It would turn her into a monster.
“What have I done?” he breathed.
“Dorian,” she whispered, her body twitching in his arms. “It’s… it’s okay.”
“No, it really isn’t.” His throat tightened, his heart cracking in half. How could he have been so foolish? So selfish? “I won’t let you die. Do hear me, Charlotte D’Amico? I won’t let you die.”
She lifted a trembling hand, pressing it to his cheek. “You… you’ve made me feel more alive than—”
“Shh. Save your strength, love.”
He scanned the bedroom, frantic. The demon she’d blasted was still unconscious, but that wouldn’t last much longer. Dorian knew more demons were already on the way—the scent of brimstone grew stronger with every breath. And while the shove through Dorian’s penthouse window may have temporarily stunned Duchanes, there was no way it’d killed him; vampires could jump great distances and still land on their feet.
Bloody hell, he didn’t want to move her, but he had no choice. The demons were closing in. There was no telling if Duchanes would return. They couldn’t stay here another minute.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her eyes glazing with tears. “For… everything.”
“You’ve nothing to apologize for.”
“If you find… Forgive me… I didn’t…” Her eyelids fluttered, then closed, her body going limp in his arms.
“Hold on, Charlotte. Just hold on.” Dorian carried her to the bed and wrapped her in the sheet.
On the other side of the penthouse, the front door splintered, the demons rushing in like cockroaches.
Brushing the hair from her eyes, he pressed one last, desperate kiss to her mouth.
Then, lifting her into his arms and drawing her close, Dorian stepped to the window ledge, took a deep breath, and jumped.
Chapter Forty-Eight
The taste of blood lingered in Dorian’s throat, conspiring with the overwhelming scent of all those damn roses in Charlotte’s Park Avenue penthouse to make him dizzy. He paced the living room, a wild, frenetic energy chewing through his veins while Marlys tended to Charlotte in the bedroom.
Dorian had no idea what was happening—whether she was conscious, whether she’d survive the transfusion of blood and magic Marlys had planned. The witch had answered his desperate call, but the moment she’d arrived, she took one look at Charlotte, shook her head, then promptly booted Dorian from the bedroom with a spell he couldn’t break.
An hour later, when Dorian was about ready to set those roses on fire, his brothers arrived. Colin had known something was wrong when Dorian abruptly dropped their earlier call; he and the others had left Ravenswood that instant, bound for Manhattan.
Colin had been granted access to Charlotte’s room, offering his medical assistance while Marlys worked her magic.
Now, Gabriel and Malcolm watched Dorian with alternating looks of judgment, scorn, and pity.
Dorian wasn’t interested in any of it.
“I want this building monitored round the clock,” he said, shoving a hand through his hair. At this rate, he’d tear it all out by daybreak. “Charlotte and her sister must be kept safe.”
“I don’t have time for this,” Gabriel snapped.
Dorian stopped pacing long enough to glare at his brother. “Yes, you made that abundantly clear when you ignored my orders to keep an eye on her.”
“Children,” Malcolm warned. “Let’s not start this again, shall we?” He grabbed a bottle of bourbon from the mini bar set up in the corner, helping himself to a glass. “Your incessant backbiting is driving me to drink.”
Gabriel ignored him, determined to say his ridiculous piece.
“Let me remind you, highness, she was attacked on your watch. In your bedroom. And who’s responsible for nearly exsanguinating her? Oh, right!” He jabbed a finger into Dorian’s chest, an inferno blazing behind his typically cold eyes. “You did this, Dorian. So forgive me, brother, but my priority is protecting my family from our enemies, not babysitting your human pet.”
“Your priority,” Dorian warned, one insult away from giving his brother the same window treatment he’d given Duchanes, “is what I command it to be. I’m still your king. If that is too difficult a concept for you to grasp, remove yourself from my city.”
A low rumble vibrated in the back of Gabriel’s throat, but Malcolm stepped between them before the argument could escalate.
“Bloody hell, the two of you make me want to tear my own heart out.” He tossed back his bourbon, shaking his head. “Yes, we need to find Duchanes. Yes, we need to figure out whose demons have gone rogue. Yes, we need to eliminate the threats to our family. But Ms. D’Amico—despite her wretched choice in lovers—is an innocent human. We can’t stand by and let Duchanes use her as bait.”
Dorian and Gabriel continued to glare daggers at each other, but eventually, Dorian nodded, and Gabriel backed off.
“Any word from Aiden?” Malcolm asked.
“He’s still looking for Sasha,” Dorian said, pouring himself a scotch from the bar. He’d sent Aiden to track her down with little information to go on but what Charlotte had mentioned earlier—she was staying with a friend called Darcy in the Williamsburg neighborhood of Brooklyn—prime Chernikov territory. Dorian had no idea how he’d convince the girl to return with him, but he trusted Aiden to see it through.
He’d likely have to compel her.
Charlotte would kill Dorian for it later, but he couldn’t worry about that now. Sasha needed to be here with her sister, where both of them could be kept safe. He’d deal with explanations and cover stories later.
“Dorian,” Gabriel said, his tone losing some of its earlier bite, “are you certain you can’t remember anything about the demon who attacked you?”
Dorian shook his head. “Dark hair, average build, average dress—nothing particularly memorable.”
“And you didn’t see his mark?”
“There was no time. But if we’re placing bets, my money is on Chernikov.” Dorian could barely get the man’s name out before the rage ignited inside him again. “Just like the demons Kate Connelly saw at Bloodbath—no one has been able to identify them, but my gut says all roads lead back to the Russian.”
“We can’t start a war with the most powerful demon in the city based solely on your gut,” Gabriel said.
“My war is with Duchanes. As for Chernikov…” Dorian sighed. “You’re right. We need more information.”
“Which we can’t get sitting around here, waiting for—”
“Dorian.” Colin emerged from the hallway, Marlys following behind.
All thoughts of Chernikov and Duchanes vanished.
“How is she?” Dorian abandoned his drink, his heart lodged in his throat.
“She’s going to be okay,” Colin said, and relief swept over Dorian in a rush. “She needs to rest for a few days, drink plenty of fluids, and avoid anything strenuous.”
Dorian was already heading down the hallway toward the bedroom.
Marlys grabbed his arm. “Where are you going?”