Chapter Four
Dorian had come to the Salvatore to acquire one new possession—the Hans Whitfield painting.
Now, he wanted a second.
Needed it, actually. The siren call of her scent stirred him to a frenzy that muted all else—his father’s death, the unfortunate incident in the alley with Chernikov’s demons, the convergence of his estranged brothers on his home.
Not to mention Renault f*****g Duchanes, doubtlessly angling for a way to parlay his father’s death into a power grab. The bastard had been trying to break into the Redthorne family for a century; Dorian guessed he’d shown up here tonight hoping for a meeting.
How and why he’d tangled with the woman, Dorian could only guess. But that was over now. Dorian was the new king, and he’d all but claimed her; further harassment from Ducha
