“Charlotte,” Dorian said through gritted teeth, “if you’ll excuse us—”
“No problem. I’m more than happy to skip the testosterone-fest tonight.” She gave him an understanding smile and touched his shoulder, then left him to deal with his brothers alone.
Dorian tried to pry them apart, but Gabriel was enraged, his cold eyes boring into Malcolm with a dark hatred Dorian had only ever seen in their father.
Malcolm managed to get in a swift uppercut, which Gabriel was all too glad to return.
“Enough!” Dorian roared, yet still his brothers fought, throwing fists and baring fangs, tearing at each other like wild animals, destroying half the study in the process.
Dorian finally wedged himself between them, launching Gabriel into a chair and pinning Malcolm to the floor, a knee jammed hard between his shoulder blades.
Gabriel was just about to jump back in for another round when Colin blurred into the room.
“This ends now!” Colin bellowed, a darkness rising from within, his eyes burning with wrath.
The spectacle of Colin’s anger was so shocking, Dorian and the others immediately backed away from one another, retreating to separate corners of the room.
“The fighting, the insults, the blood…” Colin shook his head, his body trembling with rage. “Is this all we’re capable of? We’re brothers, for fuck’s sake!”
Malcolm spit out a mouthful of blood. “And Father—”
“Father?” Colin’s lip curled in disgust. “Always about Father, is it? His dirty dealings. His cruelty. His legacy. Well. If you’re so interested in his legacy…Here. Here is what Augustus Redthorne has left for his sons.” He pulled a syringe from his pocket and set it on the mantle over the fireplace, where it rocked back and forth, the red-orange liquid inside catching the light.
“What is it?” Dorian whispered, already afraid of the answer.
“That, brothers, is the cure,” Colin said darkly. “The miracle our father spent the better part of his immortal life creating. Distilled to its essence, slightly improved for quicker administration and effectiveness, but the cure nevertheless.”
“How do you know it works?” Gabriel asked.
“I don’t. It took me some time to find all the pieces scattered among his notes, but thatisthe formula, precisely as he recorded it, along with my modifications.” He backed away from the mantle with his hands raised as if the syringe were poison.
Itwaspoison, Dorian realized. It had killed their father and would just as surely kill them. Faster, if Colin’s modifications worked as designed.
“So there you have it,” Colin said. “An easy escape from all your many burdens—yours for the taking.” He spun on his heel, glaring at each of them in turn. “Gabriel? Do you wish to test it? Malcolm? Dorian? By all means, brothers. I could definitely use a test subject, not to mentionsome bloody peace and quiet!”
Something dark and sinister flickered in Malcolm’s gaze, and Dorian knew in an instant what he was thinking.
Dorian was there in a blur, swiping the syringe from the mantle and shoving it into his shirt pocket a heartbeat before Malcolm got there.
“Tested or not,” Dorian said, “nooneis taking this cure. Not today, not next week, not in a thousand years.That, brothers, is an order.”
Malcolm shook his head, so clearly repulsed by Dorian’s attempt to spare his life, he couldn’t even be bothered to hold on to his anger.
“You’re no better than Father, Dorian,” he said, all the fire gone from his voice. “And because of that, you have doomed us all.”
There was a time when the words might’ve hurt, but Dorian had no more room in his heart for traitors. Especially not the traitors who shared his blood.
Malcolm had been pushing for an alliance with Renault Duchanes from the start. He’d gone behind Dorian’s back to convene a council of imbeciles, the act alone further weakening Dorian’s position. He’d been witnessed feeding on humans with a vampire who’d left Charlotte for dead in an alley full of grays. And he’d just admitted to seeing Renault again, despite everything the other vampire had done to their family and to Charlotte since the night of the fundraiser.
As far as Dorian was concerned, Malcolm was no longer his brother.
Grabbing Malcolm’s elbow and dragging him out of the study and all the way to the front door, Dorian said, “I hereby revoke your royal title and standing, and forsake you as a member of the royal Redthorne family and as my brother.” He shoved him through the doorway and out into the cold night, hardening his heart for the final proclamation. “Darken my doorstep again, Malcolm, and I assure you—that urn will be more than ready to accommodate your remains.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
With one traitorous brother promptly escorted from the manor, Dorian stalked off in search of the other.
He found him pacing the gutted dining room, clutching a bottle of bourbon, as drunk as he was furious—quite an admirable feat for a vampire.
