Even at a whisper, the name felt like a curse on his lips.
He couldn’t stop seeing her face. Hearing her voice in his head. Feeling the silk of her skin on his fingertips, tasting her soft lips.
Devilsballs, that kiss…
Don’t stop. Just kiss me, Gabriel Redthorne…
He knew the promise she was making him, and in that moment, it’d felt like fuckingeverything.
Yet nothing about it was real. Just another part of her game. Her grand plan to ruin him and everyone else he cared about.
It was embedded in her hellspawn DNA. She’d admitted as much—she was created for the sole purpose of destroying vampires and ushering in the eternal rule of hell on Earth.
So why the fuck was Gabriel still fantasizing about that bloody kiss? He should’ve been fantasizing about her bloody head impaled on a pike, right next to her sister’s. Two fewer demons in the world and a fuckload of a lot less misery.
“Gabriel,” Dorian snapped, and Gabriel blinked away his thoughts, his brother coming back into sharp relief. “Answer the question.”
“Whatquestion?” he snapped back. “I can’t even hear myself think anymore.”
Dorian opened his mouth, undoubtedly ready to unleash another lecture, but Isabelle placed a hand on his forearm, silencing him.
“The mages,” Isabelle said evenly, her no-nonsense manner bringing calm to the endless storm of Redthorne bickering. “You said they were part of a cult dedicated to Viansa?”
Ignoring Dorian’s death glare, Gabriel nodded. “Keepers of the Dark Flame. They had Jacinda on her knees, ready to slit her throat—that much I witnessed. This morning, she told me they’d planned to sacrifice her in a bid to bring back Viansa. I’ve no idea how that would’ve worked, but apparently, the succubus found another way.”
“And these mages… How often do they meet?” she asked.
“The demon implied it was a weekly gathering, but that particular group won’t be meeting again—not in this realm, anyway. I slaughtered them.”
Images flashed through his mind—Jacinda on her knees. The sheen of the silver blade at her throat. The smell of fear and shit and blood.
So much fucking blood.
“But,” Gabriel continued, forcing the gruesome memories aside, “they may have other factions. That was just one group—twelve mages meeting at an exclusive club out on the Island.”
Isabelle nodded. “If they’re involved with an original demon, then yes, it’s likely there are more of them. A powerful being like Viansa wouldn’t waste her time with a dozen men.”
“And Duchanes,” Gabriel said. “Evidence suggests they were working with him too, which means we can’t rule out the possibility he’s also connected to Viansa.”
“Winning friends and influencing people as usual,” Aiden said, rolling his eyes.
The group sat in silence for a few moments, marinating in all the possible ways things could go wrong.
Again.
“Do you have anything physical from last night?” Isabelle finally asked. “The mage’s athame? A garment containing their blood? I might be able to scry with it—see if it leads me to any clues about the group’s identity or bigger mission.”
“Nothing,” Gabriel said. “After the slaughter, we ended up on the beach. The water… it washed us clean.” Then, before she could ask any more questions about that particular scene, he added, “There was a Tarot card, though, now that I recall. Something with Scepters?”
Her eyes sparkled with new interest. “A Tarot card? You mean, in the ritual? Like part of a spell?”
“No, this was more like… like a calling card. Jacinda flashed it to the bartender before he revealed the meeting location, just as the demon told her to do.”
Gabriel described it to her—the dark king with horns and a fiery scepter, riding a terrifying black stallion through a storm.
“Lordof Scepters?” Isabelle asked, alarm chasing the interest from her eyes.
When Gabriel nodded, she turned even paler than his ghost-girl.
