Dark Seduction (Vampire Royals of New York #2) - Sarah Piper Page 0,49
trail.
Dorian crested a rise, Cole’s cabin now visible in the distance. He shifted course and headed toward it, forcing himself to go back to Rudy.
To Charlotte.
To her father.
To the One Night Stand heist.
The missing artwork.
The Hermes and LaPorte.
Vincent Estas...
Vincent fucking Estas.
Dorian gasped. That was it. The linchpin connecting Charlotte’s uncle to Rogozin’s organization.
Charlotte’s attack by Rogozin’s men happened decades ago, but the One Night Stand robbery was committed just five years ago, and Estas sold at least two pieces of that stolen artwork even more recently, which is how the LaPorte and Hermes pieces ended up in Dorian’s collection.
If Dorian needed any more proof that Rudy was working with Rogozin, Estas was fucking it.
Suddenly, Dorian felt as if his shoes were winged just like the Greek god’s, speeding him down the other side of the rise toward Cole’s place.
He had his man.
He just needed a plan.
And maybe… a volunteer.
“Found another one of them fuckers this morning,” Cole said, handing Dorian a mug of coffee the consistency of motor oil. “He was in bad shape. Looked like the sun got to him, which means he’d probably been out there since yesterday.”
Dorian took the chair at the small kitchen table and forced down a swallow of the black sludge. “I assume you killed him.”
“Staked him on sight. Had some kinda pouch ‘round his neck though. Nabbed it just before I killed him—thought you might wanna see it.” Cole shuffled through some of the clutter on the table and unearthed a small leather pouch tied with a red cord, knotted at intervals in a way that didn’t look accidental.
“Did you open it?” Dorian asked.
Cole shook his head. “Figured I shouldn’t mess with it before I showed you.”
“Good thinking.” Dorian brought it to his nose, taking a quick whiff. It smelled pungent and herbal, tingling with magic.
Dark magic.
“We need a witch,” Dorian said.
“Thought you Redthornes were fresh out of witches?”
“I keep a freelancer on hand.”
“Right. The one who ignored you when you hooked up with Chernikov yesterday?”
“Something must’ve come up. She’s normally quite reliable, if not outrageously expensive.” Dorian removed his phone and snapped a photo, then sent it to Marlys.
Are you available this afternoon? he texted. I’ve got a magical object of unknown origin that needs analysis and possibly a tracing spell.
Her response came at once. Where did you come by this?
I will answer your questions in person, he replied. Can we meet?
Sorry. I’m not available.
Dorian rolled his eyes. I’ll make it worth the trip. As usual.
I’m not available, she replied again.
I’ll pay double.
I’m sorry, Dorian. I’m booked for the foreseeable future. I’ll kindly advise you to seek another witch. In the meantime, do NOT open that pouch.
“Problem?” Gabriel asked.
“Apparently, she’s not as reliable as I believed.”
That was putting it mildly. Marlys was clearly avoiding him, but why? Was she upset that he’d called her out of bed the other night to help with Charlotte? That he’d left Charlotte’s penthouse in a rush before paying Marlys for her services? He’d transferred the funds to her account the very next morning, adding ten percent for the trouble.
Dorian glanced at the pouch, the soft leather stamped with symbols he couldn’t decipher. It was no larger than a child’s fist, and soft to the touch, yet looking at it now, Dorian felt a chill skitter down his spine.
Perhaps the object itself had scared her off.
In any case, something was obviously wrong. Marlys had never been so evasive or quick to brush him off before, especially when he offered double.
“You got another one of them witches on speed dial?” Cole asked.
“Unfortunately, I do not. I don’t suppose you know anyone versed in the dark arts?”
Cole sucked down the last of his coffee, then nodded. “Your boy Nikolai. He’s got witches, right?”
“That he does.” Dorian sighed, the coffee turning to acid in his stomach, but the idea was a good one.
If he wanted answers about dark magic, he needed to go to the source.
He thumbed through his contacts and forwarded the photo to Chernikov, along with a text.
I have a job for a dark witch. Discretion is required.
Dorian had just enough time to swallow another mouthful of Cole’s terrible coffee before his phone chimed with the demon’s response.
Luna Del Mar, 12:00. Bring cash. Discretion is expensive.
Chapter Seventeen
Eager to burn off the uncomfortable buzz of Cole’s coffee—not to mention the man’s smug, barely contained laughter as Dorian had confessed he’d not only agreed to help the woman who’d betrayed him, but hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her