"And then she died.” He shook his head and laughed softly. “She was utterly self-indulgent, confident in her charm and in her beauty, which was considerable, I grant you. But in the end, her beauty was nothing, or perhaps everything. It was a jealous wife who destroyed her, stabbing her through the heart as she lay in her daytime rest next to her lover, who was also the woman's husband. It was a stupid mistake to leave herself vulnerable like that, and so completely predictable that she would end in such a shameful fashion."

He remained silent for the space of a breath, and when he spoke next there was an underlying sadness to his words. “Most of her children died along with her. They were inextricably tied to her will, and in her final moments, she sucked them dry in a vain effort to save herself. She must have known it was futile, must have known she was only dragging them into death with her, but she wouldn't have cared. No price would be too great if there was even the slimmest chance that her own long life could be saved.

"I and a very few others survived, those of us who had the power to resist her final call. Some of those died soon after, falling to the life of debauchery which was all she'd ever taught them. The rest wandered off in search of a new master, while I took my newfound freedom and carved out a territory of my own. By then, none of the old masters alone had the strength to challenge me. And when they would have united against me, I took my few people and came here to America, the new world."

He met her gaze directly, emphasizing his next words. “In over five hundred years as Vampire, I have acknowledged no master, no lord, no lady. Not since my Mistress's death has any creature, living or dead, claimed more of me than I was willing to give—the loyalty among companions, the fidelity between Sire and child."

"But Alexandra—” Cyn protested.

"Alexandra,” he said almost wearily, “is a petty woman who was once a child I loved. I sometimes think she would have done better if I'd never found her in that Paris dungeon, or if I'd left her to make her own way or fail in trying."

He shook his head. “No, my Cyn, there has been no one in all these hundreds of years who mastered me. Until I met you. From the first, I wanted you, and your resistance to my advances only made me want you more. When at last I lay sheathed within you, felt you arching beneath me with passion, all I could think of was having you again and yet again. My hunger for you was as fresh as if we hadn't joined only moments before. I gazed down at your face, at your eyes filled with desire for me alone, and I knew I would give everything I owned to keep you safe at my side and in my bed.

"So, having at last met a foe I could not defeat, I fled,” he said in disgust. “Rather than face you in my weakness, I thought to leave you behind, to forget about you, which I thought was surely possible. After all, how could one human overwhelm me with feelings in such a short period of time?” He smiled bitterly, shaking his head at his own foolishness.

"You told me once I haunted your dreams,” he said softly. “With you gone, I have lived for those moments stolen from your sleep. I wanted you to remember me so that no other man could touch you the way I had. The very possibility drove me mad. When I learned you'd gone to Texas, my first thought was to destroy Jabril Karim before his eyes could so much as look upon you, lest he even think to take you for his own."

A cloud covered the moon high above, hiding his face until only the silver gleam of his eyes was visible as he met her gaze. “I have been mastered at last, sweet Cyn, helpless in the face of that most human of failings. I love you."

Cyn stared at him, her heart beating so hard, so fast, it crushed the breath from her lungs. A part of her wanted to remember every minute detail of this night, the deep shadows beneath the trees, the moon scattering light where it could, the scent of the Eucalyptus, sharp and acrid—the moment he bared his soul to her for the first time. She wanted to throw herself into his arms, to feel him wrap that big body around hers and tell her again that he loved her. And that he thought it a failing to love her this way? She understood perfectly. She'd fought against love most of her life—love for her father, her absent mother, the succession of nannies in and out of her world. Love let you down, made you vulnerable. No other emotion had the power to wipe away reason, to destroy carefully built walls and leave you bleeding in the wreckage.

But because she understood, because she remembered all too well the fresh pain of losing him, she remained still, sitting in the quiet dark beneath her tree.

Raphael smiled sadly, lifting his head suddenly in the direction of Alexandra's manor house, as if listening. “Your little bird is ready to fly,” he commented. Almost immediately, he stood, sweeping up his jacket and offering Cyn a hand up.

She laid her hand in his, letting him pull her to her feet, feeling the effortless strength in every movement. He held onto her and tugged her close, sliding his hand around her lower back to hold her. “The choice is yours, sweet Cyn,” he murmured in her ear. He lifted her face and kissed her then, a soft, slow kiss she couldn't help responding to. “Come to me when you're ready,” he whispered, and then he let her go and stepped away.

"Raphael—” she began, but he interrupted.

"She doesn't belong here,” he said, staring toward Alexandra's house. “The sister, Elizabeth.” He looked back at Cyn. “She doesn't belong among my people. She should be out in the world."

"I know.” Cyn nodded. “I'll find something for her, someplace."

"I don't want Mirabelle living with Alexandra either,” he said in a thoughtful voice. “I understand Duncan's reasoning in bringing her here. In some ways, it was well done. But I have other plans for Mirabelle."

"What do you mean plans? What kind of plans?” Cyn demanded, suddenly feeling very protective of both sisters.

Raphael grinned at her, as if he'd expected the reaction. “Nothing without her consent, my Cyn. Have no worry for that. I was thinking of college actually. She's worth more than a life as Alexandra's plaything."

"Oh."

He met her eyes steadily. “But remember this, lubimaya, she is mine now, not yours."

Cyn sighed. “I know,” she admitted grudgingly.

Raphael laughed. “Come to me, sweet Cyn. I will be waiting."

And he was gone, leaving no trace of his departure but whispering leaves and the lingering taste of soft lips against her mouth.

Chapter Forty-four

Houston, Texas

Jabril sat at his desk, reading the latest reports from his accountants. He strove to remain calm, feeding his growing agitation into the tapping of an elegant fountain pen in his right hand as he scanned the long rows of numbers. His financial people were working feverishly, ransacking as much of Mirabelle's money as they could before the stupid girl figured out what he was doing and put a stop to it. It was the least she owed him for all the years he'd taken care of her when no one else would have bothered. Ungrateful bitch.

Of course, she'd already hired a slew of money-grubbing lawyers out there in California to challenge everything he'd done. No doubt Raphael had been more than happy to assist, which was why Jabril's people were moving the funds offshore as quickly as he could steal them. Not that it could be called stealing. He was only taking what was rightfully his, after all. If only he had more time. The delicate pen snapped and the ink reservoir cracked, spilling dark liquid over his fingers and the papers beneath. Jabril jumped out of the chair, swearing as he threw the broken pieces aside. He looked up with a furious snarl when the door opened and Asim hurried in.

Asim registered instant dismay when he saw the ink-stained mess. Jabril glared at him. He needed someone to bear the brunt of his anger and Asim would do as well as any. “Don't stand there, you pathetic idiot,” he snapped. “Get me a towel."

Asim hurried to the adjoining bathroom, returning with a thick, white towel held out before him like an offering. “My lord,” Asim said as Jabril snatched the towel and began wiping his hands. “You've a phone call."

Jabril hissed at him in disbelief. “Does it appear that I am eager to speak on the telephone, Asim? Who could possibly be calling that I would speak to right now?"

Asim's eyes swung nervously from one side of the room to the other, as if checking for unseen listeners. He stepped very close and whispered a name.

Jabril's eyes widened in surprise. “Well, that is interesting. What does she want?"

Asim coughed. “Friendship. I persuaded her to speak to you directly."

"Friends? How quaint.” Jabril sat and reached for the phone, his mouth twisting with distaste at the sight of his blue-stained hands before he picked up the antique ivory and gold receiver.

"How delightful to hear from you, my dear,” he said, his smooth voice modulated to reflect none of his earlier anger. He listened, leaning back idly and crossing his legs at the knee. “Mmm. And why would you do this for me?” He laughed lightly. “No, no, I am interested, I'm just surprised. You can hardly blame me for that.” He listened to the soft, feminine voice. She was almost whispering, afraid of being overheard. And who could blame her? “And when would this be?” he asked. “So soon? Well, excellent. That might work out very nicely.” He listened further as his caller made a request.

"I see. Suddenly, it all becomes clear.” He laughed again, derisively this time. “Really, my dear. One learns a few things over the centuries. This changes nothing, however. Your purposes and mine happen to coincide. You are certain of the time?

"I will have someone waiting, then. Oh, and, my dear? It would not be wise to disappoint me.” He hung up and met Asim's questioning gaze. “That incompetent investigator of yours, what was his name again?"

"Windle, my lord. Patrick Windle."

"And he is still out there in Los Angeles, searching blindly for Elizabeth?"

"Yes, my lord. He assures me he will have her in custody shortly."