taunt. “I’m so pleased you’ve finally decided to join us.”
Renault Duchanes crouched before him, flashing his signet ring. A blood-tipped spike rose from the center—clearly the source of the pain in Dorian’s neck.
“What… have you… done?” Dorian panted. The breath was leaving his body, the hellfire smoldering inside him, which meant the demon was near. Dorian had no idea where—he couldn’t see through the blinding agony in his guts. He felt as if he were being consumed from the inside out—not just by hellfire, but by some ungodly microscopic enemy chewing through to his bones.
Duchanes beamed at his ring, fluttering it before Dorian’s eyes like a prized diamond. “Just a little something Jacinda whipped up. Quite ingenious, really. For so long, it was believed vampires couldn’t be poisoned, but witches can be rather clever when sufficiently… motivated.”
Dorian blinked back tears of anguish, barely fighting off a full-bodied tremor.
“Your blood,” Duchanes said, taking great pleasure in Dorian’s torture, “is locked in a fierce battle with the poison, leaving your muscles and internal organs to fend for themselves. One by one, your systems are shutting down. Ironically, the poison was crafted from plants procured from your very own gardens. Funny how life works out, isn’t it?”
Dorian’s mind flashed back to the night of the fundraiser, his words to Jacinda echoing.
…the gardens at Ravenswood are home to over four dozen species of medicinal herbs and flowers. You’re welcome to take clippings…
Duchanes got to his feet and crossed the room to stand behind Charlotte, dropping his meaty hands onto her bare shoulders. The sight was more than Dorian could bear.
With a monumental effort and not an insignificant amount of pain, he pushed himself to his feet, stumbling toward her. But before he’d taken more than a handful of awkward steps, his lungs caught fire, the sudden burst of pain forcing him back to his knees.
Smoke leaked from his mouth, his vision flickering at the edges.
Duchanes let out a sick chuckle. “Did you really think I’d enter hostile territory without proper backup?” He snapped his fingers, and the demon finally revealed himself, stepping out of the shadows from the darkened bathroom. He held Dorian’s gaze, two obsidian-black eyes shining in a pale face, conjuring enough hellfire to keep Dorian immobilized—but not enough to kill him.
Which meant Duchanes had other plans. Worse plans.
“Let… her… go…” Dorian sputtered, still trying to drag himself to Charlotte’s side despite his broken body and the searing pain in his lungs. His eyes watered as the smoke gathered behind them, the scent of burning flesh stinging his nostrils. “Kill me, Duchanes. Just… release her.”
“I have every intention of killing you, Redthorne. But not yet. First, you’re going to pay for your egregious acts against my house.” His tone turned chilly, his eyes wild with madness and determination. “You’re going to pay for decades of insults and dismissals. You’re going to pay for your father’s cruelty against my sires. You’re going to pay for the sins of your past, for every life you stole, for every drop of innocent blood you spilled. And through it all, you’re going to watch from a helpless, pitiful distance as I suck your filthy human whore dry, until there’s nothing left of her but agony and bones.”
Charlotte’s eyes found Dorian’s in the darkness again, tears slipping down her cheeks.
Dorian was frantic, his heart fighting through the sluggish haze of the poison, the hellfire consuming him, but he couldn’t break free of death’s grip. He couldn’t save her.
Duchanes unbound her from the chair and hauled her to her feet, his arm a vise around her arms and chest. Fisting her hair, he yanked her head sideways, exposing her neck.
Free from the binds, Charlotte tried to shake him off, but the vampire was too strong. Too determined. Too insane.
“Mmm, I do love a good struggle,” Duchanes said, fangs emerging behind his lips. “Makes the blood that much sweeter.”
With a wicked gleam in his eye, he descended, his mouth clamping down on her delicate neck as she screamed and writhed and begged.
The sight, the sounds, the scent of her fear… All of it shrank to a single point of light, a lit match tossed into a kettle of gasoline, igniting a fury so clean, so pure, it burned away Dorian’s pain in an instant.
In that moment, Dorian had no muscles to destroy, no organs to shut down, no blood to battle the terrible poison.
There was only the beautiful, triumphant fury gathering inside him, focusing all of his reserves into