Dark Seduction (Vampire Royals of New York #2) - Sarah Piper Page 0,64
and establish a rapport.
Dorian wasn’t sure what came next. Getting a foot in the door had to come first. He’d figure out the rest later.
“He wouldn’t budge on price,” Aiden said.
“I suppose I haven’t got a choice, then,” Dorian said.
Aiden shrugged. “Not if we want to get close to Estas. A real wheeler-dealer, this demon. Cole needs to earn his trust, mate. Cash is the only way to prove we’re serious. Unless you’d rather your pretty little thief be involved.”
Dorian glared at Aiden, but there was no real ire behind it, just as there was no ire behind Aiden’s dig.
This morning, as they drove together from Ravenswood to the city, he’d finally come clean to Aiden about Charlotte’s involvement in the planned heist. He’d already told Cole and didn’t want to keep his best friend in the dark.
Aiden was understandably upset—he’d grown rather fond of Charlotte and her sister during their brief stay at Ravenswood—but in the end, he was on Dorian’s side.
If Dorian was willing to set aside his anger and mistrust in order to help her, then so was Aiden.
Cole had expressed the same sentiments.
Dorian was more than grateful for the backup, but setting up a deal over the phone was very different from meeting the vile demon in person. And not just any demon, but a demon who worked for their enemies, dealt in black-market art, and was very likely connected to the murder of Charlotte’s father.
Just like her bloody uncle.
“Estas works for Rogozin,” Dorian said. “We aren’t exactly walking into friendly territory. And Cole’s going in as a spy. If anything were to tip Estas off about our true motives…”
Dorian sighed. He didn’t need to spell it out; demonic hellfire could roast a wolf shifter as easily as it could a vampire.
But it was more than that. Much more.
Aiden narrowed his eyes, immediately picking up on Dorian’s unease.
“Why are you so cagey?” Aiden asked.
As usual, the vampire could see right through him.
Dorian pulled the top folder from the stack on his desk and tossed it to Aiden.
“What’s this?” He flipped through it, scanning the report.
“It’s the dark witch’s analysis and tracking details on the pouch Cole found on that gray.”
“But how? When the grays die, they turn to ash as sure as any other bloodsucker.”
“Not if they’ve got one of those pouches.” Dorian clenched his jaw, reining in his frustration.
According to Chernikov’s witch, the pouch contained the symbols and ingredients of two extremely ancient, extremely advanced, and highly illegal demonic spells. One prolonged the precise moment of death indefinitely, preventing a slaughtered vampire from turning to ash. The other resurrected him, infusing him with demonic energy that allowed him to essentially rise from death again and again to continue his mindless mission.
Kill. Fuck. Feed.
It meant that the grays wearing those amulets couldn’t be killed—not unless the pouches were removed or destroyed.
And since grays couldn’t heal like other vampires, whatever wounds they sustained, whatever killing blows, they’d suffer through them without reprieve.
Dorian almost felt sorry for the gruesome creatures. Their existence wasn’t comfortable by any means, nor was it their fault. The dark amulets only ensured their endless torment.
And, if enough could be produced, made for one hell of an indestructible army—particularly against humans. Not because the amulets were difficult to remove, but because—according to the witch, anyway—they were just the first-pass prototypes. In her opinion, it was highly likely the witch who’d created the spells would continue to refine them, eventually devising something that didn’t require the grays to wear anything external.
Dorian summarized the rest of the witch’s findings, sparing Aiden the trouble of reading further.
“Now, that’s some six-ways-from-Sunday fucked-up shit,” Cole said, scratching his beard. “I don’t suppose Chernikov’s witch has any idea who’s makin’ these things?”
“She knows exactly who’s making them.” Dorian sighed, recalling the kind, blue-eyed witch he’d met at his fundraiser. The same one who’d—under Duchanes orders and probably a good bit of duress—devised the poison that had nearly decimated him. “Jacinda Colburn. The witch bound to House Duchanes.”
“And the hits just keep on coming,” Aiden said. Then, glancing at Cole, “Dorian’s right to be concerned, mate. Maybe we should find another way to get to Estas. If he’s working for Rogozin, and they’re involved in this business with resurrecting grays, I don’t think you should go anywhere near it.”
“Look,” Cole said. “I appreciate the concern, guys. But you said it yourself, Red. We want evidence against this Rudy sonofabitch? Estas is