The Unforgiven:

RAPHAEL

By

Tracy L. Ranson

© copyright September 2005, Tracy L. Ranson

Cover art by Kat Richards, © copyright September 2005

ISBN 1-58608-634-0

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

Chapter 1

Cigarette smoke filled Club Inferno, circling around the drunken patrons' heads. Dance music, a mix of hip-hop and techno, blared from the giant sound system originating from the wiry DJ working the CDs in the booth. Fake devils and flames comprised the decor, shades of red showing throughout. Did these humans have no imagination? Surely, they could have come up with something more provocative than visions of hell.

Raphael surveyed the room, his hooded eyes narrowing. So far, there wasn't anyone who deserved to die tonight. Oh, sure, there were a few pervs, perps and cheaters out, looking for a good lay. Nothing worth losing their lives over.

"Nothing suits you, I see," Alexandra commented, sweeping yards of long black hair over her shoulder, their table nestled in a dark corner of the bar.

He leaned back, stretching out his long, denim encased legs. "Nada damn thing." he said wryly. His usual hunger for blood wasn't gnawing at him as it usually was. Why, he wasn't sure.

"Our dear Raphael isn't in the mood tonight for a little fun, I suppose," jibed Eygptian-born Nicholas, the only other occupant at their table.

"There's more to life than a good fuck," he said, his gaze still scanning the room. Why did he keep doing that? There was nothing here. He snickered. It reminded him of a story someone once told him of the humans: If they were bored, they had a tendency to go to the refrigerator to find something to eat. When nothing suited them, they closed the door only to return several minutes later under the conclusion that something new had appeared. "Besides, I am bored with this place. Is there something...."

He stopped, his attention diverted to the sudden, unfamiliar heaviness to the room. Turning toward the main source of the strange feeling, he caught the eye of a young woman at the bar. There was really nothing unusual about her. Mousy hair slipped past her shoulders, clipped at the crown by what the humans called a barrette. Thick black-rimmed glasses covered her eyes, perched on a nearly perfect nose. Full lips resided underneath, the color of dew-covered roses. He sat up straight, his gaze scraping up and down her body slowly. What was it about her that drew his attention?

Alexandra's Spanish-lilted laughter broke through his thoughts. "It looks like Raphael has finally found something."

"Put a sock in it, Alex," he murmured, continuing to watch the woman relentlessly. Her movements were a little nervous and stilted, almost as if she was completely out of her element. From the vibe she was giving off, more than likely she was.

"Who's the lucky woman?" Nicholas joined in, his annoying laughter mingling with Alex's, their black heads shining blue in the dim light.

He said nothing as he continued to watch the strangely familiar woman. Her long fingers, tipped with well manicured nails, danced around the rim of her glass as she stared at the atmosphere around her, the boredom in her radiating like a beacon. What was she doing here?

Behind him, he could hear Nicholas and Alex's banal conversation, ignoring it completely. He was too concentrated on the intriguing young woman. There was definitely something about her that he couldn't quite place.

Closing his eyes, he probed her mind, tapping into her innermost secrets, searching for the key that was truly her. From what he could see, she was a very shy, insecure woman, especially about her looks. Why did she feel this way? Probing deeper, he viewed her memories, feeling a little like a thief.

She had a normal childhood, with doting parents. Unfortunately, she was the only child and in her eyes, not even remotely pretty. Digging ever deeper, she suffered from horrible nightmares. What caused them?

Let me see, he ordered the memories. Then, like a ghost rising from the mist of the Moors, it showed itself. In her most horrific nightmare, the woman was in the clutches of a creature not of this earth, dying the same way his beloved had died.

His eyes flew wide open, his breathing heavy. No, it couldn't be!

A fist pummeled in the belly, his breath catching in his chest. It was his beloved Elizabeth, lost so many years ago to him, returned from the grave.

"What's wrong, Raphael?" Alex asked, her dark brows knitted together.

"He's got a case of the I-need-to-get-laid-blues," Nicholas joined in, jabbing him in the arm.

"I don't believe it," he said slowly, the heat in his face becoming more intense.

"Don't believe what?"

"It's Elizabeth."

* * * *

Liz Quartermaine stared at the roaring crowd in Club Inferno, her uneasiness growing because this wasn't her scene at all. As a matter of fact, she had no scene. She'd only come here on the advice of one of her students in order to placate her boredom.

Ha! Some advice. There was nothing here that intrigued her....

Her belly tightened into a knot, as it always did when someone watched her. Warily, she searched the crowded club until she locked onto the most beautiful pair of green eyes she had ever seen. The man behind them was almost as stunning. Casually tousled black hair trailed over his broad, well muscled shoulders, framing his aristocratic face. Was he staring at her?

Liz turned around, searching for the obvious target of his attention. There simply had to be a Playboy model standing behind her shoulder whom he was interested in.

She looked.

Nothing.

Then what was he staring at?

She turned back, finding his gaze as intense as before. Why was he staring in her direction? Surely he wasn't looking at her?

Her breath caught in her throat as she gazed at him, almost hypnotized by his stare. White cotton swathed his upper body, outlining every muscle and plane. He leaned back casually in his chair, stretching his long legs out, crossing them at the ankles, his hands behind his head as he stared at her. This move forced her to look at the rest of him.

Dark blue denim encased his muscular legs, wrapped around his slim waist. She shivered. Did he possess six pack abs under that shirt?

Despite her better judgment, she kept staring. She couldn't help but notice the obvious bulge between his legs, her mind wondering what lay beneath the strained denim. A shudder passed through her, the heat in her face intensifying. Why did she feel this way? It was utterly obvious that the stranger could not even remotely be interested in her.

Picking up her glass, she drained the last of the contents and sat it on the bar.

"Would you like another drink, ma'am?" the bartender shouted over the noise.

Before she answered, she looked over to where he sat and saw with horror he was getting up, as if to come toward her.

Fear took over, making her move fast. "No thanks," she answered, slamming a ten dollar bill on the granite bar. "Keep the change."

She shouldered her purse and hurried out the door. Once she hit the fresh air, she stopped and leaned against the building, her head in her hand. Why was she acting like a silly schoolgirl? The man was not interested in her so why did she leave so quickly when it looked like he was coming over to her? Tears stained her eyes. Part of her wished he would come over but the humiliation of him passing her by was almost more than she could take....

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" a drunken voice slurred from the shadows near the side of the building.

Her blood froze, the terror inside of her rising to new limits. "I .. I ... was just leaving," she stuttered as she pushed away from the wall.

"You ain't going nowhere, baby," the voice sneered as a man emerged from the shadows followed by six other men.

She put her hands up, her heart beating so fast that she was sure her chest would explode. "Please, don't hurt me," she pleaded as she held out her purse. "Just take my money and go."

"We're gonna take more than that," the wretched man grinned as he came closer, his friends forming a circle so that she couldn't break free. "Aren't we, boys?"

The rest of them murmured in excitement, encouraging her anxiety to get the best of her. "Let me go!" she screamed as she tried to free herself from the circle of terror.

"No way, baby," he said, stepping forward, his hand gripping the upper part of her blouse and ripping downward. "Let's get them clothes off so we can have some fun."

Hands, greedy and demanding, ripped at her, pulling her hair along with her clothing. Her screams went unheard, the music from the smoky club drifting outside, drowning her completely. Would anyone save her from them?

"The lady said to leave her alone," ordered a male voice in a clipped, British accent from the left.

Their attack halted as they turned to look. "Who are you to tell us what ta do, asshole?" challenged one of them, his hand brandishing a switchblade. "Come on over here if ya think ya man enough."

"As you wish," he said.

Suddenly, the stranger's swift movements knocked the blade from his hand and the man went down.

Liz saw with relief it had been the same man staring at her in the club. Thankfully, he had decided to leave the club at the same time, or perhaps he had found his lay for the night. Whatever the reason was, she was grateful for it.

"Hey, that's our bro," the scroungy leader of the pack warned as he stepped forward, getting out his own blade. "You're gonna pay for that, fucker."

The criminal's arm swung to the left, narrowly missing her strange rescuer. Mr. Model stepped backwards, avoiding the first swipe but not the second. Blood poured from the wound in his belly. He stopped and looked down. "Look at what you have done to me!" he said chidingly.

"It ain't nothing compared to what I'm gonna do to you," the criminal sneered.

Her rescuer looked up. His hauntingly handsome face had disappeared, replaced by that of a demon. Red eyes glared out from beneath the folds of the darkened skin, the teeth white and shiny. Where the eye teeth should have been were a pair of fangs, looking as sharp as a cat's teeth.

The horror inside of her mounted. Who was this man?

All of the criminals paled. "What are you?" their once ferocious leader demanded.

"Your worst nightmare," he snarled through the ferocious teeth as he waved a hand. "None of you will move until your justice has been handed out."

She couldn't take it anymore. Her world started to spin, and her legs weakened. Before she knew what happened, everything turned black.