“Malcolm and I are heading back out now—I just wanted to return the phone.”
Dorian nodded. “Keep me—”
“Informed,” Gabriel said, already turning his back. “Of course, yourhighness.”
He was almost to the doorway when Charley spoke up again. “Gabriel, wait.”
He stilled, one hand on the doorframe, but didn’t turn around.
“I wanted to thank you,” she said.
“You’ve already done so.”
“Not for the phone. For last night. You and Dorian… You saved my life. I know you took a big risk. So… thank you. Again.”
He let out a sigh, then turned his head, glancing at her over his shoulder. It was the first time she’d seen even aflickerof warmth in his eyes. “You didn’t deserve what they did to you.”
And then he was gone, leaving a chill in his wake.
Charley pulled the blanket tighter over her shoulders.
“No one ever accused my brother of being a gracious host,” Dorian said. “Be grateful you’ve only got a sister, love. Brothers are more trouble than they’re worth.”
Charley smiled, but beneath the irritation, Dorian’s tone held a note of softness. Sadness too, but it was clear to her that whatever their shared resentments, the brothers cared deeply for one another.
She thought of what Dorian had said earlier, about how his brothers and his vampire house were one in the same. He hadn’t wanted to talk about how he’d become a vampire, but Charley suspected whatever had happened that fateful day was at the root of their fractured relationships.
Tragedy cast long shadows. She could only imagine what that meant for immortals.
“Sasha’s the best,” she said, trying to inject some lightness into the conversation, hoping to avoid any more questions about her so-called career.
“Sasha, the erotic vegetable photographer?” Dorian finally smiled, his eyes regaining some of their sparkle. “Older or younger?”
“Younger. She’s nineteen. We didn’t grow up together, though—different dads. I’ve only known her about five years. My mother kept us apart until she just… didn’t want her anymore.”
“What?”
“Yeah, she basically loaded her onto a bus and shipped her off to New York with nothing but some old clothes and my address.” Charley told him the story, the familiar disappointment and disgust churning inside. “It all worked out, though. Sasha’s the best thing my mother ever gave me. The best person I know. I used to wish…” She trailed off, catching the look of pity on Dorian’s face. “Oh, God.Pleasedon’t look at me like that.”
“Like what, love?”
“Likethat.” She reached over and traced her fingers across his forehead, then down to his jaw. “You feel sorry for me.”
“No.” He grabbed her wrist, turning her hand over to press a kiss to her palm. “I just wish I could take away your pain. No one should have to endure—”
“But we do, right? Endure?” Charley pulled her hand back, unable to take the sweet, tender touch of his kiss. “Anyway, regrets are pretty useless. Everything that happened in my life… It all brought me to this point.”
“What point is that?”
She flashed a grin. “Oh, you know. Sipping antique Cognac. Hanging out in a gorgeous Elizabethan manor. Hobnobbing with elite supernatural art collectors.”
Dorian returned her smile, his eyes turning curious again. “You never told me how you got involved in the art world.”
“My father,” she said. It was instant and automatic, one of the few truths she could still admit. “He was in the business. He’s gone now, but after my mom split, it was just the two of us. I used to go with him to auctions and parties, tagging along and… well, snooping, I guess.”
“Ah.” He shot her a wink. “Some things never change.”
“I’ve always loved looking at other people’s art collections. My father recognized that early on and taught me everything he could. Paintings, statues, sculptures, tapestries… I wanted to know absolutely everything, and he always indulged my curiosities.”
