"Rajmund."
Raj blinked back into instant attention. “My lord.” He sat on the leather sofa, twisting slightly to face the vampire lord. Duncan nudged the low table aside and moved his chair closer, so the three of them could converse.
"You wanted a meeting,” Raphael said.
Raj studied him silently for a moment. His next words could very possibly condemn him if Raphael was his enemy. Raj had power, enough to defeat his own master when and if he decided to take that step. But he had no illusions about his ability to defeat Raphael, and he couldn't be certain where the vampire lord stood when it came to his fellow council members. On the other hand, Raj trusted Duncan—insofar as he trusted any vampire who wasn't of his own making. And Duncan had encouraged this conversation.
"You were at the council meeting last fall, my lord,” Raj said to Raphael. “You saw that Lord Krystof is . . . not what he once was. He weakens and the entire Northeast weakens with him. Already vampires are siring their own children without permission, building private fiefdoms within the territory."
Raphael frowned. “I hadn't known it was that bad."
"But you knew something was wrong."
"I suspected."
Raj sighed inwardly. Conversation among powerful vampires was like swimming through mud; there was no clear path and too many unseen hazards. Every word became a weapon, and what was left unsaid often conveyed far more than what was said. On the other hand, boldness was a virtue. “Time runs out, my lord. Even for vampires. I need to know if you intend to remain neutral, as you have in the South."
"And why would I not?"
"Because Krystof did you a favor once."
"Did he?"
"Krystof has told me, my lord, of how you arrived in this country, how you came to his court and he permitted you to travel through to the West Coast to establish your own territory."
Raphael's black gaze focused sharply on Raj. He bared his teeth in a slow smile, seeming genuinely amused, but there was nothing friendly about it. “Do you really believe he could have stopped me, Rajmund?"
Raj swallowed his irritation, sorting his own truth from his master's fantasies. “No,” he answered evenly. “No, my lord, but Krystof believes it, and he might call upon you if he felt threatened. I wondered if you might have a lingering fondness for him that would respond."
"My interest is in stability. If Krystof is unable to maintain his territory, it endangers us all."
Raj nodded, figuring that was the best answer he was going to get. He was surprised when Raphael kept talking.
"I have long felt there should be more cooperation among the territories,” he said calmly, crossing his legs and smoothing away invisible wrinkles. “It occurs to me that you and I have much in common."
"My lord?"
"A certain outlook, Rajmund. A practical approach to doing business.” He met Raj's gaze directly. “Should the occasion ever arise, I believe it would benefit us both, and the Vampire population at large, if we were to . . . consult in the future."
Jesus Christ, Raphael was not only giving his tacit approval for Raj to overthrow Krystof, he was proposing a fucking alliance. With Raj ruling the Northeast and Raphael the entire West, they would go a long way toward controlling the Vampire population of North America. The other council lords would scream bloody murder if they knew. The lords never cooperated in anything; it made doing business with each other almost impossible. But if he and Raphael—
"What do you think of the South?” Raphael continued casually, as if he hadn't just dropped a political bomb in Raj's lap.
"It's hot and sticky,” Raj said, grinning, “But I doubt that's what you had in mind."
Raphael gave a bare smile.
"I was surprised when Anthony seized control,” Raj continued, in a more serious vein. “I thought he was content with New Orleans."
"He was,” Duncan confirmed. “Jabril let him run New Orleans however he wanted, as long as he paid tribute. But then the hurricane wiped out half of his holdings and more than half of his people."
"That many?” Raj said in surprise.
"At least,” Duncan said, nodding. “He's being very cagey about the specific numbers, but it's no secret he wouldn't have gone for the territory otherwise."
Raj frowned thoughtfully. “I don't know Anthony that well, but I wouldn't have judged him to have the juice to hold the territory for long."
Raphael shrugged. “Anthony required certain assistance, particularly with regard to Jabril's rather convoluted finances. One of my own, Jaclyn, is quite skilled in such matters and is remaining in the South for the time being.
Raj kept his expression blank as he glanced between Duncan and Raphael, surprised again by the bluntness of their conversation. Raphael had all but said outright that Anthony was only able to hold his territory because of Raphael's backing. Was this meant to be proof of Raphael's new policy of cooperation?
"As you said, my lord,” Raj said finally, nodding at Raphael, “Stability is the goal for all of us. It would be . . . unsettling, to say the least, if the South were to suffer another loss so soon."
"Yes,” Raphael agreed, his eyes raised to follow the progress of his mate who had left her perch by the bar and was now returning to the banquette. “Lubimaya,” he said.
"Time's up, handsome,” she responded, taking his hand and pulling him to his feet. “I want to dance.” She gestured toward the VIP lounge through the glass wall. The dance floor had filled once again with writhing bodies, some of which were actually dancing.
"My lord,” Raj said, standing up next to Raphael. “I can drop the window entirely, if you prefer."
"Perfect,” Cynthia decided. “Let's join this party!"
Raj glanced at Raphael who gave a minute shrug and then nodded. Raj signaled over his shoulder to Danny, who reached under the bar and hit the controls, causing the wall of smoky glass to slide down into a pocket beneath the floor.
The music and noise crashed in on them, along with the smell of marijuana, human sweat and cologne. The lounge was in full swing, the humans intoxicated by more than just the free-flowing alcohol. These VIP rooms existed in every one of Raj's clubs for one purpose only, and that was blood. Like the blood houses maintained by Krystof in Buffalo, or by Raphael in L.A., the VIP lounges brought together hungry vampires and their willing human donors who offered blood from the vein in exchange for a mind-blowing sexual experience and the illusion of dancing with death itself. Every human who walked through those double doors signed a legal waiver and release, and the whole thing was captured on security video as proof of willing participation, should it ever come to that. As recently as a hundred years ago, the vampires simply took what they needed. Now, they had lawyers and forms in triplicate, just like everyone else.
By this time of night, or morning, all pretense dropped. Vampire and human were coming together in shadowed corners, on the dance floor, or if a couple preferred privacy, in one of several private rooms in the back. The scent of arousal was everywhere, along with the powerful and seductive influence of several dozen vampires on the hunt. Raj inhaled deeply and cast his eye on sweet, little Sarah.
Sarah watched Raphael twirl a laughing Cyn out onto the floor. They disappeared almost instantly in the crowd, as if they'd somehow pulled a curtain of shadow around themselves. She frowned, trying to see, but it was dark out there, the lights seeming to shift almost constantly making it difficult to focus on any one thing. She caught a brief glimpse of a couple on one of the leather couches and blinked in surprise. Maybe there was a good reason the lights were so low. She blushed and looked away quickly, only to find Raj staring at her from across the room. Her eyes widened and her heart raced, and she suddenly felt like a bunny beneath the gaze of something fierce and hungry and fully capable of swallowing her whole.
Raj smiled that slow, lazy grin and started toward her with the loose hipped prowl of a born predator, his eyes, the gleaming blue of a deep glacier, pinning her in place. He held out his hand as he drew closer. “Come, little one. Dance with me."
Every nerve in her body trilled with excitement and screamed, Yes! But she scowled at him irritably. Little one? Not in this lifetime. “My name is Sarah,” she corrected firmly.
Raj laughed, warm and sexy and full of intimate knowledge, as if they'd been lovers for years. “Very well,” he agreed. He took her hand and pulled her from the high bar stool, an arm circling her waist when she would have stumbled at the sudden movement. “Dance with me, little Sarah,” he whispered against her ear.
Sarah shivered involuntarily. She knew she should say, No. He was an arrogant bastard who thought that charming grin could get him any woman he wanted. She knew she should thank him nicely, climb back onto that ridiculous bar stool and get drunk on expensive champagne, but before her brain could formulate the words, her body decided for her, leaning into him as he led her toward the other room.
The music changed as they neared the dance floor, becoming soft and sensuous, slow and delicious. Sarah was swept into Raj's embrace, feeling small and delicate against his broad, muscled chest, circled by his strong arms. Even with her heels, she didn't come up to his shoulder, but he didn't slouch like some men did, or pick her up bodily and drag her around the dance floor either. He took the fingers of her right hand, curled them into his left and held them close to his heart, then dropped his other hand low on her back, his fingers drifting a little bit lower still. He exerted the slightest pressure and their bodies were touching, her breasts against his chest, his hips against her belly. Sarah looked up as they moved out among the other couples and met those beautiful blue eyes.
"Put your arm around me, little one,” he murmured. “Dance with me."
Sarah narrowed her eyes at the endearment, but slid her left hand over his impossibly broad chest, before letting it curl around his waist.
