Chapter 15 Raphael
RAPHAEL
The vampires arrived precisely as the sun set.
I stood at the far end of the warehouse with Viktor and Dmitri flanking me, watching as three figures emerged from the shadows. No footsteps. No heartbeats. No scent. Just the whisper of expensive fabric and the cold that preceded them like a warning.
My wolf’s hackles rose instinctively. Every predator sense I possessed screamed threat, even as protocol demanded I remain still.
Alex Diamantis led the delegation. Second in command to Dragan himself, though the ancient vampire master would never deign to attend something as mundane as an exchange.
Alex was pale as marble, beautiful in the way that corpses could be beautiful, with eyes that had watched empires rise and fall.
Behind him, two of his guards flanked in perfect formation. Silent. Still. Dead.
The absence of heartbeats was the worst part.
I could hear my own brothers’ pulses, steady and strong.
I could hear the distant traffic on the highway, a siren three blocks away, a rat scurrying in the walls.
But where the vampires stood, there was nothing.
A void where life should have been. Even the air around them seemed wrong, too still, a void filled with an indescribable scent that meant old blood and older death.
Unnatural. My wolf’s growl reverberated through my chest. Wrong. Kill them.
I forced the instinct down. The Bratva had done business with the Diamantis clan for decades. Ancient protocols observed between apex predators who had learned, over centuries, that mutual destruction served no one.
“Vor.” Alex’s voice was cool silk, perfectly polite. “Thank you for meeting us.”
“The Bratva honors its agreements.” I inclined my head. Exactly the right amount of respect. Not a fraction more.
“As do the Diamantis.” Alex’s smile revealed nothing. No fangs, not yet. That would be gauche. “Dragan sends his regards. He was pleased with the submarine.”
“It served its purpose?”
“Admirably.” A pause. Something surfaced in those ancient eyes. Amusement, maybe. Or calculation. With vampires, the two were often indistinguishable. “Mediterranean operations have expanded significantly. The routes through Greece and France are now firmly under our control.”
The submarine had been a complicated acquisition.
Russian contacts, Bratva connections that stretched back to the Cold War, favors called in and palms greased.
The Diamantis clan had wanted it for their European operations, something that could move product without attracting attention. We had delivered.
Now they would repay.
“Three shipments,” I said. “As agreed.”
“Three shipments.” Alex produced a slim folder from inside his coat. The movement was too fluid, too precise. Inhuman. “Details are inside. Routes, timing, quantities. High-grade Colombian. Eighty-seven percent purity.”
Viktor stepped forward to take the folder.
His movements were controlled, but I caught the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his nostrils flared as he tried to scent a threat that had no scent.
Wolves did not like being this close to vampires.
Something in our blood remembered ancient conflicts, territory wars fought in shadows before humans had words for what we were.
Every instinct screamed to attack, to defend, to eliminate the threat.
But the Bratva had learned long ago that there were predators even wolves couldn’t afford to fight.
Kill them, my wolf suggested helpfully. Rip their throats out. Paint the walls with their cold blood.
I ignored him. The wolf was not always rational about these things.
“The Bratva is satisfied,” I said. “The debt is cleared.”
“Cleared.” Alex’s smile widened fractionally. “Though I wonder, Vor, if you might be interested in future arrangements. The Diamantis always appreciate partners who can acquire difficult items.”
“The Bratva is always open to mutually beneficial arrangements.”
“Excellent.”
The exchange was complete. Protocol satisfied. The vampires should have turned and left, melting back into the shadows they’d emerged from. Instead, Alex paused. His head tilted, and for a moment, his nostrils flared.
Scenting me. The way a wolf might scent prey.
I kept my expression blank, but the wolf bristled. Vampires didn’t need to breathe, which meant when they inhaled, they were reading you. Tasting the air for weakness. For distraction.
For her.
Could he smell her on me? Her scent that clung to my clothes, to my skin, no matter how many times I showered? I’d kissed her yesterday. Had my mouth on hers, her fingers wrapped in my shirt, her body pressed against mine for one perfect, dangerous moment.
“You seem distracted tonight, Vor.” Alex’s voice was still pleasant. Still perfectly polite. “Unlike your usual sharp self.”
I felt Viktor stiffen beside me. Dmitri’s hand moved fractionally toward the gun concealed beneath his jacket.
“Business has been demanding,” I said, keeping my voice level. “The acquisition of the Hughes property has required attention.”
“Ah, yes. The hotel heiress.” A knowing look crossed Alex’s face. Knowledge, perhaps. Or speculation. “Dragan heard about that arrangement. He found it… intriguing.”
None of his business. The wolf was growling now, low and constant. Our mate. Our concern. Tell him nothing.
“A business matter,” I said. “Nothing more.”
“Of course.” Alex’s smile was all teeth. “Distractions are dangerous, Vor. For all of us. The world watches, and weakness invites challenge.”
He turned then, a fluid motion that seemed to bend the shadows around him, and walked back toward the warehouse entrance. His guards followed in perfect synchronization. Within seconds, the cold that had preceded them faded, leaving only the normal winter chill.
The silence stretched for a long moment after they’d gone.
“He knows something,” Viktor said quietly. His voice was rough, the growl of a wolf barely contained in human form.
“He’s guessing.” I turned away from the door. “The Diamantis collect information the way they collect blood. It doesn’t mean anything.”
Viktor’s expression said he didn’t believe me. Worse, his eyes held something else. A question he wasn’t asking. A concern he would voice to Max the moment they were alone.
I’d been distracted during the meeting. I’d let my thoughts drift to her. To the kiss. To the way she’d grabbed my shirt and pulled me closer, meeting my hunger with her own. To the soft moan she’d made when my tongue had swept against hers.
And Viktor had noticed.
Stupid, the wolf muttered. Careless. But she is ours. Why shouldn’t we think of what belongs to us?
Because thinking about her in a room full of vampires was a good way to get killed. Because showing weakness to predators, any predators, was suicide. Because the Pakhan had rules about attachments, and Viktor reported everything to Max.
I walked toward the door, my brothers falling into step behind me. The night air hit my face, cold and clean after the stale warehouse. Snow was falling, light flakes that caught the streetlights and drifted down like ash from a distant fire.
In the car, I pulled out my phone and scrolled through the surveillance reports that had been streaming in all afternoon.
The boiler failure at 11:47 AM. Her immediate response, rallying staff before panic could set in. The spa converted to a warming station. Blankets distributed. Guests managed with a competence that would have impressed men twice her age.
I’d watched it all unfold through my network of informants. Had sent her those texts knowing exactly what she was dealing with, knowing she’d see them and understand that nothing escaped my notice.
The wolf purred with satisfaction. She’d read those messages and known. Known that even when I wasn’t physically present, I was there. Watching. Cataloging. Owning every moment of her day whether she liked it or not.
Good, the wolf growled. She needs to understand. She belongs to us. Every breath. Every crisis. Every moment that general manager stands too close.
Michael. The name sat like acid on my tongue.
I’d watched that too. The way he’d appeared at her side within minutes of the crisis breaking.
The coffee he’d brought her, prepared exactly how she liked it.
The way he’d touched her arm, her shoulder, her elbow.
Eleven times throughout the day, my surveillance had counted.
Eleven casual touches that weren’t casual at all.
He wanted her. It was written in every helpful gesture, every supportive word, every lingering glance. And she was too focused on the crisis to see it. Too trusting to recognize the calculation behind his kindness.
Kill him, the wolf suggested, almost conversationally. Remove the threat. She’s ours.
Not yet. Michael was useful. His competence kept the hotel running while she learned the business. His presence gave her someone to lean on, someone who wasn’t me, which kept her from becoming too dependent too quickly.
But if he touched her again…
I closed my eyes and let the surveillance footage play behind my lids. Her standing in the lobby, addressing a crowd of anxious guests with her chin high and her voice steady. Her walking the floors, checking on staff, solving problems as they arose.
But I was always watching.
Clever girl, I’d texted her. The words had been calculated. Praise wrapped in condescension. A reminder that her competence was something I noticed, something I permitted, something that pleased me the way a well-trained pet pleased its owner.
The wolf didn’t like that comparison. He saw something else in her performance today. Something that made his hackles rise with pride rather than possession.
Strong, he insisted. Worthy. A mate who can stand alone when she must.
I silenced him. She wasn’t a mate. She was a contract.