so little faith in me?”
She stared at him. “Of course not! What are you talking about?”
He shook his head. “Maybe it was too soon for this. Your grandmother’s death—”
“We didn’t have a choice,” she said, with a touch of bitterness. Sometimes, it seemed as if they never had a choice. Life just kept tossing shit at them. “You said it yourself, the Europeans will keep throwing bombs at us until we shut them down, one way or the other.”
“You could have stayed home.”
She glared at him. “Now you’re just being mean.”
He smiled slightly. “For the record, my Cyn, nothing but death would ever take me away from you, and I’ve no intention of dying.”
“Intention—”
“I know better than most how capricious life can be. But some things are unequivocal. My love for you is one of those things. Talk to Juro, he’ll tell you. I’m much more cooperative with my security these days, precisely because I understand that it’s not only me they’re protecting. It’s you. I’m not leaving you. Ever. Get used to it.”
He kissed her eyes, her cheeks, and finally her mouth, holding her tightly enough that she could almost believe he’d never let go. And he never said a word about the tears she knew he’d tasted on her skin.
She licked his lips and held on a moment longer. And then she pulled her shit together and got on with it, just as she’d always done.
“So, when’s my shopping trip?”
CYN STROLLED DOWN the crowded Paris street, her right hand hooked around Robbie’s muscled arm. The weather was cold, and there were signs of a recent snowfall, but the skies were clear. It was perfect winter shopping weather, but she was ready to quit. They’d been shopping for hours already, had covered both Rue St. Honoré, and Rue Faubourg St. Honoré, walking from end to end and stopping to spend lots of money on the way. They’d accumulated so many bags and boxes that Robbie had insisted on dumping them in the trunk of the limo. Carrying all that “crap,” as he put it, was a security risk. Not because someone might steal the bags, but because it hampered his ability to “fucking move” if someone came at them.
Cyn had laughed gaily, like the airhead she was pretending to be, then insisted they had to at least set foot on the Champs-Élysées, because they were in Paris! Robbie had rolled his eyes, as much at her acting as the idea of walking down another crowded Parisian street.
“You’re not being a very cooperative bodyguard,” she teased. “I might have to find another.”
“Feel free,” he grumbled, although he smiled at her when he said it. There was no way in hell he’d ever trust her safety to someone else, and no way in hell she’d ever trust someone else in his place. “How come Raphael never has to do this shopping shit?” he complained.
She laughed again, a real laugh this time. “Do we still have spies?”
“Yup.”
“You think they’ve seen enough?”
He stopped and leaned in to speak directly into her ear. “Please God, tell me you mean that. You’re not just toying with me, are you, Cyn?”
She played the airhead again, laughing. “We have to get back, Rob. It’s nearly sunset and Raphael wants me there when he wakes up,” she said, loudly enough to be heard by their watchers.
Robbie made a show of using his cell phone to call for their car. And then together they walked back the way they’d come, until traffic thinned enough for the limo get through.
Once in the car, Cyn leaned into the cushioned seat and put her feet up on the bench seat opposite her. “Why the hell did I wear these boots?” she groaned.
“Because you were more concerned with image than practicality,” Robbie supplied helpfully, propping up his own, much larger feet in their comfortable boots.
“You’re not helping.”
“I wasn’t trying to, babe. You think it was enough?”
“Let’s hope so. If not, we’ll have to work out something else. Even I can only shop so much.”
Robbie put a hand to his chest, pretending shock. “I’m speechless.”
“Oh, give it a rest and take me home. I need a nap.”
“Someone’s cranky.”
“Someone’s armed.”
“Yo,” Robbie called to their driver. “Let’s speed this up. The lady’s tired.”
The driver, who was one of Sipes’s people from Malibu, snorted a laugh and hit the gas.
CYN SAT ON THE arm of Raphael’s chair, leaning against him . . . or maybe “draped over him” was the better description. One of her legs was bent at the knee, with Raphael’s big hand gripping her thigh possessively. Her elbow was propped on his shoulder, and her face was so close to his that she could have licked his cheek without moving. It was a pose that she liked to call, “He’s mine and don’t even think about touching him.” And it was reinforced by the 9mm Glock she wore openly in a shoulder holster that had been specially designed to accommodate her breasts; by a second 9mm tucked against her back in the waistband of her skin-tight pants; and by the small, but deadly sharp, blade carried in a custom-made sheath built into her right boot.
When it came to self-defense, Cyn didn’t cut any corners. And when it came to defending Raphael, every fucking corner was blown to hell.
Raphael was “holding court” in the biggest room of their very large rented villa, a room designed to hold cocktail parties for the rich and famous. They had big rooms in Malibu, too, but Raphael never held court in any of those. He didn’t rule a kingdom, he ran a successful business. He attended way too many meetings, but he never sat on a throne and forced his people to kiss his ass or his boots.
But, once again, they were putting on a show, reinforcing an image of Raphael that conformed to the way the old-time European vamps conducted their affairs. They held court, because they ruled countries where kings and queens had held sway for hundreds—hell, sometimes thousands—of years. Raphael had come to his full power in the New World, where business—money—was the only king.
But he didn’t want his French hosts to see their uninvited guest in a way that was any different than what they saw in themselves—arrogant and capricious in his power. As an asshole, and a bit of a fool.
As if. Cyn would have snorted her opinion of that, but she had a part to play, too.
“Sire.” Everyone’s attention was drawn to Juro who didn’t have to raise his voice to be noticed. He walked up to the base of the dais, upon which Raphael sat on his throne-like chair, and bowed slightly. “You have a guest, my lord,” he announced.
Raphael raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Does this guest have a name?”
“Mathys,” Juro said, with a slightly superior sneer.
Raphael seemed to consider the name for a moment, then shrugged, and said, “Let him in,” in an offhanded way, as if he didn’t care whether Juro obeyed him or not.
The visitor came through the double doors in a rush, almost skidding to a stop when he saw the number of vampires filling the room. He fought to appear unaffected, but the bouncing of his nervous gaze from one person to the next gave away his fears. His eyes finally found Raphael, and his entire body seemed to curl in on itself in a show of self-abasement.
“My lord.” He hurried across the open area in front of the dais, running a wide circle around Juro, who was eyeing him like a disgusting bug who’d dared to invade his personal space. “My lord,” he repeated, sweeping down in a surprisingly graceful bow.
Probably got a lot of practice bowing around here, Cyn thought to herself.
“My master bids you welcome, Lord Raphael, and asks if there’s anything he can do to make your visit more enjoyable.”
“And who’s that?” Raphael asked with a decided lack of interest.
“My lord?”
“Your master,” Juro clarified in a loud, impatient voice. “Who’s your fucking master?”
Mathys’s mouth dropped open in shock that Juro would speak with such disrespect, but he recovered quickly, proving his unnamed master had good reason to choose him for this mission. “My master is Laurent Pierre, Lord of Nice and successor to the great Lady Mathilde,” he announced grandly, and then immediately quailed under the penetrating gaze of Raphael, who’d abruptly shown his interest by leaning forward to study his vampire visitor.
“Juro,” Raphael murmured. “Clear the room.”
Mathys came alert, quivering like a dog on point as Raphael’s vampires filed out. Cyn knew most of them were relieved to have their part in the game over with. They had other jobs and were happy to get to them. Some would be going to town, doing a little recon, while enjoying discreet sips of the local talent.
But Mathys didn’t know that. He appeared genuinely worried by the suddenly empty room, as if Raphael needed privacy to kill him. Hell, if Raphael wanted to kill someone—vampire or human—he didn’t worry about witnesses. Especially not if those witnesses were his own sworn vamps.
It wasn’t long before only Raphael, Juro, and Jared were left in the room. And, of course, Cyn. And Mathys.
Mathys had sunk to his knees in front of Raphael and now looked up at him beseechingly. “My lord, if I’ve offended—”
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Raphael interrupted, his voice a deceptively soft purr, “but I believe I am Lord of Nice, since I’m the one who killed that faithless bitch Mathilde.”
Mathys’s head came up. Hatred filled his eyes for the vampire who’d killed his mistress, and very possibly his Sire, but only for an instant. The emotion was there and gone so fast that Cyn might have doubted she’d seen it. Oddly, it was the bland face the vampire put on to conceal his outrage that convinced her. Mathys was too shrewd to reveal his true emotions, or at least to direct them at Raphael. He bowed his head, and Cyn could see his throat working as he swallowed repeatedly, seeming to steel himself to continue the charade.
“Is that all Laurent has to say?” Raphael asked, breaking the silence. “Hello and have a nice time? Seems a waste to risk your life over such a trivial message.”
“My life?” Mathys’s throat was so dry that his voice rasped the words.
Cyn laughed out loud. She couldn’t help it. This strange tableau had already gone on far too long.
Mathys’s head snapped up like a snake’s at the sound of her laughter, his dark eyes fixing on her unerringly, limned with the red glow of a low-level vamp. “You,” he sneered.
Cyn met his gaze without flinching. She’d faced down much tougher vamps than this diplomatic flunky. “Have we met?” she sneered right back at him.
Instead of answering her question, he turned to Raphael. “My lord, you cannot trust this . . . human.” He said the word like a curse, like something filthy. “I regret to inform you, my lord, but she’s playing you for a fool. She and her lover—”
Cyn strode from the dais, pulling her Glock as she went. Her booted foot came out and knocked Mathys to the ground an instant before her gun was pointed at his head.
Mathys stared, plainly shocked that she’d moved fast enough to take him down, but just as shocked that Raphael continued to permit it. “My lord,” he said, in obvious affront, “I come as an envoy from Lord Laurent, and this—”
“Be very careful of the next words from your mouth, Mathys,” Raphael cautioned quietly, still sitting relaxed on his throne.
Cyn grinned up at him. “Can I kill him?”
“Cyn.”
She scowled. “You have a use for him?”
“I might.”
“Well, shit.” She gave the vampire a hard kick to the head, mostly for form’s sake—he was a vampire, so she couldn’t kick him hard enough to do real damage—and then stepped away. “Fucker,” she snapped, and turned away to rejoin Raphael.
“Whore,” Mathys all but spat at her.
Raphael growled, his eyes flashing silver as he came off the throne, his power lashing out to wrap around the vampire’s throat, cutting off his air. “If you want to survive the night, you will be cautious when addressing my mate.” He released the vampire as quickly as he’d seized him.
Mathys didn’t give up. “You didn’t see her, my lord,” he wheezed, rubbing his throat.
“Neither did you, vampire,” Cyn snarled. She cut a look at Raphael, begging him to let her kill the guy.
“Later,” Raphael murmured, rubbing a hand down her back.
She couldn’t argue with that, although she really wanted to. She and Robbie had put on a show to be sure they were noticed. To be sure that Raphael’s arrival was noticed by anyone in the world who hadn’t caught the coverage on TV. Because a lot of vampires, especially the old ones, didn’t pay much attention to the human media. But even without the gossipy TV news, any vampire in the vicinity should have sensed Raphael’s arrival, because he hadn’t made any effort to conceal himself. The more powerful local vamps might even have guessed who he was.
Having Cyn stroll down the streets of Paris with a bodyguard on her arm, along with the rest of her security and her limo, had been designed to ensure that the human spies of the local vampire lord paid attention, as well. Cyn was recognizable enough as Raphael’s mate to let everyone know who it was that had crashed into their senses so powerfully.
But for this worm to suggest that she was cheating on Raphael. . . . It was too fucking insulting.
Unfortunately, Raphael had plans for Mathys that required his brain to be intact, at least for now. So, she couldn’t shoot him.
Raphael gave her a half smile as she rolled her eyes in disgust. “Look at it this way, lubimaya,” he murmured. “He’s not going to like anything I do to him tonight.”
She brightened a little at that. “Can I kill him afterwards?”
His smile bloomed into a grin. “If there’s anything left of him to kill.”
“Okay.” She gave him a hard kiss, climbed back onto the dais, and slumped down onto Raphael’s throne, where she flipped Mathys the finger.
“My lord—” Mathys sputtered in outrage.
But Raphael held up a hand, shutting him down. “I require information from you.”
“I will not betray—”
“Yes, you will,” he said calmly. “Although, if it’s any consolation, you won’t enjoy it.”
MATHYS SANG LIKE a bird before he died. Unfortunately, the dedication and loyalty that he felt for his master wasn’t returned in kind. Laurent hadn’t made the mistake of underestimating Raphael. He’d sent Mathys assuming that Raphael would wring him dry for information.
Which meant they couldn’t rely on the accuracy of his information, Cyn thought the next morning. She was too restless to sleep, too agitated to lie there staring at the ceiling. Part of it was her eagerness for the coming battle. Raphael was determined to avenge not only Mathilde’s attack, but the more recent attacks by Tristan Fabrice, who was one of her spawn. And he’d do it even if it meant taking out every vampire she’d ever sired. Especially if it meant that.
Cyn figured there couldn’t be too many of Mathilde’s children left, since she’d dragged over 100 of them with her to Hawaii to support her attack on Raphael. Never let it be said that the bitch hadn’t come prepared. She’d known she couldn’t defeat Raphael one-on-one, so she’d brought her own army along to support her. It had almost worked, too. But wars were never won by “almost.” Mathilde had died along with every one of the vampires she’d drained dry and taken down with her.
Cyn didn’t know how many children a vampire lord could make over the course of a few centuries. She didn’t even know for sure how many children Raphael had, since most of them lived quiet lives far away from Malibu. Mathilde was older than Raphael, but her territory was smaller. So, how many children did Mathilde have left? And how many of them were sitting in Nice, waiting for a chance to kill Raphael?
She climbed out of bed and began pacing the darkened bedroom where Raphael was deep in his daytime sleep. She was never happy when circumstance forced him to sleep outside the security of his own homes. Places like this bothered her especially. It was just a regular house, with lots of big rooms, and windows that they’d covered with blackout drapes. Granted, Steve Sipes and his team were on the job outside, but every vampire here was helpless. Even Raphael.
She stopped her pacing to stare at him, and her heart squeezed. This was more than jet lag, more than nerves over the planned attack. She was never nervous going into battle. Not like this.
“That’s it,” she muttered and began pulling on clothes. Not the kind she’d worn during her shopping trip with Robbie, but black combat-style pants with multiple pockets, a long-sleeved T-shirt in the same color, and lace-up combat boots that had enough wear on them to be comfortable. She bound her hair into a tight pony tail as she crossed to the table that held her weapons. One Glock went in her shoulder holster, the other in a flat holster in the waistband at her back. A switch blade went into a pants pocket. Extra magazines for the duplicate Glocks went into pockets on each leg to balance out the load. She did a thorough check of her weapons, popping the magazines and slapping them back, and then did a quick survey of the room to be certain she wasn’t forgetting anything. They were on the second floor of the house. The only window was a sliding glass door that led to a balcony overlooking a thirty foot drop to a thickly wooded hillside. Not an impossible task for an attacker, but a difficult one, especially with daylight guards all around the base of the house. But she needed to get outside to see for herself.
Walking back to the bed, she bent over to kiss Raphael. He was aware of her even when he slept, powerful enough to follow her movements during daylight if he thought she was in danger. And he always knew when she left his bed.
“I’ll be right back,” she whispered, brushing her lips over his again. He had such soft lips for such a deadly man. “I love you.”
The room had two sets of doors, because it was a master suite of sorts, with a small sitting area outside the bedroom. Neither was secured with anything more than an ordinary knob lock, something Cyn could have silently disabled in less than a minute. Still, she closed the doors behind her, for what little security they provided.
The big house was silent when she stepped into the hallway, her footsteps creaking on the wood floors as she covered the few feet to the main stairs. As usual, there were no guards inside the house. Steve Sipes, Raphael’s daylight security chief, had authority to enter in an emergency, but other than Cyn herself, there were no other humans inside the house during the day. The human guards had their own rooms in a guest house on the property. The accommodations weren’t up to Malibu estate standards—not for vampires or humans—but they were as comfortable as they could be, given the short notice of their departure and the vampires’ unique requirements.
Cyn moved as quietly as possible out of the house and down the short path to the main security set-up. Two men glanced up as she entered the makeshift command center. One sat in front of two large computer screens with several camera angles displayed on each. He nodded at Cyn, but most of his attention was fixed on the screens, and on the reports coming in over his headset. The other man was Robbie, her shopping companion and daylight bodyguard. He gave her a surprised look.
“Are we going somewhere, Cyn?”
She shook her head. “I’m just restless. Is anything happening? Anything weird?”
Some men might have dismissed her concerns as nerves or hormonal shifts, but not Robbie. He’d been in too many critical situations with her, had literally kept her guts from spilling out of her body long enough for Raphael to save her life.
He nodded once. “Let’s take a walk.” He grabbed one of the HK semi-autos hanging on the makeshift armory shelf in what used to be the pantry. These were the MP5K-PDW variant of the Heckler & Koch weapon, designed for close quarter battle and, theoretically, home defense. “You want one of these?” he asked, as he slapped in a fresh mag, then deposited spares in the pockets of his combat pants, much as Cyn had earlier. The difference was his 3 inches of extra height and about 100 pounds of mostly muscle, which made it a lot easier for him to tote MP5 mags around in his pockets. Still . . .
“Okay,” she said and closed her fingers around the offered gun, checking the mag much as he had and slapping it back in. “It’s probably nothing,” she said, but she didn’t believe it.
“Somehow, I doubt that.” Robbie tapped the control operator’s shoulder, then gestured toward the kitchen door. It was a small door and led to a surprisingly steep set of stairs, which made it easily defendable. Any attackers would have to come up single file. It was one of those movie scenarios that rarely happened in real life.
Cyn sighed. “I’ve got an itchy feeling, you know?”
He nodded. Robbie had been part of the Army’s Delta Force. He believed in gut feelings.
Robbie exited first. He respected Cyn’s abilities, but he was still her bodyguard. “We’ll do a circuit,” he murmured. “Tell me if anything pings wrong.”
She nodded, her eyes scanning the heavy brush as they made their way down the hill. An army could easily hide in there. She frowned. It would have to be an army of humans, though. A daylight attack. That had once been standard procedure in vampire society, but they’d done each other so much damage, that centuries ago it had been forbidden. The problem was there was no such thing as truly “forbidden,” for vampires, since no policing body existed to enforce it. Back home, any vampire who tried a daylight attack would be destroyed by whichever of the North American lords he was sworn to. But this was Europe, where a lot of the ancient traditions still ruled.
What a feather in someone’s cap it would be, if they managed to destroy Raphael.
“Remember, Rob,” she whispered, “we’re dealing with a human army.”
“Got that.”
It was a big property, with more than a few outbuildings. Several minutes into their patrol, Cyn began to sweat under all the gear she wore, but she didn’t consider going back. Because the feeling in her gut was getting stronger. She was missing something. What was it?
“Wait,” she said softly.
Robbie, who was several feet ahead of her, paused in mid-step, shrinking back into the shadows beneath the trees until she could barely see him. That was a neat trick. She’d have to get him to show her how he did that. Assuming they survived today.
Doing her own version of his disappearing attack, she hunkered down and surveyed the surrounding valleys and hillsides, trying to shake loose the track of her thoughts so that whatever was niggling her brain could bubble up. As she sat there, she heard the soft whir of one of the security cameras as its motion detector ability reacted. Cyn glanced up, then followed the camera’s path, catching a flash of white as some small animal ducked back into the brush.
She stared and waited for the camera to pan back, which it did, remaining on the long-gone flash of white for a full minute or so. That was a long time. She frowned some more, picturing the camera angles she’d seen on the computer screens, then she stood up and compared the wide hillside to those pictures.
“Robbie,” she said quietly. “If you were planning this attack, which way would you approach?”
He didn’t even have to think about it. “I’d take the driveway. Security is tight all around, but no one would expect a frontal assault. I’d start with 2, maybe 3, people—no visible weapons—and walk right up to the front door and ring the bell like a friendly neighbor. And while security’s trying to figure out if I’m what I appear to be, I’d slap some C4 on the door and blow it wide open, then deploy the rest of the team in the resulting chaos.”
She stared at him. “You’re right. Let’s go.”
“Cyn, I’m sure Steve—”
“I’m sure, too. So, let’s give him some help.”
A small herd of sheep burst from the brush as they rounded the house, clattering over the paved driveway, bleating like the hounds of hell were on their heels, drawing the attention of several cameras and more than one guard as they crossed the entire front perimeter of the house. With Robbie’s caution in mind, Cyn ignored the sheep and saw two young women skipping up the drive, aiming for the main house.
She tapped the Bluetooth ear bud she wore to gain the command center’s attention. “Heads up on the front door,” she snapped, then abandoned stealth in favor of speed as she headed in that direction. Robbie caught up and passed her. “You’re not wearing a vest,” he growled.
Maintaining cover behind the thick trees, Robbie called out, demanding the women stop. They smiled and kept coming, one of them giving a friendly wave, while the other . . .
“Gun!” Cyn shouted and fired, her shot crossing that of the second woman who’d been aiming at Robbie. Cyn was more accurate. She fired three shots, all center mass, hitting the woman and killing her. She fell without a sound. But as if that was the signal they’d been waiting for, the main body of the attack force suddenly swarmed out onto the road and advanced in a stuttering wave of destruction. Some took advantage of what cover the trees provided, while others stormed closer with little apparent regard for their own safety. There was a fanaticism to their actions that worried Cyn. Fanatics always spelled trouble. Had they been promised a rebirth through vampirism if they died? It didn’t work that way, but they might not know it. Or were they in thrall to a powerful vampire? Raphael could have created such an army. It wasn’t much of a stretch to think some other vampire might be able to do it, as well.
Steve Sipes’s security team had flooded into the area in front of the house and now responded with a barrage of gunfire. Steve was snapping orders over the comm, making certain the entire perimeter remained protected. Cyn took up a position behind the engine block of one of their SUVs, thankful she’d accepted the MP5 from Robbie. Aiming over the hood of the vehicle, she worked on semi-auto, firing short bursts of three shots. Mindful of her limited ammo supply, she sited before shooting, feeling her gut clench in satisfaction every time one of the enemy went down. And there were a lot of enemies. Laurent, or whoever had sent them, must have emptied out his friends list to get this many human fighters. But no matter how many there were, in the end, they were doomed. They were out-gunned and outnumbered, but, most critically, they were amateurs facing hardened professionals. A few were as heavily armed as Cyn or any of Sipes’s people, but the rest carried single fire pistols or rifles, and none were wearing body armor. Every time one of them left cover to advance up the drive, someone on Cyn’s side would take them out with a single burst of automatic gunfire.
But just when Cyn thought they’d reached a standstill and begun to worry that the attackers would escape by retreating down the hill among the thick trees, a small group broke free under a fresh volley of covering gunfire. Cyn counted five attackers, all wearing bulky ballistic vests and headgear, with what looked like more vests strapped awkwardly around their thighs. They were shooting wildly as they raced directly up the driveway, not even seeming to aim at anything as they screamed something in French so garbled that not even Cyn—whose years in a private French prep school had left her fluent in the language—could understand what they were yelling. But, in the end, it didn’t matter. They weren’t surrendering, so they were a target. She rose slightly to lean over the SUV’s hood, but realized in the next instant that she was nearly out of ammo. She squatted down to pull a fresh mag and caught sight of two women sneaking through the trees on the side of the house, almost directly behind her. They saw her at the same moment she saw them, and they started running for the main building.
“Robbie!”
He turned, following her line of sight to the two women who’d succeeded in smashing a window on the side of the house. One of women turned, her weapon raised, as if to protect the second woman who was holding something that, from a distance, looked like a whole lot of dynamite strapped together. It was nothing elegant, not like Robbie’s C4 scenario, but it wouldn’t have to be. If the bitch was willing to sacrifice her life to set it off, if the bomb knocked down walls or collapsed the ceiling between the floors, vampires would die. There was enough sun in the afternoon sky that exposure for longer than a few seconds could be fatal.
Cyn and Robbie both stood and fired in a single movement. The shooter fell, crying out in pain, but at the last moment, she raised her eyes to stare at Cyn with a triumphant glare.
And the world exploded.