by Sarah Piper
But the forged will said it all.
Hell, a lot of things had said it all. They’d been saying it all—screaming it—for years. She’d just chosen to ignore it, shutting away her doubts and fears like she always did.
The confirmation was shocking, but Charley wasn’t surprised. Not really.
Now, in the darkest parts of her heart, there was only room for one response.
Terror.
“Rudy had my father killed,” she whispered. “What’s to stop him from doing the same to Sasha?”
“We are,” Dorian said firmly.
“All of us,” Aiden said, and Cole nodded too. “Charlotte, we’re going to get her back—safe and whole. You have to believe that.”
“Listen to me, love.” Dorian gripped her shoulders, gazing into her eyes with so much conviction, Charley had no choice but to believe what came next. “Regarding your uncle’s connection to Rogozin, his fixation on your mother, as well as his involvement in your father’s murder—I know it’s a lot to take in. But factually speaking, nothing has changed from a day ago or even five years ago. He’s been keeping these secrets the entire time. The only difference is we know about them now, which means we can do something about them. But only if we stay focused, and only if we don’t lose hope.” He leaned in close, whispering softly against her ear. “Everything is going to be all right. I promise you.”
Charley nodded. Dorian was absolutely right, and his firm, no-nonsense attitude was just what she needed right now.
“Something else ain’t adding up here,” Cole said, pulling another file up on one of the laptops. “There’s a separate spreadsheet with two very high bids for the same piece of art. Actually, it looks like these are wire transfers—they’re connected to offshore banks. Twenty million bucks apiece.”
“Twenty million?” Dorian asked. “For the same piece?”
“Serial number 87206.”
Charley scanned through the master list of the artwork. “It’s not here. There must be another file somewhere. Try searching for the number directly on the computer. I’ll see if I can track down the bidder names.”
“Is that typical?” Dorian asked. “Two payments for the same piece?”
“Not at all.” Charley reached for the second laptop, paging through the files. “Bids are one thing, but deposits and transfers mean a sale is pending. Estas and Rudy are either getting very sloppy, or they’re planning a double-cross.”
“Or both,” Aiden said.
“Found it.” Charley scanned through yet another list—names connected with banking details and wire transfer amounts—twenty million each. “And the lucky buyers are… Alexei Rogozin and Nikolai Chernikov.”
“You’ve got to be joking,” Dorian said, leaning in for a closer look. “Estas works for Rogozin. He’s playing his own boss against their top demonic rival?”
“I got bad news and worse news,” Cole said, tapping the screen on the other laptop. “Bad news is—that’s exactly what he’s doing. From some of the correspondence here, it looks like Estas and Rudy were banking on 87206 to bring in a lot of early bids from the supernatural community. They’d planned to auction it off before the robbery, but then two buyers elbowed their way to the top.”
“Rogozin and Chernikov,” Charley said.
“Yep. But here’s the kick in the ass,” Cole said. “Neither of them know the other guy’s in the mix. Estas and Rudy promised 87206 to both buyers, demanding full payment in advance. Well, they got it. Now the demons are cranking up the heat, getting desperate for a confirmation that the artwork has been secured. No wonder your uncle’s all twisted up, Charles. The demons want it bad, and Rudy and Estas aren’t even sure it’s here. It wasn’t on your list.”
“That’s the bad news?” Dorian sighed. “What’s the worse news?”
“87206?” Cole reached into his pocket for his whiskey, then dumped a healthy dose into his coffee mug. “It’s the Mother.”
“The mother?” Charley asked. “Is that… Oh, no.” She dropped her head into her hands as the realization finally dawned. “You’re talking about the Mother of Lost Souls.”
“Bingo,” Cole said. “You know her?”
“The night Rudy and Silas nabbed me in the alley, they asked me about it. Shit—I completely forgot. Rudy got all stressed out when I said I hadn’t seen it.”
“Is it any wonder?” Dorian asked. “They’ve already sold it to two different buyers. One of whom has been pressuring me for the same damn statue for months.”
“Chernikov?” she asked.
“The same.” Dorian slammed the laptop shut. “He’s been stringing me along this entire time, promising to deliver intel on Rogozin in exchange for this dreadful sculpture, knowing damn well Rudy was planning to steal it from me anyway.”
“Hedging his bets,” Aiden said. “Can’t exactly blame him. Augustus promised it to him more than two centuries ago, and it never materialized.”
“Guys. What’s the deal with this Mother of Lost Souls piece?” Charley asked. “What’s so special about it that two powerful demons are willing to fork over twenty million bucks for it, sight unseen?”
The three of them exchanged a loaded glance.
Charley was more confused than ever. “Do you even have it? I never saw it here.”
“Be glad for that,” Aiden said with a grimace. “The Mother has a face—”
“Don’t say it,” Dorian warned.
“—only a mother could love,” Aiden finished anyway.
“Seriously?”
“It was the perfect setup, Dori. Admit it.”
“I’ll admit nothing.” Dorian rose from his chair and held out a hand to Charley. “Fancy a walkabout, love? I think it’s time we give you the rest of the tour.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Everything about this place belongs in a movie.” Charlotte grinned, her eyes wide as she stepped out of the elevator. “Crypts. Actual, legitimate crypts. Honestly, Dorian. Next you’re going to tell me you all sleep in coffins when I’m not around.”
Dorian laughed, trying to see everything through her eyes. He supposed it was a bit gothic and macabre—a secret network of tombs running beneath the manor, protecting the royal vampire family’s closely-guarded secrets.
Secrets Dorian was about to reveal to the human he loved.
It wasn’t how he’d imagined bringing her down here for the first time—that particular fantasy involved leading her into the darkest, most secluded tunnel, chaining her to the iron wall mounts, and tearing her clothes free with his teeth, one little scrap at a time until she was wet and hot and begging for…
Bloody hell. He forced the thoughts from his mind, willing his cock to behave.
Unfortunately for him and Charlotte both, circumstances had called them here today for another reason.
“Right this way, then,” he said, leading them toward the chamber that had served as his father’s laboratory.
In the short time since Dorian’s last visit, Colin had managed to make it completely his own. Dorian’s gaze skimmed over the organized chaos on the central stone slab—beakers and test tubes, vials of blood in a centrifuge, two microscopes, and stacks upon stacks of their father’s journals, all of them teetering precariously toward a spill.
At the center of the tabletop, the demonic book they’d unearthed with the sculpture sat unopened, black and ancient. Even at a distance, it raised the hairs on Dorian’s arms.
It felt like a warning.
Yet behind it all, Colin stood oblivious, his face glued to one of the microscopes.
“When you said your father had a lab down here,” Charlotte said, “I didn’t picture it quite so literally.”
“Complete with the resident mad scientist,” Aiden teased. Then, raising his voice, “Good morning, Colin. I see you’re spending your nights wisely.”
Colin was so lost in his work, he didn’t even acknowledge their presence.
“We’ve brought you a trade, brother.” Dor
ian approached the stone table and set down a small cooler of blood bags he’d brought from upstairs, courtesy of the local clinic. “Breakfast in exchange for a peek at the old Mother.”
It was a few more moments before Colin glanced up from his work, his breath catching as he finally noticed the company.
“Dorian?” he asked calmly. “Have you seen Father?”
Dorian narrowed his eyes. “Are you all right, Colin?”
“I… of course.” Colin blinked away the confusion. “I meant Father’s other… centrifuge. I seem to have misplaced it.”
His eyes were red and glassy, his long hair unkempt. In that moment, he looked so much like Augustus, Dorian’s heart nearly stalled.
“When was the last time you fed?” Dorian asked.
“Or showered?” Aiden asked. “Goodness, Colin. You’ve become the literal troll under the bridge.”
Aiden wrinkled his nose and took a step backward, but Colin was oblivious to the teasing.
He blinked again, still trying to process the sight before him.
Then, as if gripped by a sudden mania, he darted out in front of the table, attempting to block whatever he was working on from view. “Charlotte! I… Good evening. Rather, good morning. I… I wasn’t aware Dorian wanted to show you around today. I would’ve… tidied up a bit.”
“It’s all right,” Dorian said, concerned about his brother’s frazzled state. “We won’t be long. We’re just here to see the sculpture.”
Colin continued to blink.
“The Mother of Lost Souls?” Dorian prompted. “It would seem she’s captured the interest of not just Chernikov, but Rogozin as well.”
“Mother of… Lost Souls? The sculpture?” Colin snapped to attention, finally breaking free of the strange, work-induced trance. “Why didn’t you say so?”
Dorian tried not to sigh. “You really need to eat, brother.”
“And I will,” he said with a familiar, dimpled smile that filled Dorian with relief. “As soon as I get you sorted down here.”
He made his way through the disaster area to the shelves beyond, retrieving the bundle from the nook where they’d stashed it after Dorian and Cole had unearthed it.
“Here we are, then.” Colin cleared a space at the end of the table, then unwrapped the sculpture.
It was just as ugly as Dorian remembered.
“So she’s the woman who’s got our demons all hot and bothered, huh?” Charlotte asked. “May I?”
Colin stepped aside to give her access, and she immediately got down to business, studying the piece with an unbroken intensity that brought a smile to Dorian’s face.
He loved watching her work, her left brow arched gently, bottom lip caught between her teeth. She reminded him of an archeologist, her fingers exploring every curve and contour for clues about the Mother’s origins.
Holding the sculpture upright, she slid her phone from her pocket and snapped a few close-up shots, then glanced at her screen, zooming in for more clues.
“You’re like the Sherlock of the Smithsonian,” Cole said with a low chuckle.
“It certainly feels that way sometimes,” she said, still examining the photos on her screen.
“Well, what do you think, Sherlock?” Aiden asked. “What do the most powerful demon factions in the city want with that crude, nipple-less abomination?”
“Still with the nipple fixation?” Dorian gave Aiden’s cheek a playful smack. “Perhaps you ought to talk to someone about that, mate.”
“Perhaps the artist should’ve paid more attention in anatomy class.”
“Aiden’s right.” Charlotte glanced up from the phone, her brow furrowed. “The lack of nipples is the first clue something isn’t right.”
Cole laughed. “And if that don’t belong on a T-shirt…”
“What do you mean, something isn’t right?” Dorian asked.
“Hate to be the guy who has to break this news to Rogozin and Chernikov,” she said, “but this piece is a forgery.”
It took Dorian a moment to realize she wasn’t joking. “You’re certain.”
“Look.” She put her phone away and grabbed a pen from the table, using it to direct their attention along the edges of the statue. “See these lines? They’re seams from a cast. The forgers likely made a crude mold from the original piece, then filled it with clay. And these tiny grooves here? They’re from a knife, probably used to scrape off the excess and try to smooth out the lines. They added the stones and hair, and carved in some of the other details, but then they got sloppy—hence the missing nipples.”
“Thank you,” Aiden said. “Vindication never felt so good.”
“The weight balance feels off too,” she said. “There’s just something odd about the whole thing. Where did you say you bought this?”
“I didn’t.” Dorian picked it up for a closer look, squinting as if that might help him decipher the evidence as easily as Charlotte had. “It wasn’t a purchase. My father stole it from House Kendrick in the 1800s, right after he slaughtered them.”
He and Colin told her the story—as much as they knew of it, anyway.
“So, tracing back the known ownership line,” Charlotte said, tapping her lips, “Kendrick is the first one duped. Then your father, who promises to retrieve it for Chernikov but instead keeps it hidden in a coffin in your backyard. Two-hundred-some years later, your father passes away, and suddenly Chernikov—along with another demon kingpin—are both vying for it again, to the tune of twenty million dollars each.”
“That sounds about right,” Dorian said.
“But in all that time, no one thought to have it authenticated?” she asked. “No one even questioned it?”
“Apparently not,” Dorian said.
She shook her head, still puzzling through the mystery. “The odd balance, the sloppy workmanship, the strange history, the insane wire transfers… It’s almost as if… Oh, fuck me.”
Charlotte’s eyes suddenly blazed with a look of sheer wonder and excitement that rivaled Colin’s the day they’d found the demon book. Then, before Dorian could utter another word, she grabbed the sculpture from his hands, lifted it over her head, and dropped it onto the floor, smashing it to bits.
Chapter Fourteen
“Brilliant!” Aiden laughed. “I can’t tell you how badly I’ve wanted to do just that.”
Dorian glared at her as if she’d lost her mind. Which, obviously, she had. “Bloody hell, woman! Forgery or not, that statue was our only bargaining chip with—”
“The statue wasn’t the bargaining chip, Dorian.” Charlotte crouched down and retrieved something from the rubble—a long, slender object wrapped in an old cloth, dusty with clay.
When she got to her feet again, she swayed.
“Charlotte?” Dorian reached out to steady her. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, just… just a bout of vertigo. Combined with a big helping of déjà vu.” She took a breath and shook her head. “It seems to have passed. That was… weird.”
“Has this happened before?” Colin asked, immediately snapping into doctor mode.
“No. Probably just a head rush.”
“Or a side effect of your injuries.” Concern tightened his brow, and he held up a finger, asking her to follow it with her eyes. “Any other symptoms these past few days? Dizziness? Headache?”
“Honestly, I think I just got up too fast. I haven’t eaten anything yet today either, so that’s probably not helping.”
Colin sighed, but his eyes held only warmth and kindness for his newest patient. “Charlotte, as your unofficial vampire doctor, I insist you take better care of yourself, lest I be forced to put you on bedrest under the watchful eye of my brooding brother.”
“Gabriel?” Dorian teased, wrapping an arm around Charlotte’s waist. “As if I’d allow him to darken her doorstep.”
“I’m fine,” she insisted. “I’ll grab something to eat as soon as we get back upstairs.”
With a reassuring smile for
them both, she slid out of Dorian’s hold and brought the bundle to the stone table, where she unwrapped it with a delicate touch.
“Holy shit,” she whispered, her eyes widening again as if the day just kept getting better and better.
“What is it?” Colin asked.
Cole peered over her shoulder. “Some kinda dagger. Old as shit. Good for stabbing, though. Nice and pointy.”
“Old as shit,” she repeated reverently. “And yes, definitely good for stabbing. A lot of stabbing, if the history is to be believed.”
“What history?” Dorian asked.
“Our demonic pals aren’t after the Mother of Lost Souls, guys,” she said. “They’re after the blade of the Bessmertnym Soldat—the Immortal Soldier.”
“Fancy name for a rusty old relic,” Cole said.
“This relic allegedly killed some of the highest ranking generals in Napoleon’s Grande Armée during the Battle of Borodino,” she said. “Not to mention scores of secret police, government officials, thieves… It’s hundreds of years old. Thousands, maybe—its origins were never confirmed.”
She lifted the blade, still partially wrapped in the cloth, and passed it to Dorian for a closer look. The others crowded in around him.
“It’s falling apart,” he said, noticing all the notches in the blade.
“Considering its age and the method of storage, it’s actually quite well preserved,” she said, her eyes still sparkling at the find. “It was forged in the shape of a raven’s wing—the notches are intentional. My God, the detail work is just exquisite.”
“Did you say a raven’s wing?” Colin asked.
“Yes, the motif is repeated here too.” She pointed to a few etchings in the bone handle. “The raven was often associated with death and immortality. It was probably a symbol of power for the men who’d forged it—allegedly, members of one of the original Russian assassin’s guilds.”
“Where does the immortal bit come in?” Aiden asked.
“According to legend,” she said, “this blade was given to the most skilled assassin in the guild—a man known only as the Bessmertnym Soldat. The Immortal Soldier.”
