But his brother preferred things to be incendiary and controversial.
With the ring off, the ghosts within The Gallery slowly came into view. There weren’t many. Most of the dead seemed to linger close to places that were either important to them or the place where they died. It was unlikely that the art gallery was that to anyone. It was simply a meeting place for vampires, but there were a few who floated through. None appeared to take notice of Winter or Aiden as they crossed the main floor, heading toward the back private galleries. There were no doors within the gallery, but the arrangement of walls could at least create the illusion of privacy.
“It’s quiet,” Winter murmured.
“Not surprised, but it doesn’t hurt to check.” Aiden flashed him a reassuring smile, but there were some lines of tension around his eyes that he couldn’t quite shed. His father was a master at appearing relaxed and in control no matter the situation. Yet, over the years, Winter had gotten quite good at reading him. Aiden was worried even if he wouldn’t admit to it.
“Have you spoken to Zelda?”
Aiden huffed a laugh. “Now that you’ve spoken to her and straightened things out, I’m the one avoiding her. I feel she’s got another tirade to dump on my head, and I’m not in the mood to hear it just yet.” He paused and sighed. “But she is probably right.”
“I’m getting the impression she usually is.”
“Hush. We can’t ever let her hear that. It only encourages her.”
Winter chuckled and he could feel a few eyes dart over to him. This was a serious place for serious business. Vampires didn’t laugh in The Gallery. Winter was suddenly filled with the urge to flip them all off while laughing maniacally. Rafe was a bad influence. But then, Winter had a feeling he had more in common with his troublemaker brother than he cared to admit. He’d always tried to model himself after Marcus, admiring his oldest brother’s calm, collected manner.
He had to admit it. The same mischief ran in his veins, just like Rafe’s. Probably why they were always digging and sniping at each other. Too similar.
Near the back of the art gallery, they came to a series of smaller rooms with little gold plaques next to the open doorways, listing the name of the artist whose work was displayed. They’d passed a room dedicated to Monet already. There was a Renoir, a Matisse, and a Cézanne. Outside the room marked Delacroix stood a vampire dressed all in black with wide shoulders and stern expression. Obviously one of Damon’s bodyguards.
Winter and Aiden ignored him completely as they stepped into the small room containing a low marble bench in the center and large paintings on all the walls. Eugène Delacroix was a French painter who was seen as a leader of the Romantic school of art during the nineteenth century. Winter had only a passing awareness of him, but he recognized several of the pieces that filled the room with the lush colors and images.
Delacroix was a very interesting choice for Damon. Winter had to wonder if it was a conscious one or if he was unaware of Delacroix’s work completely.
There was just one man standing in the room, his hands shoved into his pockets as he stood in front of a painting entitled The Death of Sardanapalus, which featured a king reclining on a bold red bed while all his possessions were destroyed around him and his people slaughtered. It was a chilling depiction, and Winter had a feeling it showed more of where Damon’s mind was than anything he might say to them.
Damon was willing to burn everything if he couldn’t get what he wanted.
A chill swept down Winter’s spine and he took a step back, remaining just behind Aiden’s shoulder as he approached the former Ministry member.
“Did you know that I met Delacroix once while I was in Paris?” Damon said by way of greeting.
“I never had the pleasure,” Aiden replied as he stepped up to view the painting beside Damon.
Winter took the opportunity to look at the man who was plotting the demise of his family. There was no denying Damon James was a handsome man. He stood at nearly six feet with stark white hair cut short and a strong, hard jaw that ended in a pointed chin. His nose was almost a knife blade on his face while his eyes were an extraordinary pale blue. It was like they glowed with