Dorian tossed the Friday edition of the Times into the bin. The gruesome headlines capped off the end of a long, hellish week, the days growing darker on all fronts.
This morning’s discovery of three more human victims in the vicinity of Bloodbath put Duchanes’ body count at two dozen since the raid on the club. The increased police presence and constant media speculation continued to drag Dorian into a past he’d never quite outrun.
Upstate, the grays were multiplying at an alarming rate, growing bolder and stronger, with Cole and his wolves reporting more sightings and fewer kills. Worse, they were starting to spread into more populated areas. Since Tuesday, four humans had been slaughtered in towns around Annendale-on-Hudson, all of them written off as animal attacks—a ridiculous assumption that would only result in more casualties. The pack seemed to be moving south along the river, likely heading for the most densely populated place in the entire country: New York City.
Dorian’sfucking city, where—if left unchecked—they’d eventually merge with the so-called “civilized” Duchanes vampires in a vicious tsunami of death and mayhem no human would survive.
Brilliant bit of strategy, that. A city in chaos was a city ripe for demonic takeover—a threat that, while presently unconfirmed, still loomed large in Dorian’s mind.
More than ever, Dorian needed his brothers united behind him. But Malcolm still wasn’t speaking to him, Colin had become so obsessed with solving their father’s great mysteries he was all but living in the crypts now, and Gabriel was spending the better part of his evenings trading favors among his network of unsavory supernatural associates in Las Vegas, all to dig up dirt on Charlotte’s uncle.
Here at FierceConnect, while talks with Armitage Holdings had cooled significantly in the wake of the tensions with House Duchanes, Dorian continued to endure the parade of Rudy D’Amico’s spies masquerading as investigators, their questions becoming more invasive, their demands more ridiculous. The various regulatory bodies involved in the acquisition process were already starting to balk, undoubtedly suspicious about the on-again, off-again status of the deal and the constant schedule changes.
It was, in so many ways, the perfect storm. Yet despite the gravity of his many difficult situations, Dorian’s mind was locked almost entirely on another matter.
Charlotte.
Soft, beautiful, fiery Charlotte.
In the days since they’d parted ways at Ravenswood, he’d sent her five dozen roses each and every morning, telling himself it was all part of the romantic show they needed to carry on for her uncle, should the bastard pay her another visit.
He’d emailed her more details about their fake Hawaiian getaway, telling her how much he was looking forward to it.
He’d typed up lengthy texts—hot, filthy, depraved—only to delete them before hitting the send button.
He’d conjured her memory in the shower, in the bedroom, in the closets, recalling the feel of her soft, wet mouth as he stroked his cock to no avail.
Her presence was all around him—flooding his senses, filling his memories, haunting his dreams. Everything about her made him constantly hard, constantly frustrated, and constantly worried.
In that time, he’d seen her only from afar, alternating shifts with Aiden and occasionally Gabriel to keep watch over Charlotte and her sister from a distance, hoping to grant them a modicum of privacy. Only once had she spotted him on the street, and though he hadn’t approached her, she’d waved at him, and the smile that broke upon her face had felt like the dawn.
He was still thinking about that smile now, just after close of business at FierceConnect, as the rest of his employees took off for the weekend. And though it was probably a terrible idea, the moment he was certain he was alone in the office, he grabbed his cell and made the call.
“Chateaux Noir,” he said when Charlotte answered, “makes the most exquisite Coq au vin in America. Believe me, I’ve tried them all.”
Charlotte laughed, the sound immediately warming him. “Sounds divine. Is that what you’re having tonight,monsieur?”
“It’s whatwe’rehaving tonight,madame. Six o’clock?”
Her silence spoke volumes.
“It’s just dinner, love,” he said softly. “An early one, at that.”
Still no response.
“I know we’re not exactly…” Dorian sighed and shoved a hand through his hair, searching for the words that’d clearly abandoned him. “It’s just that… I was hoping…”
Bloodyhell, why was this so damn difficult? Not four nights ago, he’d gone down on her in the garden as if it was his last fucking meal, and now he couldn’t even invite her on a simple date?
“Dorian…”
“You’re over-thinking it,” he said. “Don’t.”
“I’m sorry. It’s—”
“There’s no reason we can’t enjoy each other’s company over a nice meal and a bottle of wine,” he said, biting back his irritation. “I haven’t been out in the city on a Friday night in an age.”
Charlotte sighed, and he pictured the curve of her eyebrow, the wrinkle that appeared when she was deep in thought. His thumb ached to smooth it out.
