Dorian Redthorne stepped out of the limousine onto Central Park West and buttoned his suit jacket, cursing his father from here to hell.

The wretched cunt couldn�t have chosen a less convenient time to die.

"I�m so sorry, Mr. Redthorne." His driver, who�d remained silent behind the privacy window the entire two-hour trip, shut the car door and lowered his head. "For your� For the loss."

The loss.

Dorian glanced at his watch. Ash clung to his jacket sleeve, a stark smudge against the fine black wool. He stared at it, unblinking, figuring he ought to feel some way about it�the ash, the condolences, the fact that he�d spent the last two days presiding over the interment of a man who�d dominated his life for two and a half centuries.

But when he prodded his heart, he found only an iron gate, eternally locked.

No, the death of his father wasn�t a loss.

It was a fucking complication. One Dorian and his brothers had just inherited, along with a sizable estate and a list of adversaries that stretched �round the globe, every last one of them doubtlessly celebrating the demise of the Redthorne vampire king.

Among the cursed and the damned, good news always traveled fast.

He erased the ash with his thumb. "Thank you, Jameson. I�ll phone you after the auction."

With a curt nod, Jameson returned to his post in the driver�s seat, leaving Dorian in the company of thoughts so black they threatened to swallow the setting sun.

It was the city itself that saved him, soothing him with its autumn heartbeat as he walked alongside the park. Two sleek, chocolate-brown horses trotted by, pulling carriages full of gaping tourists, and Dorian gave them wide berth. Unlike humans, horses instinctively distrusted vampires, which was unfortunate. He�d always loved the creatures as a boy, and he missed riding them. Now, their sharp, pungent odor mingled with the sweet smell of honey-roasted peanuts from a nearby cart, reminding him of simpler times.

But as much as the English countryside remained in his blood, New York had been his home for more than two hundred years. And now, with his father gone, the city was his to rule, his to command.

It should�ve thrilled him. But the feeling burning through his veins wasn�t power or freedom.

It was dread.

Crossing Central Park West, he made his way toward the The Salvatore, the exclusive apartments where tonight�s auction would take place. He�d just reached Seventy-Third when the hairs on his arms lifted, the air around him thickening. He scented it immediately�a putrid mix of sweat, sulfur, and desperation that could only mean one thing.

Sodding fucking demons.

Dorian�s hands tightened into fists. A hundred miles north in Annendale-on-Hudson, smoldering in the crypts beneath Ravenswood Manor, the remnants of his father�s corpse had just begun to cool. Yet here in the city, the immortal enemies of House Redthorne were already pressing their advantage.

His gut rolled once more at the stench�a final warning before a pair of lesser demons slithered out from a bus idling several paces ahead. Their presence in Manhattan was a direct violation of the Shadow Accords, but the demons were about to commit a crime even more egregious than trespassing.

A human male trailed them like a puppy.

Again, Dorian checked his watch. If he arrived at the auction after the bidding began, they�d refuse him entry. But he couldn�t let demons poach a human soul in his father�s territory�his territory. Not unless he wanted the whole of New York�s supernatural underworld staging a coup.

The demons were so drunk on their impending victory they paid Dorian no mind as he followed them down Seventy-Fourth and into a dark, narrow alley wedged between a parking garage and an abandoned construction zone.

"Where are we going?" the human asked his new friends. Poor bastard couldn�t have been more than twenty, fresh-faced in his dark purple NYU T-shirt, all too eager for whatever the demons were offering. Dorian pegged his accent as American Midwest. Indiana, perhaps. Briefly, he wondered if there were parents back home. A girlfriend waiting on a goodnight text.

One of the demons�a guy with a face full of metal hoops�grinned. "Down here."

"Will� will it hurt?" the human asked. JrNovels.com