But… wait.
A new fear jammed into Dorian’s skull like an icepick.
What if her new man wasn’t human at all? What if she’d fallen for another vampire?
“Don’t lose her,” Dorian snapped.
“She’s just ahead, sir.”
Already he was itching to bolt from the car, to chase her down, to make a fucking scene. But he took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down, keeping a close watch as Jameson trailed her to Eighty-Fourth Street, where she took a right and headed west.
It was a one-way street; they couldn’t follow.
“Sir?” Jameson asked.
“Cut down Eighty-Third. We’ll beat her to the other end and…Never mind. I’m going after her.”
“But, Mr. Redthorne, are you certain that’s—”
“Yes.” Ignoring Jameson’s voice of reason, Dorian exited the car and followed Charlotte’s path, spotting her midway down the block. She was heading for the park, charging down the street like a woman on a mission, wobbling each time her spiked heels hit the sidewalk.
Dorian kept his distance, following her right through the park until the path spilled them out onto Central Park West.
Why was she walking? In heels and a dress, no less? Where was her date? What kind of classless twat made a woman walk across town for a date?
A dead twat, that’s what kind.
Rage boiled inside him anew. He couldn’t wait to wrap his hands around the bastard’s neck. Perhaps he’d get a meal out of it too. Sink his fangs right into that fat, juicy artery and—
“Bloody hell.”
The breath whooshed from his lungs as he finally figured out where she was heading.
In a sharp, terrible instant, Charlotte’s so-called plans came into focus.
Not a date. A fucking job.
Just a few yards ahead of him on the sidewalk, she slipped away like a shadow beneath the blood-red awning, disappearing into the Salvatore.
Dorian stormed inside, promptly compelled the doorman, and stalked into the elevator, more than ready to make that fucking scene.
* * *
The auction was set up in the same penthouse as before, but it looked nothing like the place in his memory. Gone were the bar and the high-end furnishings, the caterers and bartenders that had previously served the bidders. Tonight, the place was stripped to its barest bones, the walls stark, the hardwood floors scuffed from heavy foot traffic. There was no socializing—only the business of selling off the family’s final few pieces of artwork.
Even the security guard that had chased them off the property was nowhere to be found.
Standing in the shadows at the back of the main room, Dorian scanned the attendees. No vampires this time, but two demons were seated just in front of him—Chernikov’s, already taking advantage of their new weekend freedoms.
Still, what the hell were they doing at an auction? He hadn’t pegged Chernikov’s foot soldiers as art collectors.
With a sinking feeling, he wondered which of the humans they were after. Which of the wealthy elites was ready to sell his soul without reading the fine print.
No matter. Dorian had other business tonight, and he quickly turned his attention back to the other guests.
He’d expected Charlotte’s absence, and was more than ready to hunt her down in the study, self-righteous and smug. He’d wanted it, he realized. She’d promised him she was out of the game for good, and he wanted to catch her in that lie.
It would’ve made things so much easier.
