No more than you, Redthorne…
“Whoever’s controlling the grays,” Gabriel said, his words sharper than he’d intended as he turned his attention back to his guests, “they won’t be resurrecting them much longer. The witch is in my possession. I’ve got her phone and apartment wired, guards posted at the exits. I’m tracking her whereabouts at all times. She is no longer a threat.”
“That doesn’t mean they won’t find another witch to continue the work,” Isabelle said grimly. “Besides, the amulets are just prototypes. They were already working on more advanced spells when we raided Bloodbath. For all we know, they’ve succeeded.”
Gabriel nodded. He’d feared the same.
“Has Jacinda shared anything with you about Duchanes’ plans?” she asked. “About his associates?”
“I was going to ask you the same question,” he said. “The wretched woman has stonewalled me at every turn.”
“I questioned her when we first captured her, but she refused to cooperate.” Isabelle shook her head, her brow tight with concern. “Jacinda Colburn is no ordinary witch, Gabriel. There’s a darkness in her I can’t quite place—one that goes well beyond her magical practices.”
“Excellent!” Aiden said. “Another evil foe in our midst. Always love a challenge, you Redthornes.”
“Not evil, no,” Isabelle said. “Just… a darkness. She’s shielding it well, but it’s there, almost like an emotional current running just beneath the surface. It’s as if—”
“Did you see that?” Gabriel, who’d only been half-listening to the witch’s assessment, gestured toward the laptop. Jacinda brought a wooden spoon to her lips, tasting her concoction. “Is that some sort of… potion?”
“Indeed.” Isabelle leaned forward and squinted at the screen. “Chicken noodle, from the looks of it.”
“Soup? She’s brewingsoup?” Gabriel asked incredulously, as if the act of making soup were a worse offense than resurrecting grays.
“Goodness, Gabriel.” Isabelle sat back in her chair and sighed into her drink. “You’re a royal vampire prince whose family has just aligned itself with a powerful demonic crime syndicate. You might consider learning a bit of discernment.”
“Wasting your time there, Izz.” Aiden thumbed toward Gabriel as if he weren’t even in the room. “Like a wrecking ball, this one. Smash first, discern later.”
“Dorian should’ve let me kill her,” Gabriel muttered, watching Jacinda dip the spoon for another taste. “One less witch tainting the city air.”
“What did I tell you?” Aiden said to Isabelle. “Wrecking ball.”
“You’ve made your feelings about my kind quite clear, Gabriel,” Isabelle said coolly. “But everyone in this room knows you’ve never killed a witch and you’re not about to start now.”
He nearly laughed. The fact that Isabelle—an empathic witch with nearly forty winters behind her, a woman more shrewd than even his most ruthless Vegas pit bosses—believed such a thing…
Well. That only proved how deeply Gabriel’s secrets ran.
He looked at his captive again, still stirring her soup. Still beautiful. Still maddening.
“Defiant little witch,” he ground out. “Trapped in an apartment that doesn’t belong to her, no allies, claimed as property by a royal vampire, yet shestillwon’t admit she’s been bested. I should kill her just for being so damned arrogant.”
He wanted to, too. Snuff the flame right out of her eyes. Maybe then he’d stop thinking about whatelsewould light her up. Whatelsewould make her tremble and gasp and call him Prince…
“Jacinda Colburn may be dark,” Isabelle said, scattering his thoughts, “but she’s as much a victim as a perpetrator. A pawn in a game she has no business playing.”
“We’re all pawns insomeone’sgame, Isabelle. Some of us are just better at winning.” Gabriel flashed a grin that would have most women melting into a puddle, but Isabelle was immune to his charms. The kind of woman who did not, as the saying goes, suffer fools.
Intending on finding a fresh bottle of bourbon from the cabinet behind him, Gabriel rose from his chair. But the movement had him swaying, stars dancing before his eyes.
For fuck’s sake.
Three days on and he was still struggling to regain his full strength after the fight at Bloodbath. He’d lost count of how many demons he’d fed on, not to mention all the hospital blood bags he’d drained in the days since. Nothing had been enough to sustain him—a condition that was growing worse by the day. He was also increasingly sensitive to sunlight, and other than liquor, human food and drink—once an enjoyable indulgence—were quickly losing their appeal.
Unlike his secrets, the effects of the family curse were not so easily hidden.
“Give me your hands, Gabriel,” Isabelle said flatly, standing to reach for him. There was no judgment in her tone, but he couldn’t help but bristle.
Everything in him burned to resist the offer, but it was no use. He needed the magic of her spells just as his brothers did.
