“It’s not so much what I want, as what I can offer.” The twat’s eyes darkened with his unchecked lust for power, and Dorian knew before the words even graced his lips what was coming next. “In your time of need, House Duchanes extends the invitation of an alliance.”
Chapter Five
“An alliance. With House Duchanes.” Dorian paced before the bar, the thin veneer of his patience finally shattering. His woman was still on the premises—her scent was all around him now, driving him to the very brink of sanity—but rather than hunting her down and devouring every silky, forbidden inch of her body, Dorian was here, listening to a bloodsucking opportunist he’d been swatting away like a gnat since Prohibition.
Duchanes swirled his bourbon, his gold signet ring glittering on a fat finger. “Consider your predicament, Redthorne. Your father’s gone. You’ve no sired heirs in your line. Your family’s power is waning. And last I heard,” he said, lowering his voice as if he actually gave a damn about decorum, “there isn’t a witch in all five boroughs willing to bind herself to the Redthorne royals.”
Dorian seethed. He didn’t need Renault Duchanes to articulate hispredicament; he could feel his very cells dying with each passing heartbeat. Tonight’s curbside meal, which should’ve been enough to sate him for a week, had done little to ease the burn of hunger in his gut. Even in low light, his eyes constantly ached. And every day the sun rose, the fog in his head lingered a bit longer, dulling his senses by degrees.
Such was the nature of creatures of the night—a nature that could only be mitigated by a skilled witch, and only by vampires that could afford one.
Through spells and enchantments that enhanced their powers and muted their limitations, witches allowed vampires to live as humans in all the ways that mattered most, sparing them the agony of an immortal life in a dank cave or tunnel, hunting one another like so many of the wraith-like creatures Dorian had encountered when he’d first been turned. Such creatures could never venture into the light, never taste human food, never love.
In return, a family of witches who bound themselves to a vampire line received protection, housing, more money than they could spend in a lifetime, and unlimited access to one of the most magical ingredients in the known world—vampire blood.
But as much as it burned Dorian’s balls to admit it, Duchanes was right. Aside from selling him the occasional one-off spell or hex, there wasn’t a witch on the entire eastern seaboard suicidal enough to align herself with House Redthorne.
Dorian couldn’t blame them. The last Redthorne witch hadn’t survived past her twenty-third birthday.
Memories of his brutal failures wrapped their cold fingers around his heart, but he wouldn’t give Duchanes the satisfaction of showing a shred of vulnerability.
“I appreciate your concern,” Dorian said evenly. “But we’re not seeking an alliance at this time. Now if you’ll excuse me, I—”
“But I thought… Well, this is awkward. Malcolm assured me you’d be on board. Did he not speak with you?” He furrowed his brow in confusion, but the smug satisfaction dripping from his tone said it all.
He knew damn well Malcolm hadn’t discussed this with Dorian. Knew damn well the revelation would drive another nail into the coffin of the brothers’ already fraught relationship.
Next time aim for the heart, Mac. You’ll kill me faster that way.
Dorian gripped his drink so tightly, his fingertips turned white. No wonder Malcolm was so keen on pushing an alliance earlier; from the sound of it, he’d all but signed on the dotted line.
“Malcolm has neither the experience nor the authority to make deals for House Redthorne,” Dorian said, fighting to keep the bitterness from his tone. Then, with a smile that belied his anger, “But I’ll bring your proposition to my family for proper consideration.”
And prompt dismissal, you arrogant dick.
Before another calculated response could slip from Duchanes’ greasy lips, Dorian set his glass on the bar, turned his back on the bloodsucker, and stalked off in search of the only thing that could salvage an otherwise dreadful night.
Chapter Six
Safely out of view, Charley leaned against the door inside the study, blinking back tears of relief. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, her limbs trembling and hot.
Holy. Shit.
She couldn’t believe she’d taken it so far.
A million five? What was shethinking? Christ, Rudy would’ve had her executed if she called for a wire transfer like that. Her bids were primarily for show—all part of blending in, except on the rare occasion when Rudy wanted a piece for his personal collection. Sure, she would’ve loved to nab the Egyptian piece for Sasha—her sister was as obsessed with ancient art as she was with vampires—but eventhatwas a fantasy. A million dollars, fifty-five thousand… For Charley, it was all the same.
Completely unreachable.
But something had overtaken her tonight, breaking through all the rules and boundaries that were supposed to keep her safe and on point.
It was that damnedman. She couldn’t keep her head straight around him. Each time she told herself to walk away, something about him lured her right back in again—a dark magnetism she couldn’t escape.
From that first sighting in the lobby, he’d ignited something dangerous inside her.
Something that made her want to play with fire.
Fitting, since Rudy would burn me at the stake if he found out about this.
