“There are rumors of mages who’ve made dark bargains for direct access to hell’s power,” she explained. “They’ve adopted the Lord of Scepters as a sort of patron deity. These groups thrive on human sacrifices, forced demonic possessions, and myriad forms of ritual torture, all of it sanctioned by their leaders.”
“No wonder they’re so interested in the succubus,” Gabriel said. “Sounds right up her depraved alley.”
“I’m more concerned about Viansa’s interest in them,” Isabelle said. “What promises have they made her? What is she getting out of the arrangement now that she’s manifested here, in the flesh?” She closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh, squaring her shoulders as if preparing for battle. When she glanced at him again, she said, “We need to get on top of this, and fast. I’m afraid the flagrant sexual mayhem is only the beginning.”
“Nowthere’sa name for a band,” Aiden said cheerfully. “Flagrant Sexual Mayhem. I can already see the T-shirts.”
Ignoring him, Dorian said to the witch, “Do you think these Keepers of the Dark Flame are connected to the group that wanted to flood the city with demons?”
Gabriel had the same thought. A couple of months earlier, Isabelle had alerted them to a demonic plot with ties to her father’s business, Armitage Holdings—an illusion technology company Dorian recently acquired.
Led by Chernikov and Duchanes, a group of supernatural defectors had partnered with dark witches to bring more demons in through the hell portals. When that failed, they hatched a new scheme, hoping to fuse demon magic with stolen Armitage technology, leveraging the city’s existing infrastructure to project mass illusions so terrifying and powerful, they’d bring the human population of New York to its knees, leaving them weak and desperate, easily swayed by a new demonic overlord.
Chernikov had since been assassinated, the larger plot foiled, but that didn’t mean the threat was completely gone.
“I think anything’s possible,” Isabelle said, “and we can’t assume our battle with hell’s residents is anywhere close to finished.”
“We’re in bed with some of those residents now,” Gabriel said, struggling to keep the scorn from his voice. “Rogozin may be an ally on paper, but underneath all that glad-handing, he’s still a demon. And now he’s got some of Chernikov’s former boot-lickers working for him.”
“I’m aware,” Dorian said firmly. “But Rogozin hasn’t given any indication he’s making a bigger play. He’s aligned with us, which makes him one of the most powerful supernaturals in the city. Betraying us would mean striking out on his own and attempting to unite vampires and all the other supernaturals under his own demonic rule—not something they’d easily accept, especially if he gained his position through slaughter and subterfuge.”
“Most of them have a hard enough time trustingus,” Colin said. “And Dorian’s trying to help them.”
“Hence the need for the new council.” Dorian poured himself another scotch. “The more we can involve the others, the more loyalty we can foster.”
“In a perfect world, sure,” Gabriel said. “Unfortunately, that’s not where we live.”
Lifting the glass to his lips, Dorian said, “I don’t believe Rogozin would make a move this early into our partnership. We’ve only just begun putting together the council, sliding the pieces into place for a lasting peace. A hostile takeover would weaken his position. There is, however, another demon that concerns me in all of this.” He lowered his eyes and sipped the scotch, the heavy silence gathering again, making Gabriel’s skin prickle with unease.
“Azerius,” Dorian finally whispered.
Azerius. A name they’d avoided speaking since the attack on Bloodbath, just like they’d avoided speaking their deceased brother Malcolm’s name.
The two were inexorably linked.
When the Redthornes and their allies raided the club, Malcolm had shown up at the end, not long after the vampires had defeated their enemies and claimed Duchanes’ property as their own. For weeks, he’d been betraying the family, working behind the scenes with enemy vampires eager to see the Redthorne rule overturned. But on this day, Malcolm sealed his own fate: he tried to kill Charlotte.
The move left Dorian no choice but to attack. He stabbed Malcolm with the closest weapon at hand—the hell-forged Blade of Azerius. None of them had realized the sacrifice would summon the ancient demon lord himself, channeling his dark essence directly into Malcolm’s body.
Dorian and Azerius fought a brutal battle on the rooftop. After what felt like an eternity, Dorian finally returned to them, covered in blood and ash, grief and anguish. One look into his tortured eyes and the rest of them knew. They just knew.
Against the odds, Dorian had defeated Azerius.
But Malcolm was gone too.
Like so much of their horrific history, their brother’s inexplicable treachery and incomprehensible death was a festering wound that none of them would ever address—not directly, anyway. It would go where so many of the brutal, terrible things in their long lives had ended up, locked in the Redthorne vault of regret and loss, sealed away by silent mutual agreement, the slow passage of time, and copious amounts of alcohol.
Now, Gabriel, Colin, and Aiden seemed to be holding a collective breath, waiting for Dorian to continue, wondering just how deep he’d carve into that still-bleeding wound.
“After the fight on the roof,” Dorian said, his tone measured, “Rogozin told me the demon lord hadn’t actually died. The defeat merely banished him back to hell for a thousand years.”
“Then what are you worried about?” Aiden asked. “You’ve still got, what? Nine hundred ninety-nine years and ten months, give or take.”
“In theory,” Dorian said. “But Viansa wasn’t supposed to be able to manifest here either. We can’t assume the banishment is foolproof. For all we know, Azerius and Viansa are intimately connected.”
Aiden shrugged. “From the looks of these videos, she’s got her hands full ‘intimately connecting’ with half the city right now. What good is a demon lord to her? He’s in hell. If he weren’t, I’d be writing your eulogy and divvying up your collection of expensive liquor by now.”
Dorian nodded and drained the rest of his scotch, but Gabriel couldn’t help but notice the tick of his jaw muscle, the tightening of his shoulders.
