Jaci felt that dark power surge inside her now, hot and furious. It made her blood sing, her heart skip, her whole body spring-loaded and ready to fight. To break. To fuckingdestroy.
“The key to the binding spell lies somewhere inside of you,” Isabelle said, meeting Jaci’s gaze. Her lips curved into a smile, and Jaci nodded, a new understanding passing between them.
They were going to figure out that spell.
And they were going to put Viansa in the fuckingground.
Gabriel opened his mouth to say something to her, but then his gaze shifted behind her, his brow tightening with new worry. “Colin? What’s wrong?”
“That was the hospital calling,” Colin said. “They’ve just discovered thirteen more victims of a ritual killing in Chelsea. This time, one of them actually survived.”
“Holy shit,” Jaci said. “Is she talking?”
Colin shook his head, his mouth pulled into a deep frown. “I’m sorry—I have to go. They need a pediatric surgical consult.”
“Pediatric?” Jaci asked, unable to hide the horror in her voice.
“The victim is eleven years old. They don’t expect she’ll survive the night, but we have to try.” Colin let out a deep sigh. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Oh, and Jacinda? Whatever you and Isabelle decide about this spell—count me in.”
“Count usallin,” Dorian said, and Charley and Aiden nodded.
When she met Gabriel’s eyes again, she saw the concern behind them, but there was pride too. Love. And a fierce, unwavering loyalty that bolstered her like nothing else could.
“Partners,” he said with a soft smile, all for her. “Always.”
“Best put on the kettle, Jacinda.” Isabelle rose from her chair and picked up the last of the discarded blood bags. “The Spooky Sisters have got our work cut out for us tonight.”
Chapter Twelve
“To my good friends, Dorian and Gabriel Redthorne.” Alexei Rogozin lifted his glass of vodka, nodding at the vampires seated across from him in the Ravenswood dining room. “And to wolf, who looks like he tried to piss on angry grizzly bear.”
Cole, who’d returned to Ravenswood for the late-night meeting only after Dorian convinced him expensive Russian vodka was close enough to cheap American whiskey to warrant the trip, grinned. “Don’t be jealous of the scars, Mr. Rogozin. I know a guy who can hook you up for the right price.”
“That is hard pass from me,” he said with a laugh. “This face? Smooth as baby’s bottom.”
“The offer stands.” Cole touched the rim of his glass to Rogozin’s. Then, they drank.
Ever the diplomat, Dorian made a show of gushing about the vodka Rogozin had brought, but Gabriel felt no such compulsions.
Vodka only reminded him of Shimmer—a place he was still trying to forget.
Leaving his drink untouched, he said, “Alexei, I understand my brother has informed you about a hellspawn—”
Dorian kicked him under the table.
“Forgive me,” Gabriel continued, forcing a smile for his brother’s sake. “Ademonicproblem we’ve stumbled into. We were hoping we might consult with you about the best course of action.”
Rogozin took another sip of his vodka, then nodded. “I am honored to offer my counsel to House Redthorne.”
“And we’re honored to receive it, as always,” Dorian said.
At that, Gabriel finally tossed back a swig of vodka, barely hiding his scowl.
Bloody hell, the pomp and circumstance. And these were the leaders of the two most powerful supernatural factions in New York? It was a wonder they got anything accomplished at all, what with all the mutual dick-stroking going on.
“Gabriel?” Dorian said. “Would you like to fill Alexei in on what we’ve discovered?”
No, brother. I’d like to be upstairs in your guest room, balls deep in my witch as she rakes her nails down my back and begs me not to stop, but apparently, that’s too much to ask…
