by Sarah Piper
“And I thought you were a people person. Seems we’ve both misjudged.” She flashed a quick smile, breaking some of the tension. Then, sobering again, “I walk the dark path on occasion, Dorian. Doing so allows me to appreciate the light all the more.”
“What I’m about to do is a direct violation of the Shadow Accords, not to mention an invitation to more bloodshed. Risking my own head is one thing, but I can’t ask you to—”
“You’re not asking. I’m offering,” Isabelle said. “Besides, demon blood is almost as useful to me as yours. I could stand to restock.”
“Restock. Right.” Dorian folded his arms across his chest, scrutinizing her face for the lie. “Why are you doing this? And don’t tell me it’s got anything to do with your dwindling supplies, or even upholding your father’s wishes for Armitage Holdings.”
“I told you last night,” she said. “When it comes to family obligations, there’s a thin line between duty and imprisonment. Let’s just say I’m ready to redraw that line for myself.”
“Meaning?”
She held his gaze for another beat, assessing him as plainly as he’d been assessing her.
“I’m tired of wasting my considerable talents managing my brothers’ affairs,” she finally said, “and I’ve no interest in freelancing. For years, I’ve been searching for a vampire partnership that will grant me the freedom to explore a… Let’s call it a non-traditional course.” She met his gaze, her eyes fierce and formidable in the firelight. “My intuition tells me House Redthorne is not only tolerant of such an approach, but in desperate need of it.”
Dorian couldn’t argue with that. “I appreciate the honesty.”
“That’s all you’ll ever get from me, Dorian. If you’re looking for someone to pour sugar over shit and call it a cupcake, I’m afraid this is where we part ways.”
Dorian almost laughed, but Isabelle was dead serious.
He looked at her with new eyes, his respect and appreciation growing. There were few people he trusted in this world, but Isabelle Armitage was quickly becoming one of them.
“Very well,” he finally said. “Gather your things and wait for me in the garage. I need a moment with Aiden.”
Isabelle nodded, then headed back into the house.
Next to him, Aiden had his phone out, thumbs flying across the screen.
“Who are you texting?” Dorian asked.
“Gabriel. You need backup on this.”
“You don’t trust Isabelle?”
“Listen, Dori. Any woman who can put you in your place like that is a bloody godsend. But if she’s busy muting and banishing demons, you’ll need someone to pass you the fire poker.”
“The… what?”
“Honestly. Did they teach you nothing at royal vampire school?” Aiden rolled his eyes. “Shoving a hot poker up a demon’s ass is a two-man job.”
“Thank you, as ever, for the visual. But Gabriel isn’t…” Dorian crouched down to retrieve another loose piece of wood, then whipped it into the fire. “The only reason he’s even tracking Silas is that it gives him an excuse to avoid me at Ravenswood.”
“Never thought I’d say this about Gabriel, but perhaps you don’t give him enough credit.”
“He’s literally the last vampire looking to help me. Well, second-last, if we’re counting the brother whose heart I nearly excavated.”
“Lucky for us, torture is a game the whole family can play. And from what I hear, the cold-hearted little princeling is a real pro.” Aiden finished up his text, then waited for the return message.
After what felt like an eternity, the phone finally buzzed.
“Well?” Dorian asked.
“He says to text him when you’re close. He’ll meet you outside the Sixty-First Street Station in—”
“Woodside?” Dorian got to his feet and dusted off his hands. “That’s in Queens. Rogozin’s territory.”
“Precisely. Gabriel says Rogozin’s got some sort of chop shop in the neighborhood.”
“That’s… that’s actually a good lead.”
“No one knows how to navigate the seedy metropolitan underbellies of the world like your baby brother.” Aiden slipped the phone back into his pocket. “Right, then. You’ve got your witch, your assistant torturer, and of course—favorite among favorites—me, entrusted with looking after the lovely Ms. D’Amico, hoping like hell she doesn’t wake up and ask me where you’ve gone. How I get myself into these escapades is beyond me, but you’re welcome.”
Dorian smiled, the crushing weight on his chest lifting just a fraction. “Thank you, Aiden. Truly.”
“Just come back to me in one piece, you damned fool.”
“I shall do my best.”
“I mean it, Dori. I’m not redecorating the dining room alone. Ask anyone—I’m right terrible at blending textures and patterns.”
“Good to know,” Dorian said. Then, shocking them both, he hauled Aiden in for a hug, holding him tight. “Take care of my woman. And save me a few marshmallows—I’ll be back before you know it.”
Chapter Two
If there was one thing Charley’s years of thieving and con artistry had taught her, it was how to compartmentalize.
So when the sun dawned on a new day after the worst night of her life, Charley took a deep breath, reminded herself that Sasha was a total badass, and shoved everything else into that rusty metal box inside her.
A fear so sharp it shredded her heart.
A rage so blinding it made her tremble.
A loss so deep and dark it threatened to swallow her whole.
None of that shit would help Sasha. Right now, she needed to stay focused. Rudy was a demon, but he still had weaknesses. With Dorian’s help, Charley would find them, exploit them, and get her sister back.
And then?
Rudy would burn.
It was that simple.
Ignoring the headache and the dull throb of the cuts in her mouth and on her hands, Charley wrapped herself in Dorian’s sweatshirt and headed downstairs in search of strong coffee or a strong drink—either would’ve sufficed. Instead, she found Aiden, sitting alone at the table in the breakfast nook, his face smudged with soot, his gaze a million miles away.
“Aiden?” she said softly, taking a seat across from him. “Are you… Is everything okay?”
The air on the main floor was heavy with the scent of woodsmoke, and the vampire himself looked as if he’d just escaped a fire.
It took him a beat to respond, but when he finally looked up at her, a faint smile touched his lips, and he blinked away the haze from his eyes. “Ms. D’Amico. I thought for sure you’d sleep the day away. Are you feeling all right?”
“As well as can be expected. But…” She took a deep breath of smoke-scented air and narrowed her eyes, taking in his disheveled appearance. “Was there a fire?”
“In the rose garden, yes. Completely controlled, I assure you.” He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers coming away with ash. “Dorian just needed to… clear out a bit of old junk. In with the new, as they say. How’s your head?”
“Still attached to my body. I suppose that’s something, right?” Charley closed her eyes and turned toward the window, basking for a moment in the sunshine streaming through the pane. “Where is Dorian, anyway? I tried to wait up for him last night, but I guess I kept passing out. I don’t think he ever came to bed.”
“He’s in the city with Gabriel following up on another lead, but not to worry. I’m looking after you today, so anything you need, you just let me know.”
The fact that Dorian had left without telling her stung, but she understood why he’d done it.
Dorian and Gabriel were vampires—damn near impenetrable. She was a fragile human, as weak and breakable as glass. Whatever lead they were chasing now, Charley would only get in the way.
With a deep sigh, she opened her eyes and met Aiden’s gaze across the table. He was so calming, so kind. And last night, he’d risked his life for her—first
in coordinating the art buy with Vincent Estas, then in fighting off those grays…
God. She was so grateful, yet she couldn’t find a single word to express it.
“What is it?” he asked, his brow creasing with worry.
“I… I don’t deserve your kindness, Aiden. This is… It’s all my fault.”
“Nonsense. You certainly didn’t kick your own ass last night. As a matter of fact, you faced down some pretty terrible odds, and came out—well, slightly worse for the wear, but still. Here you are, head attached, as you’ve so keenly noted.”
She wanted to return his smile, but she couldn’t. Despite her best efforts at compartmentalizing, the guilt still burned in her gut. “I need to tell you something, Aiden. It’s about my uncle and—”
“The sodding demon, you mean.”
“Yes. He’s also my boss.” Charley’s stomach churned, but she forced herself to continue. “He’s an art thief—we’re art thieves. We were plotting to rob the manor. To rob Dorian. His brothers. All of you. That’s the reason all of this happened. The reason Sasha’s missing, and you’re stuck babysitting a chick with a possible head injury, and Dorian’s out there chasing down who knows what, and…”
Before she could stop herself, she blurted out the whole story—how she and Dorian had met at the Salvatore auction, how Rudy had zeroed in on him after she’d mentioned the Whitfield, how she’d been running schemes her entire adult life.
Charley’s shame and embarrassment were so immense, she was sure she’d combust. But through every terrible confession, the kindness in Aiden’s eyes never dimmed.
“It’s all in the past, Ms. D’Amico,” he said when she’d finally run out of words. “No need to further torment yourself.”
“Wait. You… you knew.” Charley stared open-mouthed as the realization struck, but she shouldn’t have been surprised. He was Dorian’s oldest friend—and a damn good one at that. She suspected there weren’t an awful lot of secrets between them.
“Cole as well,” Aiden admitted. “Dorian’s not one for gossip. He simply wanted us to understand the situation before we approached Estas.”
Another flame of guilt licked down her spine, but Charley nodded. Her own mortification aside, it was good Dorian had told them. They had a right to know what kind of person they were fighting for. What kind of person had caused so much destruction.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I realize those are just words, but for what it’s worth… I know you’re all risking a lot for me. I… I guess I’m still working on deserving it.”
“Dorian is my brother, Ms. D’Amico, in all the ways that count. He loves you, he trusts you, and he’s forgiven you.” He reached across the table and took her hand, giving her an encouraging squeeze. “That’s enough for me. Let it be enough for you as well.”
She pulled her hand back and lowered her gaze, blinking back tears. “I want to. Really. I just… Sometimes I still can’t believe he stayed, you know? It would’ve been so easy for him to walk away—to avoid all of this. He had so many opportunities to bail, but he never did. Not really.”
“Nor will he.” Aiden let out a soft sigh. “Dorian Redthorne is, among other things, a complicated vampire. I’ve known him for centuries—literal centuries. I’ve seen him through the worst moments of his life as well as the best. Through all of them, he’s carried a darkness inside him that would utterly annihilate a lesser man… And then he met you.”
“But that’s the thing,” Charley said, finally meeting Aiden’s eyes again. “He’s not dark, Aiden. He’s haunted by darkness, he struggles with it, but the darkness itself—it’s not who he is.”
“No, it isn’t.” Aiden’s eyes shone with affection. “And you’re helping him remember it, I think. For that, I’m grateful to you, Ms. D’Amico.”
Charley’s heart ached, but she managed a small smile anyway. “Then as a show of your gratitude,” she teased, “you need to call me Charlotte. Or Charley. Take your pick.”
“Very well, Charlotte. But now, I should let you get back to bed. I promised Dori I’d look after you, and here I am, chatting your ear off.” He rose from the table. “I’ll come check on you again in a bit.”
“Wait.” She reached up and touched his arm. “Don’t go. I… I won’t be able to get back to sleep anyway.”
“You must try, Charlotte. Dorian will be back later, and I’m sure he’ll have good news. There’s nothing more you can do right now.”
“I need to at least attempt to figure this thing out. And to be honest, I could use the company… if you’re up for it?”
Aiden held her gaze another moment, then finally nodded. “Very well. I’ll put the kettle on, and you can tell me everything you remember about what happened last night. Perhaps we missed a clue.”
Charley nodded. It was a good idea, especially now that her head had cleared a bit.
“Mind if I crash your little tea party?” Cole stepped in through the garage door, his face and flannel smudged with dirt, a rogue maple leaf dangling from his scruffy beard. Like Aiden, he clearly hadn’t slept last night, but his smile was warm and genuine. When he shot her a quick wink, it filled Charley with hope and relief.
They were good men, Dorian’s friends. And for reasons she still couldn’t fathom, they’d taken her in and made her one of their own, faults and fuckups and all.
“How do you take your tea, wolf?” Aiden asked, brushing the leaf from Cole’s beard.
Cole procured a small bottle of booze from his inside flannel pocket. “I’m easy. Straight from the bottle for me.”
Aiden rolled his eyes. “That’s whiskey.”
“Well it rhymes with tea, don’t it? Right there at the end?”
“An artist and a poet?” Charley grinned, then held out her hand and gestured for the bottle. “We are definitely going to be friends, Cole Diamante.”
Chapter Three
Friends.
Charley let the word settle inside her, slowly warming her heart. For all the luxuries her lifestyle afforded, friends had never been one of them.
Until now.
It was yet another gift Dorian had brought into her life—one she wouldn’t squander.
“The grays were confined to the alley,” Aiden said, passing Charley a mug of English Breakfast tea. “There were no other reports of them in Manhattan last night.”
“Not of grays, anyway,” Cole said. “But I got word of something else. Remember that traffic clusterfuck we hit coming off the FDR?”
“Don’t tell me it was more grays,” Charley said.
“Worse.” Cole took a swig of whiskey, then said, “Demons.”
“You’ve got to be bloody kidding me,” Aiden said. “What happened?”
“Turf war, apparently. I got a shifter friend in homicide. She told me the cops are calling it gang-related, but the bodies—nine of ‘em—were charred to shit. No eyes, either. Cops thought it was a bomb or maybe even a chemical attack—that’s why they were blocking everything off last night, searching the cars.”
“Have they identified any of the bodies?” Aiden asked.
Cole nodded. “Four so far. Three are Chernikov’s guys. One is Rogozin’s.”
“Why are demons fighting over turf in Manhattan?” Charley asked. “Isn’t that vampire territory?”
“Indeed, it is.” Aiden dumped some more sugar into his tea and frantically stirred, spoon clanking hard against his mug.
It reminded Charley of her sister, and her chest immediately tightened. Was Rudy feeding her a decent breakfast? What about coffee—did he get her the almond creamer she liked so much? Did she have any books to read? A warm bed?
“Shit storm’s brewin’, my friends,” Cole said, drawing Charley back to the moment just before the flood of worries swept her away. “Better get your umbrellas ready.”
Forcing herself to refocus, Charley poured a splash of Cole’s whiskey into her tea, then said, “I don’t know what’s going on with the demons, but the thing about th
e grays is weird. You said there were no other sightings in the city?”
“None reported,” Aiden said.
“They weren’t even there when that Silas guy first blurred me into the alley,” Charley said. “They showed up right after he dropped me in the dumpster. Literally a minute later.”
“They must’ve been holdin’ the fuckers somewhere close,” Cole said. “Probably had ‘em right there in the building. If that many grays had come in from outside, you would’ve heard trucks or something.”
“It was definitely a setup,” Charley said. “The timing is too perfect otherwise.”
“But if your uncle wanted you dead, why go to so much trouble?” Aiden asked. “Why not order Silas to do it? Or why not do it himself, for that matter? He certainly had the opportunity.”
“There’s a lot about last night that doesn’t add up.” Charley took a deep drink of her spiked tea, trying to put all the strange, mismatched pieces together.
First of all, Rudy had allowed Silas to rough her up, which left visible injuries. Rudy had to know Dorian would notice them and question her about what happened. What if he got suspicious? This close to the big day, something like that could throw a wrench into everything. It was a sloppy move for a pro thief like her uncle, and it made no sense.
Then there was the matter of the gun. Between Rudy and his vampire buddy, they had all the supernatural power they needed to keep Charley in line, yet he still felt the need to flash that weapon.
And what was the deal with his watch? When she’d inadvertently torn it from his wrist, it revealed his terrifying black eyes. But didn’t most demons look human? And if demonic entities took over human bodies as vessels, why did demon Rudy still have all of human Rudy’s mannerisms and memories?
Charley shared all of this with the guys. The longer she spoke, the more outlandish it all sounded.
“Bloody hell,” Aiden said, shooting a worried glance at Cole. “Rudy isn’t just a vessel. He’s a host.”
“A host?” Charley tightened her hands around the mug, trying to remember what Dorian had told her about demons the day he’d given her the supernatural crash course. “So Rudy’s basically letting a demon hitch a ride?”
