Chapter Eleven
The Redthornes were exhausted.
For the past few weeks, they’d done a bang-up job pretending otherwise, but when they left the crypts and the adrenaline rush finally subsided, not a single one of those broody, commanding vampires could keep up the act.
The curse was tearing them apart inside, and the battle with Viansa had taken a heavy toll—mentally and physically.
They were back in the kitchen, once again gathered around the breakfast nook. Only now, there were no stacks of rich, buttery pancakes, no coffee cups waiting for a refill, no piles of crispy, cooked-to-perfection bacon.
Just blood.
Bottles and bags of it, most of Dorian’s on-hand supply spread out on the table as Jaci and Isabelle triaged the rapidly weakening vampires. Dorian and Gabriel were the worst off
