Raphael by D. B. Reynolds Read Free Book Online Page A

came to a stop. Cyn focused on breathing while she waited for Lonnie to pry himself out of his Porsche and make his way over to her SUV.
    "Come on, Cyn.” He tried to open her car door, then knocked cheerfully on her window when he discovered it was locked. “They're just having some fun. The master's expecting you, don't worry."
    Master. That was twice Lonnie had referred to Raphael as “master.” It was creepy in a Renfield, fly-eating sort of way and Cyn began to worry about what she'd find behind the bright lights and pretty architecture of the vampire's lair. She turned off the engine and gathered her backpack, along with her courage, then opened the door, only to have one of the guards hold out his hand for her keys.
    She clutched them close, her gaze never leaving the guard.
    "Think of it as valet parking,” Lonnie said in a soothing voice. He pried the keys from her hand and tossed them to the guard. “What? You think Lord Raphael does a business in chop-shop car parts or something? Relax, Cyn."
    "Easy for you to say,” she muttered. She turned to follow him up the stairs, then stuttered to a halt as a suit-clad vampire came through the front doors, escorting two women and a man who were obviously out of it, either amazingly drunk ... or something else.
    "Lonnie,” she murmured.
    He followed her gaze to the stumbling trio and shrugged. “They're all volunteers, Cyn. You know about the beach house. People beg for the chance to come out here and ... uh...” He was plainly searching for a way of phrasing it that wouldn't offend. “You know,” he said, finally, shaking his head in exasperation.
    Cynthia did know. She knew about the women, and men, who willingly, hell eagerly, offered themselves up for the experience of having a vampire feed from them. It was like a drug for some of them, supposedly a sexual high like no ordinary human could ever offer. And like any drug, it had its addicts. “How often do they come out here?” she asked.
    "The same ones? Not often. But we bring volunteers out here a couple times a week. Men and women, Cyn. Not only for Lord Raphael, but his guards, too, the ones who can't leave the estate because they're on duty or whatever."
    "How come no one knows about this estate?” she asked, changing the subject. “I mean, I drive by here every day and I never even suspected it was like command central for whatever you call Raphael ... King of the Vampires? Prince of the Blood?” She dragged out the last word, making it sound like Bela Lugosi's Dracula.
    "Fuck!” Lonnie grabbed her arm and jerked her close, his eyes darting glances at the surrounding guards. “Don't say shit like that, Cyn,” he hissed. “Christ, you'll get us both killed, and I mean for good this time. Listen, you call him ‘my lord’ or ‘Lord Raphael,’ okay? That's it. Think of him as royalty."
    "Yeah, well, he's not my lord, this is America, you know."
    Lonnie laughed almost hysterically. “I can't believe this. I'm gonna die for sure.” He gave her a pleading look. “Raphael owns this territory, Cyn. Please don't insult him. I like living forever."
    Cynthia rolled her eyes and blew out a disgusted breath. “You worry too much, Lonnie. Come on, let's get this over with."
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Chapter Eight
    As they stepped into Raphael's house, Lonnie grabbed her elbow again, but Cynthia pulled away with a sharp tug. She didn't like anyone grabbing her, and especially not in a situation like this.
    The space inside the double doors was wide open and high ceilinged, with big sliding windows overlooking the brightly lit pool on one side. There was an enormous chandelier overhead, but it was unlit; the only light was whatever filtered in from the pool area, its lambent blue glow bouncing off the marble floors, casting random shadows and doing little to dispel the darkness.
    "Cynthia,” Lonnie hissed in her ear. “Remember. Raphael's like royalty, so when you address him, you say ‘my lord’