Evie, her eyes wide and hopeless as her own brother swung the blade that ended her life.
Augustus, watching with no more than a sad acceptance as his newfound partners turned his sons into monsters, butchering his wife and youngest children in the process.
And then, when it came time for Augustus himself to submit to the bite, he did so with pride, truly believing he’d just saved his family from eternal heartbreak.
In his mind, the losses were all part of the momentary risk—a fair price for the eternal reward.
“Don’t,” Dorian whispered now, his heart banging in his chest as he tried in vain to beat back those awful memories. “Please.”
He rose from the floor and backed away, finally allowing his brother to get to his feet, but Malcolm wouldn’t relent. He’d seen a glimpse of Dorian’s weakness, and he attacked it furiously.
Relentlessly.
Joyously.
“On that fateful day,” Malcolm said, “as sweet little Fiona lay dying in your arms, do you know who lay dying in mine?”
Dorian didn’t respond. Of course he knew—he’d replayed those brutal moments in his mind so many times, he saw them even in his sleep, like a movie he could never turn off, an ending he could never alter.
It was their mother who took her final breaths in Malcolm’s arms.
“Mother’s only concern was for her children,” Malcolm continued. “What was left of them, anyway. She made me promise to take care of you—all of you. Do you know why?”
“She thought I was dying,” Dorian said, and the others looked on in silence. In sadness. In shame.
“No. You were always strong of body and mind, Dorian. She knew if anyone were to survive, it would be you—her precious, eldest son.” He took a step closer, crowding into Dorian’s space, his eyes full of old hatred long buried. “And do you know what her last words were, as she strangled and gasped?”
Dorian shook his head. He’d been too focused on Fiona’s last words to hear their mother’s.
Why didn’t you help us, Dori?
“You must look out for them,” Malcolm said softly. “For I fear your brother’s soft heart will be the death of you all.”
A tear slipped unbidden down Dorian’s cheek, burning his skin with shame.
“Compassion has no place in the royal court, brother,” Malcolm said, reaching up to cup Dorian’s cheek, swiping the tear with his thumb. His touch was gentle, but his eyes still burned with hatred. With disgust. “A lesson you’ve yet to learn.”
Dorian turned away, unable to take another moment of Malcolm’s judgment.
He was right, of course. Just as their mother had been right.
Dorian possessed a vile temper, an aloof disposition on the best of days, and a legendary lust for blood that was, at times, unquenchable.
Yet despite his violent past, despite the rage coiled inside him now, despite the monster endlessly rattling its chains, the heart that beat at his core was as soft as a rotten apple, and following it had brought House Redthorne nothing but pain and ruin.
Dorian closed his eyes, feeling the departure of his brothers and Aiden, one by one, leaving him to duel alone with his many ghosts.
Hours earlier, he’d sat in this very room and told Charlotte that loving someone wasn’t a character flaw. And maybe that was true for everyone else.
But not for him.
For the king of the vampires, love would always mean one thing: certain death.
Chapter Fifteen
Charley paced.
Thanks to Dorian, she was getting really good at it too. But even after dozens of laps from one side of the guest bedroom to the other, she still couldn’t cast off the frantic energy buzzing through her veins.
