The twins were missing, of course�dead at sixteen years old.

Murderedat sixteen years old.

They hadn�t survived the change.

Emotion welled in the back of his throat. He tipped back his glass, drowning it.

Then, leveling his brothers with a gaze as neutral as he could manage, he said evenly, "Welcome to Ravenswood, brothers. You�re all looking� well."

It was true, Dorian realized, cataloging each in turn.

Malcolm, golden-eyed and tanned from his time in New Orleans. Turned at thirty-two, he was three years younger than Dorian, but had always acted as if he were the only adult in the room. Now, he carried himself like a man far beyond his years.

Colin, next in line at thirty, with dark, shoulder-length hair and a dimpled smile that had solved more family conflicts than Dorian could count, effortlessly melting their mother�s heart and sparing him the brunt of Father�s ill temper. He�d inherited the man�s interest in medicine, and last Dorian knew, he�d been working as a doctor in a small town in the Rocky Mountains.

Lastly, Gabriel. Turned at twenty-eight, the youngest remaining Redthorne had always been their ticking time bomb. He was a rebellious child and an angry adolescent, his untamable wildness only intensifying with the change. He�d built his empire in Sin City, earning a terrifying reputation Dorian preferred not to think about.

Now, his baby brother looked upon him with eyes as cold and calculating as their father�s. It chilled Dorian to the marrow.

"Witches aren�t hard to come by in New Orleans," Malcolm said, breaking the tense silence. He placed another log on the fire, the flames popping. "I�d assumed that was the case here as well, but it seems you�ve let yourself go a bit, brother."

He�d meant it as a joke, but only Colin laughed.

Dorian�s very veins itched. "I�ve managed."

"And Father?" Gabriel asked, his voice like a steel sword. "He managed as well?"

Ignoring the dig, Dorian raised his glass and grinned. "Until the very end."

Without further encouragement, his brothers made themselves at home in the study, occupying the leather chairs around the fireplace, pouring another round of bourbon from the bottle Colin brought.

"To Father," Colin said, raising his glass.

"May his eternal rest be as terrible as the torments he inflicted upon us," Malcolm said.

Now that was something Dorian could drink to. He nodded and took another swig.

Gabriel remained silent, seething in the farthest chair, but he lifted his glass to his lips anyway.

None of them asked how Father had died, which was just as well. Dorian had started the rumor of a foreign demon attack�an old enemy come to repay an old slight�but that was simply to assuage the supernatural grapevine. He wasn�t prepared to discuss the true cause�not until he figured out how to prevent it from happening to the rest of them.

Not until he figured out how it�d even happened in the first place.

The warmth of the fire lulled them into silence, each lost in his own thoughts. It was a long while before anyone spoke again.

"Dorian," Malcolm finally said, his tone careful, "we�ve all discussed this, and we�re in agreement. Perhaps I could�ve handled our earlier conversation with a bit more diplomacy, but I stand by my position. Given the circumstances, an alliance is our best option." He sipped his bourbon, then shrugged. "House Duchanes is prepared to make an offer. I think we should take them up on it."

"Yes," Dorian said, keeping his anger on simmer. "I ran into your friend Renault at the auction tonight." JrNovels.com