“How old is he, anyway?” Charley asked.
“An antique, like the rest of us,” Gabriel said. “Why do you ask?”
“I think my sister’s already smitten, and she doesn’t even know he’s a vampire.Thatwould send her into crush territory in a heartbeat.”
Gabriel grunted. Or maybe it was a laugh—hard to tell. “You’ve nothing to be concerned about. Aiden is a perfect gentleman—which is more than I can say for the rest of us. Especially our king.”
His eyes glinted, but beneath all his cold, sharp edges, Charley had no idea if he was teasing her… or warning her.
A chill rattled through her bones, and she tugged her sweater sleeves down over her hands. “Where is he, Gabriel?”
“He’s asked me to escort you to the dining room.” Gabriel took her elbow, steering her toward the grand stairs that led up to the main entrance. “He’s wrapping up a business call and will join you momentarily.”
“What business call?” she asked. How could he think of business at a time like this? Didn’t he have vampires and demons to chase down?
“That’s not your concern. Nor mine, frankly.”
“Wait—what about our bags?”
“Someone will bring them in later.”
“But I—”
“Ms. D’Amico, I realize you’re used to a certain degree of latitude with my brother, but I have many things to do today, and answering questions in Dorian’s absence is not one of them. My orders were to bring you to Ravenswood and deliver you to the dining room. If there is anything you’d like to discuss beyond that, discuss it with him.”
Charley gaped at him, shocked by his blatant rudeness. She would’ve loved to tell him right where to stick it, but she didn’t want to delay her reunion with Dorian another minute. So, zipping her lip, she nodded and followed him up the stairs and into the manor, where he led her through a set of carved pocket doors and into the massive dining room.
She’d gotten a brief glimpse of it the night of the fundraiser, but absent of guests and caterers, it looked even larger than she remembered, with stately, opulent furnishings, exquisite landscape paintings, and a large stone fireplace. Glass doors lined the far wall, opening onto a private, secluded rose garden whose blooms were still full and bright, despite the lateness of the season and the chilly upstate nights. She wondered how they’d stayed alive so long.
Magic, perhaps. Another trick of the witches.
Rubbing a new chill from her arms, Charley paced the room, stopping before a rich mahogany sideboard along the opposite wall of the rose garden. A large antique mirror hung overhead, reflecting the dark reds and pale pinks of the blooms outside.
Charley gave her own reflection a once-over, tugging down the collar on her cable-knit sweater to check her bruises. They were even more glaringly obnoxious now—a wide necklace of angry, purple blotches, courtesy of her uncle.
Somewhere in the distance, Sasha’s laughter floated like a bright yellow bird on the air, but here in the dining room, Charley felt trapped and suffocated.
Tears stung her eyes. The dread of the morning weighed heavily, further solidifying her resolve to confess to Dorian. He wouldn’t take it lightly, but he wouldn’t turn his back on her either—not without hearing her out.
Of that, she was certain.
But the longer he kept her waiting, the less certain she became. She continued to pace, running her fingers along the gleaming oak table and chairs, admiring the artwork on the walls, counting the roses still clinging to the thorny bushes.
Ten minutes turned to thirty. When another fifteen minutes passed without word from anyone, she headed for the pocket doors, ready to go out in search of her man.
But instead, he’d finally come in search of her.
He opened the doors and stood before her, his gaze sweeping her head to toe, eyes filling with relief.
At the sight of him—tired but nevertheless polished, dressed in a tailored charcoal gray suit and cream-colored dress shirt, hair sticking up as if he’d been running his hands through it—Charley nearly wept. She went to him, unable to hold back her smileorher tears.
But as soon as she reached for him, he turned his back and closed the doors, locking them inside.
When he turned to face her again, the relief in his eyes had turned to ice, his mouth set in a grim line.
He folded his arms across his chest and glared at her, and Charley knew—before he uttered a single word—that something was very, very wrong.
Chapter Nine
