She nodded, but Dorian sensed her mind was still spinning, working over the details and searching for the holes in his story. He was about to try another round of compulsion when Aiden entered the study, Gabriel and Malcolm right behind him.
Their grim faces said it all.
“Nothing?” Dorian asked anyway, rising and crossing the room to meet them. He didn’t want Charlotte to overhear.
“Not a trace,” Gabriel said. The blood on his shirt had dried to a muddy black, and Dorian curled his hands into fists, another wave of fury rippling through him as he thought of the Duchanes traitors.
“How is Charlotte?” Aiden asked.
Dorian glanced over his shoulder and found her holding the drink in her lap, staring into the fire as if the flames held all the answers. “Hard to say. She doesn’t remember much.”
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Aiden asked.
Dorian sighed and shook his head.
“Didn’t you compel her?” Malcolm asked, unable to keep the superior tone from his voice.
Dorian glared at him. “Didn’t you seek an alliance with a murderer?”
“We don’t know that Renault gave the order for the attack,” he said.
“Where is he, then? If he’s innocent, he should be just as eager to uncover the traitors of House Duchanes as we are. Instead, he’s fled the scene like a—”
“Dorian.” Aiden gripped his arm, forcing his attention back to the matter at hand. “The compulsion. It didn’t take?”
Dorian shook his head. “Doesn’t seem so. Not fully, anyway.”
“Dorian?” Charlotte called out now, her tone more curious than anything else. “Am I going to turn?”
“Turn?” Dorian exchanged a shocked glance with Aiden, then returned to his woman, kneeling before her once again. “What ever do you mean, love?”
“You bit me.” She touched her lip, still swollen from their encounter in the basement.
“That was an accident,” he said gently, reaching up to stroke her face. “You’re all right.”
“I’ve read all the books. Seen all the movies. My sister is kind of obsessed, so we’ve got a whole library full.”
“I’m still not sure what you mean.” Dorian forced a gentle smile, but inside, cold fear gripped his heart.
Charlotte finally met his eyes. “If a vampire bites someone, they turn. Everyone knows that.”
“And the good times keep on coming,” Gabriel muttered from the doorway.
Ignoring his brother, Dorian rose from the floor and held out his hands, helping Charlotte out of the chair. “Why don’t I take you to bed. Everything will make a lot more sense in the morning.”
Nodding, she got to her feet and yawned, and for a brief moment, Dorian thought they’d sufficiently dodged the bullet.
But then she placed her hand against his chest and looked up into his eyes, her heartbeat suddenly kicking into high gear.
The change came over her in an instant, her gaze turning from vacant and confused to sharp and discerning. Adrenaline flooded her bloodstream and she gasped, some dark, terrible realization taking root in her mind.
“Stay away from me!” She jerked out of Dorian’s hold, her glass clattering to the floor.
Dorian raised his hands and took a step back, giving her space. “Charlotte, I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe here.”
“You’re a… you’re a vampire!” Her eyes darted around the room, her face as pale as the moon. “You’re all vampires. Those men outside… Fangs and… So fast and… Oh my God.” She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her hands to the sides of her head, as if her mind was ready to explode.
Dorian could only imagine what she was going through.
“This is fucking insane!” she shouted.
“Charlotte, listen to me.” Dorian took a step toward her, his voice low. “Please let me explain.”
She finally opened her eyes, her gaze alight with confusion and anger and so much raw, unchecked fear it made his heart ache.
Dorian would never forget that look in her eyes. And he’d never forgive himself for putting it there.
“Just breathe,” he said again, his tone deep and even as he willed a fresh wave of compulsion to take hold. “You had an accident behind the gardens. You fell, and—”
“Are you trying to manipulate me?” she demanded, the anger in her eyes starting to edge out the fear.
“She’s got your number, brother,” Gabriel quipped, clearly enjoying the disastrous turn of events.
“Of course not,” Dorian said to Charlotte. “I’m trying to explain what happened. You’ve had a rough night, and—”
“Compulsion, right?” she asked. “That’s what it’s called. You’re trying to use your vampire mojo on me to convince me I’m imagining the complete and utter shit-show I’ve witnessed. Those men who attacked me were vampires. You and your brothers are vampires. And rather than admit it, you want me to think I’m going crazy. Do you have any idea how messed up that is?”
“Charlotte, it’s not that simple. I’m—”
“Don’t. Don’t come another step closer.” She grabbed the iron poker from the set beside the fireplace, brandishing it like a weapon. It wouldn’t do her any good, but Dorian admired her guts. “I remember now,” she said. “I remember exactly what happened tonight. I remember… God, I remember what happened in Central Park too!”
“What happened in Central Park?” Aiden asked.
“Not now, Aiden.” Dorian turned back to Charlotte. “If you’ll let me explain, I’ll—”
“You’ll what? Spoon-feed me more lies? Erase my memories?”
“Charlotte—”
“Get back, or I’ll shove this thing through your heart!” She tightened her grip on the fire poker, tears spilling down her cheeks. “How long have you been messing with my mind? From the very start? Did you… Oh, fuck me. Of course.”
Her eyes filled with a pain so sharp and all-encompassing, Dorian felt it echo through his own heart.
In that moment, he knew exactly where her mind had gone.
“Trouble in paradise, brother?” Gabriel taunted.
Dorian whirled around to face him. “Leave us. Now.”
“As you wish, highness.” Gabriel swiped a bottle from the bar. Then, pointing at Charlotte as if she were a pest in need of exterminating, “Take care of that, or I will.”
He left without another word, Malcolm trailing after him, shaking his head as if he were judge and jury in all things Redthorne. Aiden offered a sympathetic smile, then followed them out, leaving Dorian and Charlotte to work through their monumental differences alone.
“Tell me one thing, Dorian,” she said. Some of her anger had faded, but she still gripped the fire poker. “And don’t lie to me.”
“You have my word.” Maybe his word didn’t mean much to her in that moment, but Dorian felt the need to offer it anyway.
She turned away from him, as if she couldn’t bear to look at him another second—couldn’t bear to see his face when she finally asked the question on her mind. “The times we were… together. Did you compel me to be with you?”