away from his woman. “Truly. You’ve just saved us from making a huge mistake.”
“Really huge,” Charlotte whispered, glancing down at his cock, which now stood at full attention between them.
He leaned in close again, nipping her ear and whispering a final warning. “This conversation is far from over.”
With that, he excused himself and headed out to walk off his really huge… situation. By the time he returned to the kitchen, everything had changed.
The sight nearly brought tears to his eyes. It was one he’d never thought he’d see again, yet there it was—awkward and uncomfortable, slightly confusing, but bloody brilliant just the same.
There, crowded around the table at the breakfast nook, scarfing down bowls of hot chili and laughing at one of Sasha’s endless stories, were his brothers.
Aiden, of course.
Colin, who’d finally wandered up from the crypts.
Malcolm, who’d just returned from the city.
And Gabriel, who—while not smiling, exactly—wasn’t scowling, either. It was another rarity—one that soothed the ache in Dorian’s heart.
Family. The word slid into his mind, fleeting but nevertheless real.
Blinking the sudden emotion from his eyes, Dorian took his place at the table next to Charlotte and grinned, pointing at his brothers with a spoon. “You bloody heathens better hope you saved enough for me.”
Chapter Fourteen
“The penthouse was a bloody disaster, as expected,” Malcolm said. “The demons left no surface un-pissed-upon.”
“Delightful,” Dorian said, pouring himself a glass of scotch.
Hours had passed since they’d gathered in the kitchen—an enjoyable, all-too-brief reprieve from their usual bickering and plotting—and now the vampires of House Redthorne gathered in the study, gearing up for another round of political discourse before the crackling fire.
Dorian would’ve rather been elsewhere. Specifically, upstairs, making good on his threats to show Charlotte a proper punishment.
But he’d managed to think with his brain for once, ushering Charlotte and Sasha to their adjacent guest bedrooms at the end of the hall, refusing to extend the little thief an invitation to his own, no matter how desperately he’d wanted to.
Miraculously, he hadn’t given in.
Not even when they’d passed his master suite, and her heart rate sped up, likely remembering all the deliciously naughty things he’d done to her there.
Not even when she’d mentioned wanting a shower, the invitation clear in her eyes.
Not even when Dorian had turned to leave her, catching the faint sound of her disappointed sigh.
He’d remained strong through all of it—a monumental effort that left him on edge and on fire, wishing he’d put his brain on a leash and listened to his cock instead.
Corralling his errant thoughts, he offered a nod of thanks to Malcolm.
Last night, after Dorian had ordered them to leave Charlotte’s penthouse, Malcolm had spent the rest of the evening and most of today trying to track down news about Duchanes and his demon pets. Malcolm had been at Bloodbath during this morning’s pre-dawn raid, but despite the very public closure of his precious club, Duchanes never made an appearance.
Now, Dorian rifled through the file box containing the items he’d asked Malcolm to retrieve from the penthouse—Charlotte’s purse and phone, along with most of the files and papers from his home office there. The files themselves weren’t important; Dorian simply hadn’t wanted to draw undo attention to the items he’d really wanted—the records of his darkest deeds.
Keeping the album tucked into the box, he cracked open the cover.
Crimson City Devil Strikes Again…
Dorian closed his eyes, a mix of shame and relief flooding his veins.
Closing the cover and replacing the lid on the box, he said, “Were you able to speak with security?”
“I met with the staff and viewed the exterior camera feeds,” Malcolm said. “The video footage revealed two of the demons’ marks—definitely Rogozin’s guys.”
A sigh of relief escaped Dorian’s mouth as he settled into the chair closest to the fireplace. The blanket draped behind him held Charlotte’s scent, and he leaned back, inhaling deeply.
“Forgive me, brother,” Malcolm said, “but why do you seem consoled to learn that the demons who attacked you and vandalized your penthouse belong to Rogozin?”
“Because they don’t belong to Chernikov.” He sipped his scotch. “Chernikov and I made an agreement this morning, during which he assured me his organization was not involved. If I’d discovered he’d lied to me… Let’s just say I’m relieved to keep my hands free of demon blood for another night.”
He updated his brothers on his meeting with Chernikov, including their mutual concerns about Duchanes working with Rogozin and the speculation about Rogozin’s bigger plans with the dark witches and demon portals.
“More demons,” Aiden said from