Dark Obsession (Vampire Royals of New York #3) - Sarah Piper Page 0,34
closer look. “Estas works for Rogozin. He’s playing his own boss against their top demonic rival?”
“I got bad news and worse news,” Cole said, tapping the screen on the other laptop. “Bad news is—that’s exactly what he’s doing. From some of the correspondence here, it looks like Estas and Rudy were banking on 87206 to bring in a lot of early bids from the supernatural community. They’d planned to auction it off before the robbery, but then two buyers elbowed their way to the top.”
“Rogozin and Chernikov,” Charley said.
“Yep. But here’s the kick in the ass,” Cole said. “Neither of them know the other guy’s in the mix. Estas and Rudy promised 87206 to both buyers, demanding full payment in advance. Well, they got it. Now the demons are cranking up the heat, getting desperate for a confirmation that the artwork has been secured. No wonder your uncle’s all twisted up, Charles. The demons want it bad, and Rudy and Estas aren’t even sure it’s here. It wasn’t on your list.”
“That’s the bad news?” Dorian sighed. “What’s the worse news?”
“87206?” Cole reached into his pocket for his whiskey, then dumped a healthy dose into his coffee mug. “It’s the Mother.”
“The mother?” Charley asked. “Is that… Oh, no.” She dropped her head into her hands as the realization finally dawned. “You’re talking about the Mother of Lost Souls.”
“Bingo,” Cole said. “You know her?”
“The night Rudy and Silas nabbed me in the alley, they asked me about it. Shit—I completely forgot. Rudy got all stressed out when I said I hadn’t seen it.”
“Is it any wonder?” Dorian asked. “They’ve already sold it to two different buyers. One of whom has been pressuring me for the same damn statue for months.”
“Chernikov?” she asked.
“The same.” Dorian slammed the laptop shut. “He’s been stringing me along this entire time, promising to deliver intel on Rogozin in exchange for this dreadful sculpture, knowing damn well Rudy was planning to steal it from me anyway.”
“Hedging his bets,” Aiden said. “Can’t exactly blame him. Augustus promised it to him more than two centuries ago, and it never materialized.”
“Guys. What’s the deal with this Mother of Lost Souls piece?” Charley asked. “What’s so special about it that two powerful demons are willing to fork over twenty million bucks for it, sight unseen?”
The three of them exchanged a loaded glance.
Charley was more confused than ever. “Do you even have it? I never saw it here.”
“Be glad for that,” Aiden said with a grimace. “The Mother has a face—”
“Don’t say it,” Dorian warned.
“—only a mother could love,” Aiden finished anyway.
“Seriously?”
“It was the perfect setup, Dori. Admit it.”
“I’ll admit nothing.” Dorian rose from his chair and held out a hand to Charley. “Fancy a walkabout, love? I think it’s time we give you the rest of the tour.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Everything about this place belongs in a movie.” Charlotte grinned, her eyes wide as she stepped out of the elevator. “Crypts. Actual, legitimate crypts. Honestly, Dorian. Next you’re going to tell me you all sleep in coffins when I’m not around.”
Dorian laughed, trying to see everything through her eyes. He supposed it was a bit gothic and macabre—a secret network of tombs running beneath the manor, protecting the royal vampire family’s closely-guarded secrets.
Secrets Dorian was about to reveal to the human he loved.
It wasn’t how he’d imagined bringing her down here for the first time—that particular fantasy involved leading her into the darkest, most secluded tunnel, chaining her to the iron wall mounts, and tearing her clothes free with his teeth, one little scrap at a time until she was wet and hot and begging for…
Bloody hell. He forced the thoughts from his mind, willing his cock to behave.
Unfortunately for him and Charlotte both, circumstances had called them here today for another reason.
“Right this way, then,” he said, leading them toward the chamber that had served as his father’s laboratory.
In the short time since Dorian’s last visit, Colin had managed to make it completely his own. Dorian’s gaze skimmed over the organized chaos on the central stone slab—beakers and test tubes, vials of blood in a centrifuge, two microscopes, and stacks upon stacks of their father’s journals, all of them teetering precariously toward a spill.
At the center of the tabletop, the demonic book they’d unearthed with the sculpture sat unopened, black and ancient. Even at a distance, it raised the hairs on Dorian’s arms.
It felt like a warning.
Yet behind it all, Colin stood oblivious, his face glued to one of the microscopes.