“Very well,” the demon finally said. “Before his…untimelydeath, Augustus was working on procuring something of great importance to me. For many years he searched, but never found it.”
“What was this item?”
“A sculpture. It belonged to my people, long ago.”
“What sort of sculpture?”
“She is called Mother of Lost Souls. Very rare, very valuable.”
Cold dread pooled in his gut. Mother of Lost Souls was a fertility goddess sculpture crafted in Finland in the fourteenth century. Dorian was intimately familiar with her; in 1815, his father had stolen her from the vampire royal family in London, right after he’d slaughtered them and usurped the crown. He then smuggled the statue into America, where she remained under lock and key until the crypts were constructed beneath Ravenswood, at which time she was unceremoniously bricked up behind a wall.
Which wall? Could be any one of hundreds, Dorian supposed. It was yet another secret his father had concealed, telling them only that the Mother of Lost Souls would be unearthed when the time was right.
She is what makes us powerful,he’d said.One day, you will see.
So, what was so damn important about this sculpture? And why the fuck did Chernikov want it so badly? Dorian could damn near taste the greed and desire on the demon’s fetid breath.
“My father and I didn’t spend much time together on his last visit,” Dorian said, as close to the truth as he was willing to get. “He did not discuss this with me.”
“He never told you of our arrangement?” Chernikov held Dorian’s gaze, a spark of challenge in his eyes. “I find this… unusual.”
“If I discover anything about the sculpture, I will inform you straightaway.”
Clearly unsatisfied with the lukewarm response, Chernikov tossed back the last of his vodka, then wiped his lips with a finger and thumb. “There may come time when I ask you for favor, vampire king.”
“I see.” Dorian bit back a condescending smile at the demon’s nerve. “And in exchange for this favor?”
“As I said, your father’s secrets are now your secrets. I kept his. Perhaps I will keep yours too.” He glared at Dorian, letting his words sink in.
Worry spiked in Dorian’s chest. Did Chernikov know about his father’s illness? Or was there some other past indiscretion lying in wait for the perfect opportunity to leap out from the shadows and ruin his life?
Perhaps Chernikov was simply baiting him.
Poor strategy on his part.
“Rather than keeping my secrets,” Dorian said coolly, “I’d much rather you keep your demons on a leash and out of my territory. And in return, I’ll grantyouthe favor of overlooking the recent violations. Next time, I may not be so forgiving.”
Tension simmered between them, but eventually, Chernikov broke into a raucous laugh. “You are… what is saying? Cheeky bastard. I like that in a bloodsucker.”
Dorian didn’t give a fuckwhathe liked. He tipped back the last of his vodka, then rose from the table. “If there’s nothing else, Nikolai, I shall take my leave.”
And be grateful I’m not leaving with your head in a bag…
“Only one more thing, Dorian Redthorne.” The demon handed over an unopened bottle of vodka from his stash on the table. “A gift from home, in honor of mutual… friendship.”
Reluctantly, Dorian took the bottle, knowing he was accepting a lot more than an innocent gift, but seeing no way around it without causing himself another fucking headache.
Whatever arrangement Chernikov had with Dorian’s father, it clearly went far deeper—and much farther back in time—than Dorian had realized. Something told him it was all connected to that mysterious sculpture—a piece which, not unlike the Chernikov demons he’d fed on, Dorian suspected would come back to bite him in the ass.
“Thank you for the gift,” Dorian said anyway, then turned to Marlys, signaling the end of the meeting. She rejoined them at the table to close out the spell, remove the rings, and pack up her belongings. Then, she and Dorian were off.
The moment he was outside, Dorian pitched the vodka into the closest trash bin and retrieved the cell from his pocket, pulling up Aiden’s number.
“Aiden? We’ve got a problem.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
An hour into the party, Dorian stood on the lower patio overlooking the Hudson River, contemplating drowning himself in that godforsaken infinity pool—an impossible feat for a vampire, but he’d do his damnedest to try.
