Chapter One
Dorian Redthorne was on fire.
His blood.
His bones.
His fucking soul.
The woman’s betrayal burned through all of it, carving a path of devastation that left him hollow and raw, no matter how hard he tried to outrun it.
Manhattan quickly blurred into Harlem, into the Bronx, into the northern suburbs, finally giving way to the lush autumn woods along the Hudson River.
Still, Dorian didn’t stop.
If he stopped, he would remember. And if he remembered, the flames inside him would abate, and the darkness—so near he could feel its cold breath on the back of his neck—would swallow him whole.
So, Dorian ran, a pale streak against the black night, until he was so far removed from civilization, no human would cross his path or taste the pain of his vengeance.
As far as he was concerned, only one human deserved that now, and he had no intention of seeing her again. Not tonight. Not ever.
The flames burned hotter inside.
Dorian pushed harder, desperate to leave his reckless mistakes behind.
Vampires weren’t meant to blur such great distances over a short time, but tonight, he had energy to spare. Aside from the fact that his heart had nearly been liquified—first, by Duchanes and his demon pet, and later, by the traitor formerly known as Charlotte—Dorian had never felt better. The magical tattoos on his forearms, so faint they’d all but vanished, now shone a deep, inky black, just as they had when he’d received them centuries ago.
It was the blood.
The traitor’s blood, he reminded himself. It fueled his body as effectively as her lies fueled his rage, and by the time he’d burned through enough of both to tire out, he found himself upstate, deep in the lonely woods beyond Ravenswood Manor.
Certain he’d left humanity behind, Dorian finally stopped to take stock, leaning against a birch tree for support as the world came back into focus. It left him unsettled, his stomach rolling, his head throbbing. When he took a deep breath of mountain air, his lungs burned.
He hated that he could still taste her blood.
Hated that he still wanted more.
Hated that he still wanted her.
It hit him again, all at once.
Lies. All of it. Every word out of her mouth. Her smile, her laughter, her breathy moans, the way she’d cried out for him as he fucked her into beautiful oblivion. It was all part of her carefully constructed web, meant to ensnare him from the very start, all in service to her master plan.
And what was the plan, he wondered? Liquidate his art estate? Was it that simple?
Or was she after a bigger prize?
Tucked into the back of his waistband, the notes and floor plans he’d found under her bed burned into his skin. Not for the first time, he wondered if she was working for his enemies. Duchanes, Chernikov, any number of foes seeking information that could weaken the Redthornes’ royal standing… There were almost too many to count.
Was this what she’d tried to apologize for? Weak and fading in his arms, sputtering out her final confession before death claimed her?
If you find… Forgive me… I didn’t…
Her words floated through his mind, twisting him up inside. He’d drained her to within an inch of her life, yet she was the one apologizing…
No. Guilt clawed at the doors of his heart, but Dorian refused to grant it entry. Never mind his vow to protect her. To keep her from harm.
Her treachery negated all of it.
How could he have been so blind? So willfully ignorant?
He glared down at his cock as if the damn thing might have a ready explanation, but that only served to deepen his depression.
Last night, that cock had been buried between her thighs, in her hands, in her soft, wet mouth. And for those brief moments, when all else faded away and there was only Dorian and the passionate, beautiful, insatiable woman in his bed, he’d almost felt…
Bloody hell.
He squeezed his eyes shut as the searing pain scored his chest anew. It didn’t matter what he’d felt. Didn’t matter that he’d wanted to die when Duchanes put his filthy hands upon her. Didn’t matter that she’d saved his life, risking her own by offering the vein. Didn’t matter that the taste of her blood had left him drunk and euphoric, the memory stirring his cock to life again even now.
Dizzy with rage and ruin, hands trembling with the sudden itch to rend some poor living creature in two, Dorian fell to the ground like a beast. Frantically, he tore at the earth, fingers