“Leave me, Aiden. I’ve things to burn.”
“Hmm. Don’t think I will, mate. I’ve always loved a good bonfire. Not to mention…” He turned toward the battered wall behind him and tore down the last remaining piece of art—a vile landscape of a barren, volcanic wasteland called Mists of Darkness. “Ireallyhate this bloody painting. Been trying to tell you that since the first World War.”
“In case it isn’tpainfullyobvious, I’m in no mood for your feeble attempts at distraction.”
“AndI’min no mood to be flambéed, so whatever blaze of glory you’ve got your heart set on this morning, let’s move it outside, shall we?” Aiden carried the painting out through the battered doorway and pitched it into the rose garden.
Seeing no alternative to his friend’s annoyingly unwavering good sense, Dorian followed suit, hurling pieces of rubble out into the pale morning—splintered wood, broken paintings, priceless antiquities. With Aiden at his side, they made quick work of it, clearing the entire room in minutes.
Standing together in the garden before the giant pyre, they surveyed the wreckage of a past Dorian was more than ready to destroy.
“Unless you’ve got a speech prepared,” Aiden said, “pass me the rum, you bloody arsonist.”
Dorian sighed and handed over a fresh bottle from the case. Aiden took a swig, then emptied the last of it onto the pile, chucking the bottle in too. They poured out a few more bottles, then Dorian struck a match and touched it to the box. The moment it caught, he chucked the whole thing into the pile. The fire ignited at once—a rapturous blaze that seared his skin and soared up to the heavens.
They stood in silence for a long moment, watching the flames consume and devour, blackening the stonework at the center of the rose garden. The fractured bits of wood turned dark, the painted canvases curling in the heat. The fire surged, and one by one, the rose bushes ignited, glowing silver-white before turning to black ash.
There was something deeply satisfying about watching fire consume its kindling. Something pure and beautiful about the way it transformed light to dark, cold to heat, creation to destruction.
As the fire roared into the sky, Aiden peered into the empty husk formerly known as the Ravenswood dining room and sighed. “Nothing but pure potential now, is it?”
“I should’ve done it decades ago.”
“Yes, and now that you have…” Aiden looked back to Dorian, his eyes darkening with a concern that quickly worked its way into Dorian’s heart. “What’s this really about? I’m guessing it’s not just a new look you’re after.”
“What do youthinkit’s about?” Dorian raked a bloody hand through his hair. “Sasha’s been kidnapped. Charlotte’s uncle is a demon—one who nearly killed her last night. Not to mention there’s an army of grays on the loose. Have you already forgotten?”
“How could I? Did you see the way I impaled that poor bastard with a pole?” Aiden laughed. “History in the making, my friend. They’ll probably write a song about me. A ballad with—”
“For fuck’s sake, Aiden! How can you be so… so bloodyyouright now?”
“As opposed to what, Dori? Falling apart? Shall I find something else to torch, then? Massacre some poor, defenseless furniture?” He chucked an errant floorboard into the fire, an unfamiliar anger rising in his eyes. “Sasha is myfriend. Forgive me for attempting to pull you off yourmind-numbingly predictable path of self-destruction, but if you think my cracking a few jokes means I don’t care about what’s happening, then you don’t know me at all, yourhighness.”
The words cut deep, and Dorian shrunk before them, guilt gnawing through his chest.
“I didn’t mean… I appreciate your… I’m…” Dorian closed his eyes, unable to find the words. The fire flickered and danced, throwing cruel shadows across his eyelids.
They reminded him of demons.
Of hell.
In a dark, defeated whisper he barely recognized as his own, Dorian said finally, “Charlotte’s hellbound, Aiden. Isabelle found some sort of demonic claim on her soul.”
The admission stabbed a fresh hole into his heart, and he opened his eyes to relay the witch’s assessment, every word burning through him like the blazing fire.
She’s demon-touched…
A dark shadow…
Promised to a demon lord…
“But that’s…” Aiden’s mouth widened in shock, abject horror dousing the anger in his eyes. “No. I refuse to accept it.”
“As do I, but refusal doesn’t change the fact that soon—verysoon, according to Isabelle—the woman I love will be…” Dorian’s voice broke, and he turned away, unable to face his oldest friend.
A hush fell between them, broken only by the crackle of the flames and a lone mourning dove cooing in the distance.
It was a long moment before Aiden spoke again, and when he did, his voice had softened considerably. “There’s another way, Dori. There’salwaysanother way.”
