Chapter Eleven
“The vampires certainly love her,” Gabriel grumbled. “As do the Rogozin hellspawn.”
From the center of the leather alcove where the Redthorne royals currently held court, Dorian raised his glass of scotch and smiled. “Congratulations, brother. Seems you were finally right about something.”
“Right about what?” he asked. “You’re the one who invited the bloody demons.”
Dorian pointed at the bar, where the vampires and the demons lined up a dozen bodies deep, all of them waiting for one of Jacinda’s magic brews. “Not six weeks past, you and I sat at that very bar after the Bloodbath m******e. And you told me the witch would be working for you, looking damn good while doing it, and winning customer service awards in no time.”
“Three for three,” Dorian’s woman Charlotte said,
