He gripped the edge of the door to steady himself and held his breath, willing the craving—along with his murderous fury—to pass.
Gabriel knew damn well what the scent and sight of fresh human blood would do to his brother, but he offered neither an apology nor an attempt to hide his actions. Instead, he flashed a cocky smirk and a show of fang, then closed his eyes and tipped his head back, losing himself in the pleasure of his plaything.
Duchanes’plaything, Dorian realized, noticing the woman’s red hair and sparkly dress.
So many indiscretions, so many blatant risks, Dorian didn’t know where to begin. Rage tore through his chest, and he took a step toward his brother, wondering if he had the strength to kill him.
But he wouldn’t get the chance to find out. Not tonight, anyway. Isabelle’s firm, no-nonsense touch on his arm drew him back.
“I’d love to see the kitchen, Mr. Redthorne. My father tells me the marble flooring was imported from Italy?”
She held Dorian’s gaze, her eyes urgent and imploring despite the lightness in her tone.
Dorian sighed. Isabelle was an empathic witch; clearly, she’d sensed his barbaric intentions.
Doing his best to calm himself, he put on a smile and pulled the door shut, cutting off the sights and smells of his reckless brother, swallowing the bitter realization that Gabriel—no matter how many decades passed, no matter how desperately Dorian had tried to make amends—would never forgive him.
“My apologies. It seems my study is… otherwise occupied.” Spotting Aiden at the end of the hall, he gestured for him to join them. “Isabelle, allow me to introduce my friend and business partner, Aiden Donovan.”
Aiden brought her outstretched hand to his lips in greeting, peppering her with the usual pleasantries.
“Aiden,” Dorian said with another forced smile, “Isabelle and Lucien would like to see the marblework in the kitchen. Perhaps you could show them?”
“I would be delighted.” He held out his arm for Isabelle’s hand, and without another word, led her and Lucien away, giving Dorian some much-needed space.
It wasn’t enough, though. Not with the tang of blood so heavy on the air.
Dorian gripped the handle on the study door, overwhelmed by the sudden urge to storm back inside, rip out his brother’s bloody fucking heart, and toss it into the fire. It was only Isabelle that kept his violence at bay; the memory of her imploring gaze reminded him just how much was at stake.
Tearing out still-beating hearts? That was the old Dorian Redthorne. The monster he was supposed to convince Armitage he’d left in the past.
Old ghosts nipped at his heels.
Dorian needed to get as far away from Gabriel as he could.
Grabbing a drink from a passing butler, he retreated to the basement. From there, he made his way to the elevator at the back, punched in the security code, pressed his thumb to the blood scanner, and slipped inside, descending into the one place he knew no guest, no matter how curious, could follow.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Three brothers? A best friend? A dead father?
The situation at Ravenswood just got a lot more complicated. Rudy wasnotgoing to be happy.
Still, Charley had work to do.
Starting in the sitting room, she glided through the crowd, drifting from one conversation to the next, laughing at the right jokes, asking unmemorable questions, never saying anything suspicious or extraordinary, all the while taking copious notes with her eyes.
In less than an hour, she’d canvassed the first floor, discovering a small gallery’s worth of beautiful artwork, resplendent but never ostentatious.
Her dad would’ve appreciated it. He would’vestolenit, but he would’ve appreciated it first.
Maybe it shouldn’t have mattered, but in Charley’s eyes, it made her father human. Faulty and corrupt, like his daughter—but human. And that humanity? It was the thing that separated the father she loved from the uncle who all but owned her.
Charley thought of them both as she disappeared down a set of stairs into an exquisitely furnished basement. She wondered what her dad would think of her now—taking orders from Rudy, barely dodging Travis’ threats, desperate to find a way out of the game.
He’d be horribly disappointed. And I wouldn’t blame him.
With practiced but weary eyes, Charley cased the basement, identifying the artwork she knew Rudy would want. There was also a high-end media room, complete with the most sophisticated video and sound system Charley had ever seen, but they’d probably leave that alone. Luxury electronics were valuable, but they weren’t unique. Rudy’s clientele preferred the exclusives: one-of-a-kind art, rare artifacts, things they couldn’t order online with a flash of their Amex Black cards.
