A vampire’s fate was a cruel one—a cloak of immortality and superhuman strength stitched together with threads of weakness and depravity. Even if he weren’t contending with the curse that amplified those weaknesses, without witchcraft, he and every other vampire would revert to their natural state.
A gray. The same feral creatures his brother and Cole were attempting to hunt to extinction.
He rested his arms on the desk and nodded for Isabelle to work her magic.
Hands hovering just above his skin, she closed her eyes and muttered the spell. Heat and magic raced up both arms, tingling along the lines of the magical tattoos he’d received when he’d first been turned—remnants of another time, another witch he’d rather forget. The tattoos glowed brightly, then sank into his skin, darkening. He felt the effects immediately, a new strength coursing through him, a clarity of mind he hadn’t felt in weeks.
A quick nod of thanks, and Gabriel turned his attention back to Aiden. “And you?”
Aiden didn’t need further explanation. “No symptoms yet. We don’t know if I’ll be affected, though. Technically, we don’t share the same bloodline.”
“No, but we share the same sire. And you were our brother then, for all intents and purposes.”
“For all the good it’s done me.” Aiden laughed, warm and genuine as always, despite the fact that Gabriel had all but ignored him for most of their natural lives and a good bit of their immortal ones.
Still. Gabrielwasworried about him. He wouldn’t wish this curse on anyone but his worst enemies. And since his own father had sired Renault Duchanes, Gabriel’s current worst enemy was already cursed.
Missing, but cursed.
Gabriel rose and retrieved that bottle of bourbon, pouring himself another glass. “According to Malcolm, the… We have to… There’s…” He trailed off, memories of his deceased brother rushing at him unbidden.
Malcolm, the traitor threatening Dorian, leading a council of enemies to undermine their family and usurp the crown.
Malcolm, the bloodthirsty fiend murdering innocents in an alley to satiate his endless hunger.
Malcolm, the human teenager desperately trying to shield Gabriel from their father’s blows on a rainy English morning, centuries past.
Malcolm, the ashes clinging to Dorian’s skin after the battle at Bloodbath.
Malcolm, the mystery they would never solve until, perhaps, they were reunited in hell.
Gabriel cleared his throat. Swallowed half his drink. Tried again, his voice quiet with the pain of grief and betrayal he was still trying to bury. “The last time Malcolm ran into Duchanes, Duchanes insisted the curse was placed on our family, to be passed on to any vampires we sired. To me, that sounds like you’re at risk. Do you agree, Isabelle?”
“It would depend on the precise wording and intention of the curse,” Isabelle said, “which we’ll likely never know. We have to assume the worst.”
Aiden took another sip of his drink and shrugged. “I’ll avoid any tropical vacations and let you know if I start feeling hungry. Well, more than usual. As for Duchanes, Malcolm said he was already showing symptoms. Worse even than Dorian.”
“I’m less concerned with Duchanes’ well-being and more concerned with the fact that he knows our family’s weakness. He’s still at large, Aiden. Likely regrouping. If word gets out about this curse, our enemies won’t need to roast us with hellfire or form secret councils to overthrow us. They can kill us with rumors. A weak king is a dead king.”
“A rumor is not the truth.”
“No? What is the truth if not the thing most people believe? The thing being shouted by those with the loudest voices? Our enemies suffered a grave setback at Bloodbath, but they’re not gone, Aiden. This is far from over.”
“Dorian has aligned with Rogozin’s organization. The royal vampires and the most powerful demonic faction in the city are united. He’s inviting new blood onto a new council—younger vampires, demons from Rogozin’s organization as well as those who are unaligned. Shifters and witches too. All will have a voice under your brother’s rule. That’s the pathway to lasting peace.”
Gabriel sneered into his glass. “For all the peace my brother believes he’s brokering, what good will it do if we’re all dead in a month?”
“We’ll find a way, Gabriel.”
“There’s onlyoneway. Breaking this damnable curse before it breaks us.” Gabriel’s gaze shifted back to the laptop. Downstairs, Jacinda was sitting out on the balcony, drinking soup from an oversized mug and watching the sun sink behind the skyline. He glanced out his window, sharing the same view.
“Jacinda Colburn can help us,” he said, though he wasn’t sure which of them he was more eager to convince—Aiden, Isabelle, or himself. “Both in tracking down Duchanes and breaking the curse.”
“Doesn’t mean we can trust her,” Aiden said.
Isabelle shook her head. “No, we can’t. But Gabriel’s right to try. I promised Dorian I’d continue researching the curse to the best of my abilities, but as I’ve told him, my experience with dark magic isn’t as broad as that of a true dedicant. As grim as it may seem, Jacinda really is our best hope.”
“She’s already agreed to help,” Gabriel said, “though she claims ignorance as to Duchanes’ whereabouts and I haven’t yet shared the details about the curse.”
