by Sarah Piper
Charlotte seemed unable to see it yet, but Dorian had a strong suspicion the man was behind her father’s murder as well.
Dorian didn’t just want him dead. He wanted him to suffer. Horribly. Along with Rogozin, and Estas, and Duchanes, and every man, demon, and vampire who’d ever brought her harm.
But it wasn’t an option. Not yet. Charlotte had said as much—one wrong move against her uncle, and she and her sister would pay the ultimate price.
Never before had Dorian felt so bloody impotent.
It was a feeling to which he had no interest in getting accustomed.
He blinked hard, trying to clear the images of Charlotte’s bruises from his mind, focusing instead on the pot of chili bubbling on the stove.
While Sasha and Aiden—who in the span of a single afternoon had become the best of mates—played a cutthroat game of Monopoly in the study, Dorian and Charlotte had relocated to the kitchen, where they’d volunteered to cook dinner so they might continue their conversation in private.
Now, he stirred the chili with a concentration bordering on obsession.
“We need to review our options,” he said, keeping his voice low. “The primary goal is protecting you and Sasha at all costs. Everything else is secondary.”
Charlotte leaned in beside him with a cutting board full of diced onions, scraping them into the pot. She gazed up at him, her eyes full of gratitude, but Dorian quickly looked away. He didn’t want to see that look in her eyes. It was hard enough to be in the same room with her knowing he’d never hold her in his arms again, never feel those lips brushing against his chest, never hear the soft, delectable sigh she made right before he drove her to the edge…
He cleared his throat, retreating to the counter to open a bottle of wine before he got himself hard again. He needed to figure out this Rudy situation—lay down the options, pick the best one, and set the plan in motion—not fantasize about their mutually insatiable carnal appetites. Those steamy nights had been pure bliss, but they were over. As far as Dorian was concerned, this was a business arrangement now—a deal not much different from the hundreds he’d conducted over the years in the FierceConnect boardroom.
Yes, but you’ve never been in love with your business associates, you sodding idiot…
“We need to determine whether your uncle is still involved with Rogozin,” he said, pouring two glasses of Cabernet. “And whether he knows Rogozin is a demon. If he does, it’s likely he also knows I’m a vampire. And if that’s the case, I guarantee they’re after more than just my artwork, which complicates matters infinitely.”
“I’m sorry.” Charlotte sighed. “I wish I could remember more about Rogozin’s men.”
“It’s a blessing that you don’t.” Dorian’s chest ignited again, imagining her as a girl younger than Sasha, fighting off those monsters. “For now, let’s consider scenario one: your uncle is nothing more than a lowlife human, working with a crew of other lowlife humans to turn a fast buck, no supernaturals involved.”
Charlotte nodded and stirred the pot, then brought the wooden spoon to her lips, sampling the chili. Dorian tried not to recall the feel of her velvet-soft tongue licking up and down his shaft in the guest house the night of the fundraiser, but it was no use. Everything about her turned him on, inside and out.
Forcing himself back to the urgent matter at hand, he said, “Under the lowlife human scenario… I’m assuming you don’t have enough evidence of their former crimes to bring to the authorities? See if we might take your uncle out of the equation legally?”
“Not without implicating myself. I can’t go to jail, Dorian. That would mean leaving Sasha. Rudy knows I’d never risk it—it’s probably why he hasn’t already killed me.”
“So he knows your weakness.”
“If by weakness you mean the one person in my life I’d willingly sell my soul to protect, then yes. She’s my weakness.”
“Loving someone isn’t a character flaw, Charlotte,” he said softly. “I simply meant… Look. Rudy knows exactly how to get to you. By threatening the one you love—explicitly or otherwise—he can keep you in a constant state of fear and obedience. As a royal vampire, I know the dynamic all too well.”
“Yeah, but the difference is—I’m not a powerful immortal being. I’m a weak human.” Charlotte covered the pot and turned it down to simmer, then grabbed her glass of wine. “And even if I had the physical strength to stand up to him, I don’t have the courage.”
Dorian frowned and reached up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. The contact made her heart skip—a soft beat that sang to him, drawing him closer. He couldn’t help it. As long as they were in the same room together, he couldn’t not touch her—no matter how badly he needed to keep his distance.
“You’re the most courageous woman I’ve ever met, Charlotte. I won’t have you doubting it. Not in my presence.”
Her cheeks darkened, a shy smile touching her lips. “Is that an order, highness?”
“Indeed.” He returned her smile, sliding his thumb across her lips, recalling how she’d done it to him in the dining room. The sweetness of her blood made his mouth water, and he leaned in closer, desperate for another taste…
“Cheese!” she said suddenly, pulling out of his grasp. “We need cheese!”
She darted for the refrigerator, and Dorian grabbed his wine, tipping back a healthy swig.
Bloody hell, the whole situation was growing more impossible by the second.
“So,” she said, dodging his gaze as she grated a block of white cheddar into a large ceramic bowl, “any other ideas?”
Several, including but not limited to blurring you up to my bedroom and tying you to the bed, devouring you with kisses, and fucking you until you forget everything about your life but the feel of my punishing cock…
“Dorian?” she said, and he blinked, taking another sip of wine.
Right.
“What if we temporarily relocate you and Sasha to one of my properties in London,” he said, “then let the robbery play out, at which time I’ll have the thieves arrested onsite?”
“And then what? My sister and I live out the rest of our lives as fugitives? Rudy has connections, Dorian. Even if you had him arrested—hell, even if you took him out—the moment we set foot back in the States, we’d be dead. And that’s assuming his guys didn’t track us down overseas first.”
“Fair point. All right, I could relocate my most valuable pieces to Tribeca. If they break in here, they’ll only find a fraction of the estate, and perhaps they’ll give up, moving on to something more lucrative.”
“No good.” Charlotte set the bowl of grated cheese on the table in the nook, then rummaged the cupboards for dishes and utensils. “Other than the Hermes and LaPorte painting, which I didn’t mention because of the connection to my father’s murder, they already know what’s here. If it’s gone when they make their move, they’ll know I warned you.”
Dorian bit back a curse. Of course they knew what was here. Dorian had been sleeping with a spy.
He reached for the bottle of wine, dumping the rest into his glass, the whole situation crashing down on him anew.
What a fucking mess.
“For fuck’s sake, Charlotte. You really took me for a fool.”
Wisely, she didn’t deny it.
“I’ll spend the rest of my life regretting that I betrayed you,” she said, staring at the plate in her hands. “I’ve said and done a lot of fucked up things, hurt a lot of people… But you, Dorian Redthorne—you’re my one.”
“One what?”
Glancing up from the plate, she shrugged and said plainly, “I let you get away. Regrets don’t get much bigger than that.”
She held his gaze for so long, he was certain it was a dream. He bloody well wanted it to be—some garish nightmare from which they’d soon awaken, tangled together in his bed after another passionate night. He’d kiss the spot on her neck just beneath her ear, enfold her in his arms, and whisper to her about t
he craziest dream he’d ever had.
“Artwork aside,” she said, returning her attention to setting the table, “what would you do with the cars? No way. It’s too complicated.”
Dorian’s stomach bottomed out. “They’re planning to go after the cars as well? Bloody hell, Charlotte. How do you live with yourselves?”
“I don’t. Being a thief? It’s not a glamorous life. It’s not a life at all. I don’t have friends. I don’t date. I don’t work or explore new things or go on adventures. The dresses, the hair, the makeup… It’s all funded by the operation. The only thing that gets me through the day—every day, no matter how terrible—is Sasha. When she showed up on my doorstep, everything clarified. My issues didn’t matter anymore—not like that. She’s my whole life, Dorian. My everything.”
“I understand you love her, Charlotte, but she shouldn’t be your sole reason for living.”
“No, and I shouldn’t be stealing. I shouldn’t have dragged you into this mess. I shouldn’t have let Rudy sell off my father’s estate. I shouldn’t have done a lot of things, but I did, and those are the cards I’m working with now. Obviously, it’s not the greatest hand.”
“Not the worst, either.” Dorian offered a small smile. “You’ve got me, and I can be fairly resourceful when the need arises.”
“Suffice it to say, the need has arisen.” Charlotte returned the smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Any more brilliant ideas?”
“Just one. Final answer, love.” Dorian downed the last of his wine. “I’m going to buy your freedom.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your dear Uncle Rudy isn’t an art collector. He’s a common thug. He’s only in it for the cash. So here’s how it plays out—I offer him a large sum, free and clear, no messy logistics like fencing and money laundering. He takes the bribe, and you get to live out the rest of your days on the right side of the law. You’ll have to find a legitimate job, of course, and maybe move out of the penthouse, but—”
“No. He’d never go for it.”
“We’re not talking about a few hundred dollars.” Dorian crossed the kitchen, joining her at the table. “Believe me, I’d make it worth his while.”
“Dorian, I… You’re not…” Charlotte finally abandoned the dishes, turning to slide her hands over his shoulders instead. Despite the pain of his still-healing wolf bite, her touch was electric, radiating pleasure up and down his back.
Fuck, he still wanted her. More than anything.
“I appreciate your offer,” she said softly. “But this isn’t the kind of job you just walk away from. I’ve seen too much. I know all their secrets, even if I can’t prove them in court. The only way people like me walk away is if we’ve got enough hard, irrefutable evidence to keep the other guy in constant fear of its release, or if… if we die.”
Immediately Dorian’s mind flashed to her story about Rogozin’s men—the type of danger her own father had placed her in. Over what—money? Power? Wasn’t that what it always came down to?
Even as a human, Dorian had always been wealthy, a privilege he’d clearly taken for granted. He tried to imagine Charlotte as a child, doing her best to follow in her father’s tainted footsteps, never realizing those footsteps would lead her straight to the grave.
The thought pierced Dorian’s heart. Her father was as much a monster as her uncle. Daddy Dearest may not have put his hands on her, but he’d driven her to a life of brutality and violence just the same.
Exactly as Dorian’s father had done to him.
Relocating Charlotte and Sasha, relocating the artwork, offering Rudy a buyout… None of his suggestions had really mattered, anyway. Deep in Dorian’s gut, he knew they weren’t operating under the human lowlife scenario.
Just as Charlotte had said about her own line of work, demonic entanglements weren’t the sort of thing you walked away from. If her uncle had been involved with Rogozin in the past, he was almost certainly still involved with him now.
Which meant Charlotte and Sasha’s lives weren’t the only ones at stake.
It also meant something else.
Leverage.
“We’re not out of cards yet, love.” Dorian reached up and grabbed one of her hands, giving her a gentle squeeze. “Somewhere along the line, your uncle fucked up. Aside from me, I’m betting there are many others who’d like to see him dangling from his cock. Men, demons, vampires… the possibilities are endless.”
“Okay. But what does that mean for us?”
“It means, my incorrigible little prowler…” Dorian cupped her face and grinned. “It’s time to put your special talents to better use.”
She quirked an eyebrow. “Which talents, specifically?”
“You and I are going to do a bit of snooping,” he continued, brushing a fingertip over the arched brow. “Your uncle has skeletons. We’re going to dig them up. Every last bone, from every last grave, from every last cemetery. And then, when we find something incriminating, we’re going to make that bastard an offer he really can’t refuse.”
Charlotte’s eyes sparkled with hope, beautiful and pure, and Dorian lowered his mouth to hers, heart hammering in his throat, desperate for one more taste.
“Dorian, I… This isn’t… We…” She was already melting into his touch, her protests dying in the air. Her eyelids fluttered closed on a soft sigh, and Dorian’s lips brushed hers, sweet and silky and—
“Oh my God!” Sasha bounded into the kitchen, shattering the moment. “You guys are supposed to be cooking, not making out! I’m pretty sure that’s a health code violation!”
Aiden stood behind her, desperately holding back a laugh. “Honestly, Dori. You’re supposed to be setting an example here. Do better.”
“Thank you, Aiden.” Dorian pulled away from his woman. “Truly. You’ve just saved us from making a huge mistake.”
“Really huge,” Charlotte whispered, glancing down at his cock, which now stood at full attention between them.
He leaned in close again, nipping her ear and whispering a final warning. “This conversation is far from over.”
With that, he excused himself and headed out to walk off his really huge… situation. By the time he returned to the kitchen, everything had changed.
The sight nearly brought tears to his eyes. It was one he’d never thought he’d see again, yet there it was—awkward and uncomfortable, slightly confusing, but bloody brilliant just the same.
There, crowded around the table at the breakfast nook, scarfing down bowls of hot chili and laughing at one of Sasha’s endless stories, were his brothers.
Aiden, of course.
Colin, who’d finally wandered up from the crypts.
Malcolm, who’d just returned from the city.
And Gabriel, who—while not smiling, exactly—wasn’t scowling, either. It was another rarity—one that soothed the ache in Dorian’s heart.
Family. The word slid into his mind, fleeting but nevertheless real.
Blinking the sudden emotion from his eyes, Dorian took his place at the table next to Charlotte and grinned, pointing at his brothers with a spoon. “You bloody heathens better hope you saved enough for me.”
Chapter Fourteen
“The penthouse was an utter disaster, as expected,” Malcolm said. “The demons left no surface un-pissed-upon.”
“Delightful,” Dorian said, pouring himself a glass of scotch.
Hours had passed since they’d gathered in the kitchen—an enjoyable, all-too-brief reprieve from their usual bickering and plotting—and now the vampires of House Redthorne gathered in the study, gearing up for another round of political discourse before the crackling fire.
Dorian would’ve rather been elsewhere. Specifically, upstairs, making good on his threats to show Charlotte a proper punishment.
But he’d managed to think with his brain for once, ushering Charlotte and Sasha to their adjacent guest bedrooms at the end of the hall, refusing to extend the little thief an invi
tation to his own, no matter how desperately he’d wanted to.
Miraculously, he hadn’t given in.
Not even when they’d passed his master suite, and her heart rate sped up, likely remembering all the deliciously naughty things he’d done to her there.
Not even when she’d mentioned wanting a shower, the invitation clear in her eyes.
Not even when Dorian had turned to leave her, catching the faint sound of her disappointed sigh.
He’d remained strong through all of it—a monumental effort that left him on edge and on fire, wishing he’d put his brain on a leash and listened to his cock instead.
Corralling his errant thoughts, he offered a nod of thanks to Malcolm.
Last night, after Dorian had ordered them to leave Charlotte’s penthouse, Malcolm had spent the rest of the evening and most of today trying to track down news about Duchanes and his demons. Malcolm had been at Bloodbath during this morning’s pre-dawn raid, but despite the very public closure of his precious club, Renault Duchanes himself never made an appearance.
Now, Dorian rifled through the file box containing the items he’d asked Malcolm to retrieve from the penthouse—Charlotte’s purse and phone, along with most of the files and papers from his den. The files themselves weren’t important; Dorian simply hadn’t wanted to draw undo attention to the items he’d really wanted—the records of his darkest deeds.
Keeping the album tucked into the box, he cracked open the cover.
Crimson City Devil Strikes Again…
Dorian closed his eyes, a mix of shame and relief flooding his veins.
Closing the cover and replacing the lid on the box, he said, “Were you able to speak with security?”
“I met with the staff and viewed the exterior camera feeds,” Malcolm said. “The video footage revealed two of the demons’ marks—definitely Rogozin’s guys.”
“Thank the devil’s cock.” Dorian sighed as he settled into the chair closest to the fireplace. The blanket draped behind him held Charlotte’s scent, and he leaned back, inhaling deeply.