With a promise to return to Ravenswood and rest, he disconnected from Aiden, then met Cole’s gaze again. Outside, the mournful call of a lone wolf echoed across the forest, raising the hairs on Dorian’s arms. In perfect succession, the other wolves joined in.
They’d found something.
An eerie quiet settled into the kitchen—the calm before the storm.
“We’re in some shit now, ain’t we,” Cole said softly. It wasn’t a question.
“It’s not your fight.”
“No, I reckon it ain’t.” He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair, a smile breaking across his face. “But itismy woods, my cabin, my hooch, and my weed. What’s one more IOU between friends?”
Dorian gave a slight bow of his head, more grateful to the wolf shifter than he could ever express. Thumbing through the contacts on his phone, he said, “There’s an idiom in the human sandbox, Cole. Something about hornets’ nests and kicking them?”
“Then we best get you some boots, brother. Wouldn’t want you to scuff up those thousand-dollar, pretty-boy Italian shoes.”
Dorian laughed—the last one, he imagined, for a long while.
Then he hit the call button and brought the phone to his ear, the last remnants of his buzz leaving him.
“Commissioner? Dorian Redthorne here. I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour, but it’s come to my attention that a nightclub on St. Mark’s Place is conducting illegal activities in our fair city. Drugs, human trafficking, underage drinking—quite terrible, really. I’m certain you’ll find athoroughlyinvasive investigation and an extended shutdown warranted. Bloodbath—yes, that’s the one. Thanks so much. My best to Gina and the kids.”
Cole shook his head and grinned. “You slippery sonofabitch.”
“It pays to have friends in high places.”
Cole glanced at the phone, eyeing the name of the next contact Dorian pulled up. “And low ones, I see.”
“I like to keep a full spectrum on hand.” At that, Dorian hit the call button, knowing the man on the other end wouldn’t be quite as accommodating as his friend in law enforcement.
As expected, the call went straight to voicemail.
“Meet me at Luna del Mar at sunrise,” he demanded, skipping the pleasantries. “Andcomrade? Don’t be late.”
Chapter Three
“Dorian, look out!”
Charley struggled against the nightmare’s deadly grip, tossing herself clear out of bed. The impact jolted her awake, scattering the last of the dream-monsters from view.
Tangled in her sheets, she sat up on the floor and leaned back against the nightstand, waiting for the room to stop spinning. Her head pounded, her mouth was full of cotton, and the very act of running her fingers through her hair left her weak and trembling.
What the hell did I get into last night?
She closed her eyes and forced herself to focus, fishing for the memories until—one by one—they finally bobbed to the surface.
Dorian’s penthouse. Midnight Marauder. A night of mind-blowing passion. Later, discussing Dorian’s art contacts. Vincent Estas, the dealer. Alexei Rogozin, demonic kingpin—a man her father and Rudy had encountered when Charley was just a girl.
Charley’s head spun as the rest of the memories rushed in—the horrid vampire Duchanes yanking her from Dorian’s bed and tying her to the chair, naked and vulnerable. Slicing her wrist as a taunt, knowing her screams and the scent of her blood would bring Dorian running.
The look on her vampire’s face when he’d finally found her… She’d never seen anyone so terrified. Despite his own pain in the face of the demon attack, he’d fought for her.
And then, when he had nothing left to give, she fought forhim.
She wrapped her fingers around her bandaged wrist, welcoming the memories of the bite. The pain was exquisite, but also deeply erotic, the pleasure of his lips on her skin spreading languidly up her arm and across her chest, making her hot and wet even as the blood loss weakened her.
Sharing that with him… God. Charley had never experienced anything so intimate before. At one point, with Dorian’s head in her lap and her wrist pressed to his mouth, he’d glanced up and caught her gaze, his eyes full of something so raw and beautiful, Charley was almost afraid to remember it now—afraid that looking at it too closely would make it disappear.
But then it faded, replaced with her vampire’s desperate, primal hunger, his desire for her blood wresting away the last of his control.
