"Seven," Dorian said.

"Eight," the woman countered.

"Nine."

"Nine fifty," Duchanes said.

Dorian�s heart banged in his chest. He didn�t know what the woman was after, but Duchanes was clearly antagonizing him.

"One million dollars," Dorian said.

The woman held her bid card against her chest, nibbling her lower lip, contemplating her next move.

Dorian leaned in close, whispering hotly in her ear. "Is that all you�ve got for me, love?"

Her eyes blazed. She waved her card with renewed vigor. "A million five."

"Two million," Duchanes said, sucking the last of the fun out of the game.

Dorian was already well past his intended max, but he couldn�t quit now. Not while Duchanes held the winning bid.

"Three million dollars," he said firmly.

Everyone held a breath as they awaited another volley.

"Three million dollars for the Hans Whitfield," the auctioneer said. "Do I hear three million five? three four?" She scanned the room, waiting for another bid that never came. "Going once. Going twice. Sold, to bidder twelve for three million dollars."

The room erupted in applause, and Dorian closed his eyes, momentarily lost in the rush of victory such conquests always brought him� and a wave of relief they usually didn�t.

By the time he regained his senses and turned to face her again, his mystery woman was gone.

"Ah, but they fly the nest so quickly." Duchanes flashed a smarmy grin Dorian wanted to carve from his face. Then, with a slight bow of his head, "Mr. Redthorne, I�d like to request an audience."

Dorian didn�t bother hiding his displeasure, but Duchanes kept right on grinning.

Since he�d issued the request on neutral ground, honor and tradition prevented Dorian from refusing�especially in the presence of other vampires.

But he didn�t have to like it.

"What do you want, Duchanes?"

"It�s not so much what I want, as what I can offer." The twat�s eyes darkened with his unchecked lust for power, and Dorian knew before the words even graced his lips what was coming next. "In your time of need, House Duchanes extends the invitation of an alliance."

"An alliance. With House Duchanes." Dorian paced before the bar, the thin veneer of his patience finally shattering. His woman was still on the premises�her scent was all around him now, driving him to the very brink of sanity�but rather than hunting her down and devouring every silky, forbidden inch of her body, Dorian was here, listening to a bloodsucking opportunist he�d been swatting away like a gnat since Prohibition.

Duchanes swirled his bourbon, his gold signet ring glittering on a fat finger. "Consider your predicament, Redthorne. Your father�s gone. You�ve no sired heirs in your line. Your family�s power is waning. And last I heard," he said, lowering his voice as if he actually gave a damn about decorum, "there isn�t a witch in all five boroughs willing to bind herself to the Redthorne royals."

Dorian seethed. He didn�t need Renault Duchanes to articulate his predicament; he could feel his very cells dying with each passing heartbeat. Tonight�s curbside meal, which should�ve been enough to sate him for a week, had done little to ease the burn of hunger in his gut. Even in low light, his eyes constantly ached. And every day the sun rose, the fog in his head lingered a bit longer, dulling his senses by degrees. JrNovels.com