by Sarah Piper
“I don’t know their names!” Jordan cried, desperately inching away from the terrible blue flame. “They’re demon lords, okay? They don’t fuck around with our business. They’re just a bunch of stuck-up cocksuckers who never leave hell. Half the guys say they don’t even exist.”
“And how does one communicate with a demon lord?” Dorian asked. “Assuming they do, in fact, exist—which is more than I can say for your cock if I don’t like your answer.”
“You don’t communicate with them, man! They communicate with you, if and when they choose. But I told you—they don’t give a rat’s ass about anyone here on the earthly plane, so if you’re after a hot date with the elites of hell, good fucking luck.”
Dorian exchanged another quick glance with Gabriel, who nodded in return. They were on the same page. The interview was officially over.
“Thank you, Jordan,” Dorian said, “for your utter uselessness. I’m afraid this is where we part ways, by which I mean we’ll now be parting your essence from your vessel.”
“What? But I told you everything I know! I cooperated! Let me go!”
“Let you go?” Dorian laughed. “What ever would I do for lunch? Torture leaves me quite famished, I’m afraid.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Should we tell him, brother?” Dorian asked Gabriel, unable to deny the urge to further taunt the bastard.
“Give him the multiple choice answers,” Gabriel said. “I love making them guess.”
“Oh, very well.” Dorian let out a put-upon sigh. “Why am I doing this, Jordan? Is it… A—because I’m the vampire king, B—because I’m hungry, C—because I can, or D—all of the above?”
“What? I don’t—”
“Tick-tock, Jordy. Best guess.” Dorian flashed a benevolent smile, and without awaiting Jordan’s final answer, sank his fangs into the demon’s neck.
The bastard fought hard for a moment, but Dorian truly was B—hungry, and in the span of thirty seconds, he drained his prey dry.
Just before the heartbeat finally stalled out, Dorian tore the body from its chains and launched it into the wall, unlocking its soul from the temporary prison of the devil’s trap.
Thanks to Isabelle’s handiwork, before the body even hit the floor, the demonic essence evaporated, exorcised to oblivion in a swirl of smoke.
The corpse turned as black as tar.
With a mouth full of blood and a vicious grin, Dorian looked to Gabriel and said, “Well don’t just stand there, brother. Bring in contestant number two.”
Chapter Five
Five vanquished demons and an ocean of rancid blood later, Dorian and Gabriel were no closer to finding Sasha, uncovering Rogozin’s grand scheme, sussing out Rudy’s angle, or learning a damn thing about Charlotte’s mark than they were when they’d begun this dreadful day.
But one thing was certain.
Among the warring demonic factions of New York City, someone needed to get his story straight.
Wiping the last of the foul-tasting demon blood from his mouth, Dorian said, “Chernikov suggested at our meeting—quite convincingly—that Rogozin had been working with dark witches to open the demonic portals and flood the city with demons. But if these pricks are to be believed, Rogozin’s got an entirely different modus operandi, and Chernikov is the one building up his armies.”
“That’s the thing,” Gabriel said. “I did believe them.”
“As did I.”
“Maybe they’re just not privy to the boss’ master plan.”
Dorian shook his head. “You don’t plan an operation of that magnitude and leave out your key enforcers. Something isn’t adding up.”
“You think Chernikov’s bullshitting you, then?”
“Oh, he’s absolutely bullshitting me. The question is… what about? And to what end?” Dorian toed one of the blackened corpses at his feet. “The only thing I’m certain of is that he desperately wants the Mother of Lost Souls. As long as he believes I can procure it for him, he’ll string me along by the balls for an eternity. How can I trust a word from his greasy mouth?”
“So what’s our next move? There’s another Rogozin stronghold a few blocks down—a butcher. That could be… fun.”
“I’m not sure it would net us anything new.” Dorian sighed, the stress of the last twenty-four hours finally catching up. He missed Charlotte. After all the bloodshed, all the burning flesh, all he wanted to do was go home to her, crawl into bed beside her, and let the warmth of her body and the sweetness of her scent take him someplace infinitely better.
But he couldn’t. Not yet.
“We need to clean this up,” he said, glancing around the bloodied garage. “Burn it, spread a rumor it was Chernikov demons. Better to let them fight it out amongst themselves.”
Gabriel nodded. “We need to clean us up too. Bloody hell, these creatures are disgusting.”
The brothers washed up in the men’s room, eradicating all traces of demon blood. Then, with Isabelle’s help, they obliterated the devil’s traps, burned the corpses, and torched the interior with a magical fire no one would see from the outside until the place was nothing but ash.
A lot of trouble, perhaps, but better than the alternative—having Rogozin show up at Ravenswood, demanding answers Dorian had no intention of providing.
Back out on Sixty-First Street, the sun shone bright overhead, casting their trio in a wash of unforgiving light.
Dorian winced, immediately stepping back into the shadows. His eyes throbbed, his mind going hazy.
That the copious amounts of demon blood he’d ingested hadn’t been enough to stave off such sensitivity was surprising and concerning on its own. But worse?
Gabriel had shown the exact same response.
Dorian turned to him, eyes wide with surprise. Dorian had been experiencing similar symptoms for months, but it was the first evidence he’d seen that his brother was suffering a similar fate.
“Gabriel, are you—”
“All good.” Gabriel forced a smile, but his eyes still held an echo of pain. He reached into his shirt pocket for his sunglasses and quickly shoved them onto his face.
Dorian wanted to press the issue, but they were no longer alone. A woman strolled by on the sidewalk, her long black hair fluttering in the breeze. She flashed a warm, flirtatious smile at Gabriel, blood rushing to her cheeks.
“Hello, love,” Gabriel said smoothly, returning her smile.
She held his gaze another beat, but continued on her way.
“I can help,” Isabelle said when the woman had finally passed. She reached for his hands, just as she’d done with Dorian the night she’d recharged his magical tattoos, but Gabriel jerked away.
“I appreciate the offer, Isabelle, but I’m fine.” Then, turning his attention to the raven-haired beauty’s vanishing backside, he grinned and said, “Just a bit famished. Nothing I can’t fix with a quick… snack.”
“Gabriel,” Dorian said, “I don’t think—”
“Fear not, brother. I always ask nicely.” He clapped Dorian on the back, and then he was off, chasing after the woman with all the cockiness his heartbreakingly good looks afforded.
“I apologize,” Dorian said to Isabelle. “My brother is a bit touchy when it comes to witches. He’s never quite forgiven himself for needing them.”
“Please don’t apologize. Gabriel’s feelings toward me are merely a symptom of a much deeper issue. Issues, actually. He’s… got a lot of inner work to do.”
“I suppose you would know.” Dorian smiled, but a new wave of sadness rose inside him. Trying to hold on to a connection with his brother—even one brought about by something as dark and brutal as torture—felt like trying to hold on to the wind itself.
As for the torture…
Dorian sighed. He had no love for demons, and he’d do it again in a heartbeat if it meant protecting the people he cared about.
But out here in the bright, beautiful afternoon, surrounded by the rush of cars a
nd pizza delivery bicycles and parents pushing strollers into their favorite shops and bakeries, his stomach churned nevertheless.
“Isabelle, what happened in there…” Dorian shook his head, shame heating his skin. “I don’t know how much you saw or heard, but I—”
She held up a hand, cutting him off. “It’s not my place to judge, Dorian. I said I’d have your back, and I meant it. But if we’re going to continue working together, I’m afraid I do have one condition.”
Dorian closed his eyes, already knowing what she was going to say.
Knowing he’d hate it.
Knowing she was absolutely right.
“Is this the part where I beg you for a sugar-covered shitcake and we pretend everything’s all right?” he asked.
“No, Dorian.” She took his hands, imploring him with her wise, penetrating gaze. “This is the part where you go home and tell the woman you love the truth about her soul.”
Chapter Six
“Dorian?” Charley sat up in bed, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. “What… what time is it?”
Her vampire was sitting in a chair at the bedside, dressed in nothing but a pair of black silk pajama pants. Her gaze trailed up along the smooth, rigid planes of his abs and chest to his beautiful face, where she could just make out his features—the sharp lines of his jaw, the sweep of dark hair that fell over his forehead, the soulful eyes that glittered in the darkness.
Damn. Dorian Redthorne truly was a marvel. Day or night, Charley would never tire of looking at him.
But she could tell, even in the pitch black of the bedroom, something was wrong.
“After midnight,” he said softly, then came to sit on the edge of the bed, so invitingly close the heat from his bare chest radiated against her skin.
“I missed you,” she whispered.
“Charlotte, I…” He cupped her face, his eyes glazing with emotion. “I need to tell you something. It’s important.”
“Did you get a lead on Sasha?”
“No. This is… something else. I... It’s…” He trailed off into a heavy sigh, his breath stirring the hair around her face.
She waited for him to continue, but he seemed totally lost, adrift on his own dark thoughts.
“I thought you’d be back this afternoon,” she said, doing her best to hide the new fear coursing through her veins.
Dorian seemed to be carrying enough of it for both of them.
“I’m sorry. I… I had business in the city. I meant to return straightaway, but then I decided to pick up a few things, and after that I was just… driving. Trying to clear my head, but I…” He was looking right at her, but somehow not, as if he’d floated away to another realm and left his body behind.
“You’re here now. That’s what matters.” She ran her fingers through his hair and down along his jawline, and he closed his eyes, leaning into her touch and letting out a soft hum of pleasure.
“You’ve no idea how much I was looking forward to that,” he whispered.
“Me too.” Charley continued stroking his skin, her thumb running back and forth over his earlobe. “How long have you been home? You should’ve woken me up.”
Dorian turned and pressed a kiss to her wrist. “You needed the rest. Besides, I quite like watching you sleep. It calms me.”
“Hmm. I can’t decide if that makes it sound less creepy or more.”
“Oh, I can be very creepy when properly provoked, Ms. D’Amico.” Dorian winked, then wrapped her in his arms, holding her so tight it almost hurt to breathe.
Despite the light teasing, he was still so tense.
What are you not telling me?
Charley traced her fingers over the taut forearm wrapped around her midsection, noticing the stark contrast of his tattoos—the magic that allowed him to walk in the daylight, among other things. “They look darker tonight.”
“I fed this morning. Not to worry—just a few sodding demons.”
“Demons?” Alarm shot through her limbs, and she wriggled free from his iron grip to gaze up at his face. “What happened?”
“It doesn’t matter, love. It’s over now.”
But it wasn’t over—that much was obvious. His jaw was tight, his eyes haunted by a new darkness that hadn’t been there last night, even after everything that had happened with Sasha, Rudy, and the grays in the alley.
“Dorian, please don’t shut me out. Not now. We said no more secrets.”
He cupped her face again, his touch as delicate as a feather. “It’s not my intention to shut you out, Charlotte. I’m simply… I want to protect you. I need to protect you, and protecting you means showing some discretion with—”
“Bullshit.” Charley glared at him, frustration rising in her voice. “Look. I realize you’re an immortal vampire and I’m a weak human and you’ve got this whole overbearing, overprotective thing going on, and don’t get me wrong—I appreciate it. Especially when you’re hauling me out of dumpsters and beating off grays. But this?” She traced her fingertips over the wrinkle of tension between his eyes, then moved down to his chest, placing her hand flat against his bare skin. Beneath her touch, his heartbeat thrummed. “Whatever you’re feeling, whatever you’re going through, you don’t have to protect me from it.”
Dorian reached up and grabbed her hand, holding it firm against his chest. “You’re not weak, Charlotte. Not by a long shot. But I’m not going to add to your nightmares just to momentarily unburden myself.”
“I’m not afraid of your pain. Only of losing you to it.”
He held her gaze a few more beats, then finally relented. “Gabriel and I interrogated some of Rogozin’s demons today, hoping to net a bit of useful information. It was… unpleasant, to say the least. We left none alive.”
“What happened?”
He closed his eyes and shook his head like he was trying to loosen whatever terrible memories had gotten stuck inside.
“Through all those gruesome hours,” he said, “all I could think about was coming home to you. Coming home to this moment, right here. To your soft skin, to your perfect… everything.” He drew her close again, burying his face against her neck and inhaling her scent. “You are the only good thing in… I can’t…” His voice crumbled. “I’ve done things, Charlotte. Dark, terrible things I don’t wish to bring home to the bed we share. Please don’t ask me to.”
The pain in his voice nearly broke her heart. She knew it’d cost him something to admit even that much—something she wasn’t sure he’d meant to lose.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, because in all the things he hadn’t said, the truth shone as starkly as if he’d written it in blood.
Whatever Dorian had done today, whatever brutalities he’d administered, whatever hell he’d put himself through… He’d done it for her.
She closed her eyes and lay her head against his chest, taking comfort in the strong, steady beat of his heart. Dorian slid his hand into her hair and stroked her head, and they held each other close, seconds turning to minutes, time slowing to grant them this momentary reprieve.
When the darkness finally began to abate, Dorian pulled back and glanced down at her face, his gaze sweeping to her mouth. The warmth had returned to his eyes, chasing off his earlier torments.
“How are you feeling?” he asked. “Any pain?”
“I was a little sore this morning, but I’m actually doing okay. Colin did a good job patching me up. I was hoping to thank him, but I didn’t see him around today. Is he staying somewhere else?”
“I’m afraid Colin is still spending most of his time in the crypts. My father left a number of medical journals in his laboratory there, and—”
“Wait. Your father had a medical lab? In the crypts?” Charley laughed. “That’s what I get for skipping the official tour.”
“The lab isn’t part of the official tour. But if you’d like, I could put in a word with the owner.” He brushed a powder-soft kiss across her lips and whispered, “I hear he likes yo
u.”
“Don’t tell my vampire boyfriend. He’s kind of the jealous type.”
“Your vampire boyfriend is definitely the jealous type.”
“Why do vampires even need crypts? I never understood that.”
“They’re a holdover from the original manor in West Sussex—all part of Father’s re-creation. He used them for his own special projects—his medical research, mostly. Ironically, Augustus Redthorne is down there—what’s left of him, anyway. Probably the only vampire in history to be interred in an actual tomb.”
“Really?”
“He died there, Charlotte. We simply allowed him to remain.”
“But… How did he die? I mean…” Charley sighed. They’d never really talked about his father’s death, and she wasn’t sure if that fell into the realm of dark things he didn’t want to discuss tonight.
But before she could change the subject, he said, “My father thought he’d found a way to reclaim his humanity. A cure for vampirism.”
Charley gasped. “There’s a cure?”
“So long as you’re okay with the side effects. Namely, death within a matter of months.”
“Holy shit,” she breathed. “And your father… he discovered this cure?”
“He did.”
“But… but what if someone found out? Couldn’t your enemies use it against you? I mean, they could totally wipe out the vampire race!”
He held her gaze, his own stern and severe, his silence once again speaking volumes.
Demons, rival vampires, human hunters… Any number of enemies would probably kill to get their hands on that cure.
The realization blasted her in the face.
That’s why he hadn’t mentioned his father’s lab before.
He hadn’t trusted her.
But now…
She glanced up into his eyes again, and he nodded once, almost imperceptibly, as if he could read her thoughts.
He trusted her—with his life.
Just as she’d trusted him with hers.
Tears blurred her vision, but she quickly blinked them away. “How did the cure kill him?”