Cyn mewed softly, wanting more, rubbing herself against his hand, tightening her fingers in his hair and holding his mouth against her neck in invitation. Raphael pressed his tongue against the juicy swell of her jugular, but didn’t take her, not yet. Grinning at her groan of frustration, he licked his way downward, dipping into the arch of her collar bone and down further until he captured her nipple in his mouth, biting gently. She cried out, hooking her leg around his hip, fucking herself against his fingers. Without warning, he slid a third finger inside her and began plunging in and out, mimicking the action his cock was hungry for, taking pleasure in the slick heat of her, in the trembling of her muscles, the small, hungry noises she was making as her hips pumped up and down, her breath coming in gasps as she whispered his name over and over again, a prayer for release.
And still he waited, waited until she was all but screaming his name, until she was clenched so tight around his fingers that he could barely move his hand. He scraped his thumb lightly across her clit, circling it once, twice and a third time before caressing it fully, rubbing back and forth until her entire body spasmed beneath him, her silken walls convulsing, her nipples so hard he could feel them like warm, smooth stones against his chest. She sucked in a keening breath, the air trapped in her lungs by the sheer magnitude of her orgasm. He lifted his head and sank his fangs into her neck, the rush of warm, sweet blood filling his mouth as she climaxed again and her scream of passion filled his ears. He held her tightly, reveling in the taste of her as she shuddered beneath him, her inner muscles trembling around his fingers as he stroked her over and over again, her body jolting as if shocked every time his thumb caressed her swollen clit.
When at last she lay limp, her arms clinging to him weakly, he retracted his fangs and licked the small wound closed. Crooning wordless sounds of comfort, he pulled his fingers gently from within the still trembling depths of her body, the juices of her orgasm coating his fingers and trailing across her abdomen as he wrapped his hand around her bare hip and tucked her closer in the safety of his arms.
“I owe you a blow job,” she murmured, already half asleep as she curled into his embrace. His arms closed around her, her bare breasts pressed against his chest, the thudding of her heart a comforting metronome as he drifted closer to his daytime sleep.
As the sun’s glow lit the horizon, he smiled, thinking his next awakening would be a sweet one. His final thought as the sun crept fully into the morning sky and stole away both his smile and his consciousness was that the night had ended all too easily. And Cyn hadn’t said a word about his forbidding her to go into town without him.
* * * *
Raphael knew when Cyn slipped out of the bed they shared. He watched in his dreams as she dressed quickly and donned her weapon before kneeling on the bed next to him. She leaned over and touched her lips to his in a good-bye kiss. Raphael raged at her, their connection through the mate bond strong enough that her eyes widened when his anger struck hard at her consciousness. For a moment he thought he read indecision on her face. But then, she drew a breath and whispered, “I’ll be fine. I promise.”
And she was gone.
Chapter Thirteen
Colin sat in front of his office, the cheap plastic chair tilted back on two legs, a weathered, wooden overhang protecting him from a drizzle that threatened to turn into rain as he leaned against the wall and contemplated his town. The office wasn’t much. A single room with a small holding cell and piss poor insulation that left it icy cold most of the time. The only exception was the rare occasion when the sun managed to come out from behind the clouds long enough to warm the place up a bit. Most days he didn’t even bother to come in here unless he had a drunk or two locked up overnight, something that didn’t happen all that often. Most of the drunks he collared winding through town had more or less sober friends who were happy to take the offender off his hands rather than travel back for him, or her, the next day.
But this morning he’d made a point of showing his face in the few establishments sprinkled around town. People had heard about Mariane. It was inevitable, really. The smaller the town the more active the gossip mill, and Mrs. Fremont had no doubt primed the pump on this particular story. His cell phone had been ringing almost nonstop since the attack. Some were worried about their own safety or the safety of their women. Others just wanted the news firsthand. And still others had the facts all wrong and were calling him nearly hysterical with fear about some vampire invasion.
Not that the latter was completely off base. Colin hadn’t missed the parade of big, black SUVs that had zipped down the highway the other night with a limo snug between them. They’d driven right past him on his way home from Jeremy’s. And then this morning, there’d been a message waiting for him from Loren. Apparently, some big honcho had arrived and wanted to meet what passed for the local law. Colin could hardly wait.
He frowned, rocking the chair against the wall behind him. He could understand Jeremy’s anger. Hell, he shared it, although he was smart enough to know that no matter how angry he might be, it couldn’t come close to what the vampire was feeling. But why would a single attack—as vicious as it had been—bring out the big guns like this? And how had they managed to arrive so quickly, virtually on the heels of the crime itself?
His attention was drawn down the block as one of the SUVs he’d just been thinking about pulled to a stop in front of Emma’s, the local answer to Seattle’s coffee shops. Colin let the chair drop to all fours and leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs as he studied the new arrival. The truck’s windows were all but blacked out, so he couldn’t see anyone inside, but the meager sun still rode the sky somewhere behind the thick clouds, so he knew whoever it was had to be human, at least. And human he could deal with.
The truck door opened and Colin stood. A black clad leg emerged wearing thick-soled combat-style boots. He took a half step forward and tripped to a halt when the leg turned out to be that of a tall, slender woman. Closing the truck door behind her, she stood for a moment surveying downtown Cooper’s Rest. It wasn’t much, he admitted, and she seemed to agree, if the frown on her face was any indication.
Her gaze fell on him where he stood under the porch overhang, then lifted to read the sign identifying the office as the local police station. Eyeing him once more, she gave a small shrug and headed his way.
Colin watched her approach. She was wearing clothes that very nearly matched his own outfit—black combat pants tucked into sensible, lace-up boots, and a black t-shirt, although she wore hers considerably better than he did. His smile of appreciation didn’t last long as he registered the existence of a shoulder rig beneath her short, all-weather jacket, its presence in stark contrast to her graceful walk and the way she filled out that t-shirt. He took a step forward when she reached the stairs in front of him, stretching to his full six-foot-four height, his hands grabbing the overhang before dropping to rest on his hips.
She smiled slightly, as if acknowledging his dominance display, before climbing the three stairs to stand on a level with him. “Colin Murphy?” she asked, tall enough that she very nearly met his eyes without raising her head.
Colin tipped his head. “The very same, darlin’” he responded, enjoying a bit of satisfaction when her mouth tightened at the endearment.
“My name,” she said. “Is Cynthia Leighton. Cyn, if you prefer.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Ms. Leighton,” he drawled, letting every ounce of his Georgian upbringing play with the syllables. He found most Northerners assumed anyone with a drawl was dimwitted, and he wasn’t above using it to his advantage.
The Leighton woman’s mouth curved up slightly. “Don’t bother, Murphy,” she said dryly. “I’ve got friends in the South. Good friends. And besides, I know who you are.”
Colin looked her up and down, narrowing his eyes. She probably played that killer body the same way he played his accent, and to a hell of a lot better effect, too. So who the hell was she? “What can I do for you, Leighton?” he asked bluntly, his accent still present, but considerably less so.
“I’m a private investigator. Very private. In fact, I have only one client, and he’s sleeping at a compound not far from here.”
Colin let his surprise show on his face. “You’re with the vampires?”
“I am. And I’m sure you know why I’m here.”
“I know a whole bunch of trucks drove through this town two nights ago.”
“And you were there when Mariane was attacked.”
“Afterward,” he amended sharply. “By the time I arrived, whoever had attacked her was gone.”
“Forgive me,” she said, and seemed to mean it. “I didn’t mean to imply anything. Wei Chen and Loren have both vouched for you and your honesty.”
“Is Mariane okay? I wanted to call an ambulance, but Jeremy—”
“Mariane’s doing well, considering. Jeremy taking her to the compound really was the best course, Mister Murphy.”
“Colin,” he said. “No need for formality between us, is there?”
She grinned, the first honest, uncalculated thing she’d done so far. “Formalities aside, then. I’m here because I need to see the crime scenes—all three of them—in daylight.”
Colin frowned. “Crime scenes?”
She tilted her head at him. “I thought we’d moved past this, Murphy.”
He shook his head, puzzled. “No, I mean, I understand you want to see Jeremy’s place. I don’t think he’s been back there since it happened, but, crime scenes, as in plural?”
She studied him intently. “You don’t know,” she said, making it a statement not a question.
“Know what?” he snapped.
“About Marco and Preston.”
“Marco? What about Marco?”
“You knew him?”
“Knew him? Why are you talking in past tense? Has something happened to Marco?”
