by Sarah Piper
“It worked—well, technically speaking. It did cure him. But absent the magic and power of vampirism, he went through a rapid aging process. It was as if his body was trying to catch up with its sudden human reality. He was in his sixties when he turned. By the time he took the cure, he was nearly three hundred years old.”
“Three hundred,” she whispered. “That’s… wow.”
“It’s a lot to wrap your head around. Some days, I barely manage it myself.”
Charley touched Dorian’s face, marveling once again at his existence. He would always look exactly the same. Ten years, fifty, a hundred—he wouldn’t age a day.
How was it even possible? Even now, after everything she’d seen and experienced, she still couldn’t believe it.
“So there’s truly no going back?” she asked.
“Becoming a vampire isn’t a costume, Charlotte.” Dorian closed his eyes, his voice dropping to a dark whisper. “It’s a life sentence. An immortal life sentence.”
“Do you ever wish… I mean, if you could go back. Be human again—no side effects. Would you?”
“There was a time… I thought…” Dorian shook his head. “I’ve been a vampire for well over two hundred years—almost the entirety of my life. The truth is, Charlotte…” He opened his eyes again, their honey-brown depths threatening to swallow her whole. “I don’t know how to be anything else.”
“Neither do I.”
Pain flickered through his gaze, but he quickly shut it down, forcing a smile. “Of course not. You’ve only ever been human.”
She’d been referring to her life as a thief, not her life as a human, but Dorian must’ve thought she was talking about becoming a vampire—rather, about not becoming a vampire.
They’d never really talked about it. About what came next. Everything had happened so quickly between them—from lust to love in a blink. Deep love. Real love. The kind Charley used to think was a fairy tale.
And now…
God. Why did everything have to be so complicated? She was in love with a vampire. A fucking vampire! And Dorian was right—she’d only ever been human. Even if she survived her uncle, even if nothing bad ever touched her again, Charley would eventually die.
But Dorian wouldn’t.
Charley’s head spun. She wasn’t ready for this conversation. Wasn’t ready to think through the implications. She wanted to explain herself anyway, if only to take back the pain she’d inadvertently caused him, but before she could find the words, Dorian was moving on.
“Aiden tells me you’ve got a plan for our friend Vincent Estas,” he said.
“He told you that, huh?”
“Among other things.”
Charley tensed for the fight. “If this is the part where you try to talk me out of it, forget it. Not happening.”
“I suspected as much,” he grumbled. “And if I had any doubts, Aiden drove the point home with a quote. Let’s see if I’ve got it right… ‘Charlotte isn’t the sit-home-with-her-thumb-up-her-ass type, you git.’”
“He’s right, Dorian. You need me on this, and—”
“And I’ve already put Aiden back in touch with Estas to set up Cole’s next art buy, so no need to draw your sword just yet.”
“Really?”
“If all goes well, it looks like we’ll be able to go in on Tuesday.”
“Not tomorrow?”
“We need time to work out all the details. We can’t leave anything to chance, right?”
Charley nodded. As anxious as she was to get her hands on Estas’ intel, she knew damn well the importance of contingency planning. Besides, she was just grateful Dorian was backing her up on this rather than ordering her to stay home while he and the boys snuck out for another epic caper.
“Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?” she asked.
“What’s that?”
“When I first woke up. You said you had something important to tell me, but then we shifted gears. Was it about the Estas meeting?”
His eyes clouded over, and Charley swore the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.
“I… I’m sorry.” Dorian shook his head. “It was nothing—it can wait.”
“But—”
“But this can’t.” He pressed another kiss to her lips, cutting off her protests. When he finally drew back, his smile was firmly in place again, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’ve brought you a gift.”
Without waiting for her reply, Dorian rose from the bed and retrieved a large, ivory-colored gift bag from the dresser. When he turned on the bedside lamp, she saw that it was stamped with the logo from her favorite hair salon.
“What’s all this?” Charley couldn’t help but giggle as she dug into the bag, finding several bottles of her favorite shampoo and conditioner, along with at least two of every possible styling product imaginable.
She couldn’t believe it. She hadn’t been back to the salon since Rudy had cut off her cash flow. She had a small stash left at home, but she’d been rationing it out, trying to make it last as long as possible before she’d have to switch to the drugstore stuff.
“This is Julian Micheaux product,” she said, as if he didn’t know. “There’s only one salon that sells it in the entire world.”
“As I discovered today,” he said.
“But how did you know this was my salon?”
He sat next to her on the bed again and grinned. “I’d tell you, but I’m afraid you’ll find it even creepier than my watching you sleep.”
“Let me guess. You called one of your rich-guy colleagues at American Express and had them pull my credit card statements? Because that’s a little bit psycho.”
“Bloody hell!” Dorian smacked himself on the forehead and laughed. “If only I’d thought of that, I could’ve saved myself hours of sniffing every bottle of shampoo in every posh salon in Manhattan.”
“You… what?”
“Oh, it caused quite a stir, as you can imagine. It wasn’t until the tenth salon or so when one of the stylists finally took pity on me. When I told her what I was looking for, and why, she and her colleagues became quite invested in my plight. I did my best to describe the scent, and after many, many phone calls and consultations with friends in other salons, we finally tracked the stuff down. Of course, by then I’d already become somewhat of a social media sensation—hashtag Sexy Sniffer, if you must know.” Dorian rolled his eyes, feigning irritation. “Preposterous. But it was worth every embarrassing moment, because here you are, love. Smiling and happy in my bed.”
Charley’s eyes filled with tears. “You did all that. For me.”
“For you? Goodness, no. Thanks to my efforts, Sexy Sniffer now has free haircuts for life at Julian Micheaux’s salon—the only one in the world, I’m told.” He laughed again, but then his eyes turned serious, and he brushed his thumb across her cheek. “I know it’s hard being away from home, love. I thought you should have something nice—something familiar.”
The thought of Dorian wandering the salons of New York in search of her hair products, sniffing all those bottles… It made Charley laugh. It filled her with so much warmth and affection, she thought she might burst.
And then it filled her with a blinding ache that nearly took her breath away.
All at once, the rusty box where she’d shoved her worst fears and denials finally shattered, everything exploding out of her in a deep, broken sob.
So much for compartmentalizing.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, suddenly alarmed. “Did I pick the wrong product line? I thought for sure I’d—”
“No, it’s right. Everything is absolutely, perfectly right. It’s…” Charley closed her eyes, tears spilling freely. “This is exactly the kind of sweet, over-the-top romantic thing I should be dishing about with Sasha. All I want to do is text her about hashtag Sexy Sniffer—but I can’t. I can’t, Dorian, because she’s gone. She doesn’t have her phone. I don’t even know if she’s okay, or… God. All day I tried to keep
it together. Figuring stuff out with Aiden and Cole, waiting for you to come back, playing Midnight Marauder—anything to distract myself from freaking out. A hundred times, I grabbed my phone to call Rudy, but I was too scared. I don’t know how he expects me to respond to all this, and what if I slip up and he realizes I know he’s a demon? I can’t risk pissing him off. Sasha’s just a kid. She must be terrified.”
Dorian removed the gifts from the bed, then pulled her into his warm embrace, holding her without saying a word as she completely fell apart.
It was the first time she’d allowed herself to lose control since Sasha had been taken, and through it all, his strength never wavered. She shattered in his arms, and he let her. He offered no false promises, no half-truths, no platitudes.
He gave her only love and support. Only the space to breathe.
And then, when she was certain she’d wrung out the last tear, she finally found the strength to look into his eyes again.
Dorian’s lashes were wet with tears of his own—a sight that damn near melted what was left of her tattered heart.
“I know I can’t make this better for you right now,” he said, “but I won’t allow you to face any of this alone, Charlotte. Not your uncle. Not the grays.” He slipped beneath the blankets and turned her around in his arms, kissing the back of her neck. “I will slay every one of your demons, love. That is a promise.”
She pulled his arm tight around her waist, and the last of her fears drained away as her body melted into his hold. It felt as if they’d been created for exactly that purpose—to fit together perfectly.
A tiny bubble of laughter rose up from inside—a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds.
“What’s so funny?” Dorian asked.
“I was just thinking about that night in the Salvatore closet.”
“Hmm. One of my favorite nights. One of my favorite closets too.”
“I never thought… I mean, you were just supposed to be this really hot guy with a dirty mouth. I thought it was just a fling, you know? But look where it got me.”
“Are you saying you no longer find me attractive? Or dirty, for that matter?”
“No.” She closed her eyes, focusing on the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat against her back. “I’m saying I’m in love with you. And the truth is, Dorian… I don’t know how to be anything else.”
Dorian tightened his hold and murmured something into her hair, but Charley was already drifting back to sleep, her worries temporarily evaporating in the strong, protective embrace of the vampire she loved.
There was so much he hadn’t said tonight—so much he was still guarding close, desperate to protect her from the things he feared would scare her off.
But there was nothing he could say to frighten her. No situation too dark or gruesome, no confession too bleak, no secret too shameful.
Because through all the craziness and uncertainty, one rock-solid, unshakeable truth had emerged.
The vampire king didn’t need to slay her demons. All he needed to do was stand by her side.
And no demon—in this realm or the next—stood a fucking chance.
Chapter Seven
“I don’t know whether to be mortally afraid of you, seriously impressed, or incredibly turned on.”
Dorian stood on the front porch of Vincent Estas’ home on the outskirts of Woodstock, watching in awe as Charlotte slid something she’d called a bump key into the front lock.
She was dressed head to toe in tight black clothing, a small leather satchel slung over her shoulder that held her tricks of the trade. Dorian had taken her into the city yesterday to retrieve it from a small storage unit in Chelsea where she kept her professional gear—gear she claimed she hadn’t used in years. Not since she’d been promoted to the much more lucrative art scenes she currently worked.
Most recently worked, he silently amended. Those days, she’d promised him, were behind her.
Though he had to admit—she was damn good at her job.
Perhaps it’s like riding a bike, he thought as he watched her wield the tools like some sort of heist-movie heroine.
But this wasn’t a movie. It was an extremely dangerous mission with potentially deadly consequences. If Estas returned, or if any other demons showed up, Dorian would be hard pressed to defend against their hellfire.
Fortunately, Estas was currently occupied with Cole at a dive bar in town, discussing Cole’s possible interest in another Egyptian statue. Because Estas seemed to believe Cole was a serious collector—and not altogether virtuous—he’d easily agreed to the meeting. Dorian would’ve preferred a more distant location, but on that point, Estas wouldn’t budge.
With any luck, it would be a long negotiation, giving Dorian and Charlotte plenty of time to get the intel they needed.
Assuming it even existed.
Assuming it was kept inside Estas’s home.
Assuming they didn’t get caught.
Assuming Rudy didn’t still have men watching their comings and goings from Ravenswood.
There were a lot of assumptions—a lot of risks. The only sure thing tonight was Charlotte, poised and confident, completely unfazed as she worked her magic on the door. She was truly in her element.
Now, she glanced at Dorian over her shoulder, a thin smile touching her lips. “Well, which is it, vampire king? Afraid, impressed, or turned on?”
He answered without hesitation. “Yes.”
“Sounds to me like you’re in the wrong line of work.” She tapped the key with a small hammer, then turned it, easily unlocking the deadbolt. “We’re in. Follow me, and remember, gloves on at all times. We don’t know how smart Estas is or who else he’s got on the payroll—no sense leaving behind evidence of our visit.”
Dorian nodded, then sent a quick text to Aiden, who’d dropped them off and was now on standby in Dorian’s BMW at a nearby park.
We’re in. No issues so far.
Aiden replied with a thumbs-up.
Charlotte pushed open the door and stepped inside, Dorian close behind. The interior was dark, save for a dim light left on above the kitchen stove.
After listening for a moment to determine they were alone, she unzipped her satchel and exchanged the hammer and bump key for a flashlight, keeping the beam away from the windows and any reflective surfaces.
She really had thought of everything.
From the brief reconnaissance they’d done outside, Dorian knew the entire single-story space was less than a thousand square feet, with an open living and kitchen area up front and a bedroom, bathroom, and home office toward the back.
They headed straight for the office. It was sparsely appointed, with nothing more than a card table serving as a desk for a laptop and small banker’s lamp. There was a cheap folding chair behind it, an empty waste basket, and one piece of art on the wall, with a set of cheap curtains hanging crooked over the windows. A small closet on the back wall held only a few coats and empty hangers.
“Doesn’t seem like this is his primary location,” Dorian said.
“He might be working out of the Fifth Avenue commercial space Aiden mentioned. Makes sense—there’s not much room here to store the artwork.”
“Aiden said the Manhattan space was being renovated.”
“Probably just a front to keep passersby from nosing around.”
“Excellent,” Dorian said dryly. “Will we be breaking and entering there as well?”
Charlotte sighed. “You promised me, Dorian. You promised you’d keep your shit together tonight and your judgments about my life—my former life—to yourself.”
“Forgive me.” Dorian held up his hands in apology. “This is my first robbery. I’m a bit on edge.”
“Well get off edge. We’ve got work to do.” She set her satchel on the chair, then opened and booted up the laptop.
Dorian watched in scolded silence. It wasn’t the crime itself that had him on edge. It was Charlotte.
After doing his best to get himse
lf sorted after the Rogozin interrogations on Sunday—the epic shampoo hunt, a fruitless stop at his near-ruined Tribeca penthouse that only further enraged him, an hours-long drive through the mountains to get his head on straight—he’d returned to Ravenswood with every intention of telling her about the demon claim. But the moment he’d found her sleeping in his bed—a sight so perfect and right it was as if he’d been coming home to her for an eternity—all he could think was, No. Let her have this one last night. One last night believing her soul is unmarred. Believing she’s free.
That one last night turned into the next, and the next, and here they were tonight, all the most terrible things left unsaid as they crept through the lair of the enemy.
The enemy who may very well be connected to the demon lord who’d made the claim.
Dorian didn’t want Charlotte anywhere near Estas. Didn’t want her anywhere near any demon—lord, crime boss, or bootlicking errand boy alike. But she was a fierce, formidable woman who’d no more sit on the sidelines than he would.
It was something he was learning, however reluctantly, to live with. To love, even, no matter how infuriated—and terrified—it made him.
“How are you holding up, vampire?” Charlotte asked, her face cast in the blueish light of the laptop screen.
Dorian didn’t know how to respond.
The truth was… He wasn’t holding up at all.
“If you’re nervous and distracted,” she said, glancing over at him, “it could—”
“No, I… I’m good. Carry on.”
“Okay. Stay here and don’t touch anything. I’m going to do a quick sweep of the bedroom, then we need to dig into these computer files. Be right back.”
Though she was in the room directly adjacent to the office, and he was a vampire with superior senses, Dorian heard nothing—not so much as a footstep or creaking floorboard. He marveled at Charlotte’s skill, wondering just how many times she’d done this before, in how many homes and brownstones and penthouses and office buildings—all the places where people were supposed to feel safe and secure.
