“Gabriel, wait. Please. I…” Dorian sighed, stirring the air behind Gabriel’s neck. “You know I care for Jacinda. This has nothing to do with her origins and everything to do with… Well, you’re in love with her. You, of all vampires, fell in love with a demon.”
“Do you have a point, brother? If so, I suggest you get to it.”
“If you can trust Jacinda, why can’t you at least consider the possibility that Rogozin is on our side as well?”
“Simple probability. Half the monsters in Duchanes’ house of horrors were demons—Chernikov’s leftovers, Rogozin’s, unaligned—doesn’t matter. They’re all working with Duchanes and Viansa to destroy the hell gates and take over this realm.”
“We’ve known that for some time. It doesn’t explain why you stormed in there alone to slaughter an army. Why there’s an injured wolf upstairs and a piece-of-shit vampire rotting in my crypts. Why you—”
“Should I have left Duchanes in Jersey?” Gabriel finally turned to face him, frustration thickening the air between them again, as stuffy and familiar as Ravenswood itself. “Dropped him off at the bus station perhaps? Bought him a ticket to Miami and sent him on his merry way?”
“For fuck’s sake, Gabriel. I’m not upset you brought him here. Given the options, it was certainly the best choice.”
“Then what the fuck is your problem, highness? Cole is safe. We took out Duchanes’ entire Newark operation—everyone present at the warehouse, anyway. We bought ourselves more time for Jacinda and Isabelle to figure out this binding spell. And most importantly, we captured our primary enemy—somethingyou’vebeen failing at for decades. Jacinda and I outsmarted him in one night, and you’ve got the balls to say—”
“Outsmarted him. Yes, you’ve always been the clever one, haven’t you?”
“And you’ve always been the controlling one, though I see you’re pulling double duty now, making up for the loss of our resident smug bastard. Surely Malcolm would be pleased to know you’ve taken up the mantle of—”
“Don’t,” Dorian warned. “Don’t you even say his name.”
“Is that an order from the king? Or just the weak defense of a guilty conscience?”
It was the wrong thing to say—the mostabominablething—and Dorian gasped and staggered backward as if the words had physically shoved him.
Wounded him.
Fuck.
Gabriel hadn’t meant to bring up their dead brother—not like that. He’d just grabbed for the closest, sharpest weapon in his head and hurled it forth, consequences be damned.
And now…
“Dorian, I… That isn’t… I didn’t…” The words died on his lips. It was far too late for backpedaling now.
With no more warning but a flash of fury in his eyes, Dorian blurred into him and shoved him against the wall, forearm pressed to his throat, his entire body trembling with the force of his pain. His rage. For the briefest instant, Gabriel saw the old Dorian in his eyes—the one the press had named the Crimson City Devil. The one Gabriel had fled from fifty years ago. The one consumed by violence and bloodlust, all traces of humanity gone.
But then Dorian blinked, and suddenly those deep brown eyes held nothing but anguish. Nothing but the same grief that threatened to choke Gabriel as readily as Dorian’s powerful grip.
Their arguments were forgotten.
In that moment, they were no longer vampires. No longer adversaries. No longer the cruel, vicious monsters their father had molded in his image.
In that moment, Gabriel and Dorian Redthorne were just two brothers swimming against the treacherous currents of loss and death, wondering if they’d ever find their way back to shore.
Wondering if the shore even existed anymore.
With a defeated sigh, Dorian finally released him. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and broken. Exhausted—and not just from the curse wreaking havoc on their blood.
“Congratulations, brother. You managed to go… what? Two months without throwing Mac’s death in my face?” Dorian turned away and reached for the bottle of scotch. The medicine. “Epic restraint. Truly commendable.”
“Dorian, I don’t blame you. It wasn’t—”
“Just go, Gabriel.” He took a swig from the bottle, then nodded toward the door. “You know the way out by now. You’ve certainly taken it enough times before today.”
Indignation. Rejection. A deep, dark sadness. All of it sliced through Gabriel’s heart at once, ripping apart the seams he’d been trying so desperately since his return to New York—since his return to Dorian—to mend.
Gabriel stared at his brother. At the amber firelight reflecting in his eyes. In the bottle. For a brief instant, he wanted nothing more than to do just as Dorian had asked—turn his back. Walk out. Make his last grand escape from all the pain and strife and regret this family—this entire fuckinglife—had brought him.
