“It… He… he was naked,” she said. “His skin was blistered and cracked, like he’d been burned in a fire. Some of his ribs were poking out, and…” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “He had fangs—that’s how I knew he wasn’t human. His mouth and chin were covered in blood. He was just lying there and reaching up for me, his mouth opening and closing, but he couldn’t get up. It was like the sun was just… cooking him.”
She shivered, tightening her arms around herself.
Dorian took a step closer. “Did you happen to notice if he had anything around his neck? Like a pouch?”
She glanced up at him and nodded. “Yeah, I guess he did. I didn’t get a good look, but I’m pretty sure it had a red cord. The pouch itself was covered in blood.”
“Did your sister see it?” he asked gently.
“No, thank God. I made her stay in the car. I told her it was a deer, then made a fake call to the highway patrol to come remove it.” Her eyes filled with fresh tears, and she reached for his arm, her touch warm. “Dorian, I’m so sorry. The car seems fine, but the tires might be a little messed up. Or the brakes. I hit them pretty hard when—”
“I don’t give a bloody damn about the car, Charlotte.” He cupped her face, unable to go another moment without comforting her. “You did the right thing. You kept yourself and Sasha safe. That’s all that matters.”
The gathering tears finally spilled from her eyes. “Where did that thing come from? Are there more?”
Dorian brushed her cheeks with his thumbs, catching her tears. He wanted to lie, to tell her some story that would allow her to sleep at night, but lies are what got them into this mess in the first place.
“There are more,” he said. “Though we don’t know how many.”
He told her about his reunion with Cole Diamante, and the grays he and his wolves have been tracking.
He also told her about the pouch Cole had found this morning—likely the same kind she’d seen on the gray in the road.
“I’ve got a witch looking into its origins,” he said, leaving out the part about Chernikov’s involvement, “but I’m almost certain Duchanes and the Rogozin demons are behind this.”
Charlotte nodded and pulled away from his touch, turning to look out at the rolling hills. The mist was creeping in, blanketing the grounds in thin, white clouds that reminded Dorian of ghosts.
“You need to be prepared for other possibilities, Charlotte.”
“You mean, something other than half-formed, mindless vampire monsters creeping through the woods and jumping out at cars? Burning alive in the sun? Eating people?”
“I mean…” Dorian sighed. “There’s a very good chance that if the grays are traced back to Duchanes and Rogozin, your uncle’s got his hands in this as well.”
“Wait. You’re saying Rudy’s involved with thegrays? But he’s just an art thief. What would he want with them? What would he stand to gain?”
“There’s a historical connection between your uncle and Rogozin. That alone is enough to warrant further investigation—and extreme caution.”
Charlotte dropped onto the stone bench, her eyes welling again.
Dorian could only imagine the memories haunting her now. The attack by Rogozin’s men when she was a girl? Her uncle’s threats? Her dead father’s unsolved murder? The ghoulish creature who’d crossed her path this afternoon?
Charlotte may not have been ready to hear it, but Dorian was convinced all of those things were connected.
And one way or another, he was going to find out how.
“I need to ask you something about that heist,” Dorian said, taking a seat beside her on the bench. “About your father’s death.”
Charlotte nodded.
“Why did your uncle immediately assume his brother had betrayed everyone? In my mind, it seems equally likely that your father himself was the victim of a double-cross. Even if Rudy thought your father’s betrayal was obvious, why not at least look into it? Put the word out, as it were?”
“I wondered the same thing.” Charlotte pulled her sleeves down over her hands, knotting them together in her lap.
Dorian stole a glance at her profile, her skin soft and luminous in the moonlight, her jaw set even in the midst of another day of setbacks. He knew she was a fierce woman, that she possessed a deep inner strength that had kept her alive in even the most dangerous circumstances. For all her softness, Charlotte was a fighter, strong-willed and determined, fueled by a deep inner fire he’d felt smoldering inside her many times—when they flirted, when they argued, when they played Midnight Marauder, when they fucked. She was fearless—no doubt about it. But now, sitting on the bench with her hands tucked into her sleeves, her hair in a messy bun, makeup erased by her tears and the stress of the day, Charlotte seemed young and lost and utterly defenseless.
The sight filled him with rage. He wanted so badly to sort it all out for her, but even if he could keep her safe from the supernaturals lurking in the shadows, he couldn’t change her past—including the part where she’d conspired to rob him.
“Weallwondered about it,” she continued. “But Rudy kept telling us he wouldn’t waste resources on a traitor. To him, it was cut and dried—my father had vouched for the inside guy he’d used, and that guy had double-crossed them. Rudy grieved—in his own way, I guess—but after that, his top priority was planning the next score. He said he’d keep an ear to the ground, but unless he heard otherwise, we were all to assume the obvious—my father tried to screw us over, and it bit him in the ass.”
