Thank the bloody devil for vampire healing.
Despite the abuse he’d suffered at the hands—and feet—of his own patrons, Gabriel was no closer to learning anything about Duchanes as he was the day he’d interrogated Jacinda.
Either the bloody supernaturals didn’t understand his less-than-direct questions, or they were all playing hardball.
Now, standing on the balcony that overlooked the main level, he watched his brothers at a distance, laughing and sharing stories. He wished he could join them—forget about politics for one more night. He couldn’t recall a time when they’d all seemed so genuinely happy.
Certainly not while their father had been alive.
A wave of revulsion rose in his chest, but he swallowed it down. Augustus Redthorne was a dark cloud whose passing had brought long-sought relief, finally given them permission to breathe again.
But the previous king’s passing had also come with complications—one of them being Renault Duchanes, the bastard Augustus had allegedly sired… and then promptly scorned.
Leaning over the balcony railing, Gabriel scanned the crowd, wondering who among them might be harboring his family’s enemy. Who among them might be willing, for the right price, to betray that enemy’s trust.
And whatwasthat right price? Money? Allegiance?
Jacinda.The name whispered through his mind. Not for the first time, he wondered how badly Duchanes wanted his witch returned. If he wanted her returned at all.
Fuck. Everything was always so bloody complicated in this city. In Vegas, Gabriel had built an empire that catered to every man’s sins simply so he could cash in on them later, every indulgence a down payment on some future favor owed. The strategy had served him well, but he was beginning to think he couldn’t replicate it in New York.
Never before had that fact been so clear. Here among the supernatural elite, leverage was less about sin and more about subtlety. The fine art of pressure and persuasion.
Politics.
With Augustus dead and gone, the game belonged to his brother now, and he would’ve loved nothing more than to leave Dorian to it.
But Dorian couldn’t do it alone. Not if he wanted to survive.
Shame burned in his gut, that old, sharp-edged companion. Fifty years ago, he’d walked away from his brother during the darkest days of his life. At the time, he thought it was his only option.
Gabriel wouldn’t make that mistake again.
He would find Renault Duchanes and tear the heart from his chest. He would break this dark curse. He would protect his family in all the ways their father never had.
“There you are, Prince!” The exasperated call broke into his thoughts, and Gabriel turned to see Jacinda speeding toward him along the narrow balcony, her face flushed. “Shit! I’ve been lookingeverywherefor you.”
Panting slightly, she propped a hip against the balcony, her bare stomach glistening, the lean muscles of her abdomen rising and falling with every rapid breath.
Alarm spiked in his chest, and he reached out to cradle her elbow. “Is everything all right?”
“Yeah, we’re just… We’re out of mint.” She sucked in another breath and glanced up at him, her blue eyes wide, cheeks pink. “Just wondered if you’d stashed it somewhere I hadn’t checked? I really thought we’d ordered enough.”
“Mint?”
She laughed. “You know, leafy green stuff? Goes in drinks? Tastes… minty?”
“Bloodyhell, woman. If we’re out, we’re out. Use peppermint schnapps.”
She looked at him as though he’d just suggested the blood of live puppies.
“I thought something happened,” he tried to explain. Too gruff. Too cold.
“Um. Somethingdidhappen.” She spoke slowly, as if he were a dense child. “We ran out of mint. I can’t make my Heart of Thorns without it.”
“Then make something else, for fuck’s sake!”
“Seriously?” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re mad at me because I want fresh mint?”
