Dorian couldn�t argue with the premise, though he wondered where the fuck this was going.

"Your father, Augustus," he continued. "He was good friend. Maybe not good man, but good friend."

The vodka churned in his gut, but Dorian remained impassive.

"I have known him many, many years," Chernikov said. "And in that time, he had many, many secrets. Some that would surprise even you, his oldest son."

Dorian refused to take the bait. Whether Chernikov had dirt on his father was irrelevant; the elder vampire was dead.

He sipped his vodka, wondering how long, precisely, his father and the demon lord had been acquainted. He vaguely remembered seeing Chernikov at Ravenswood on more than one occasion, not long after the manor had been built. In the time since, his father had probably amassed as many secrets as he�d amassed enemies, but the elder Redthorne had never deigned to share such things with his royal sons.

Now, all Dorian could say in response was, "That he did, Nikolai."

The demon lifted his glass, frowning as he gazed at the clear liquid sloshing inside. Then, in a low, menacing voice, "His secrets are your secrets now, Dorian Redthorne."

Fucking hell, Dorian hated dealing with demons. They were worse than the bloody fae, what with all the double talk and veiled threats. No wonder their contracts had so much fine print.

Patience, never Dorian�s strong suit, was quickly ebbing.

He set down his glass.

"Forgive me, Nikolai, but was there something specific you wished to discuss tonight, aside from the transgressions of your underlings?"

The demon glared at him, frustration simmering behind his dark eyes, but Dorian held his ground. He was the vampire king, for fuck�s sake. He did not trek all the way out to Staten fucking Island to be bullied, intimidated, or subjected to demonic guessing games by a glorified mobster. If Chernikov wanted something from him, he needed to spell it out, and quickly.

"Very well," the demon finally said. "Before his� untimely death, Augustus was working on procuring something of great importance to me. For many years he searched, but never found it."

"What was this item?"

"A sculpture. It belonged to my people, long ago."

"What sort of sculpture?"

"She is called Mother of Lost Souls. Very rare, very valuable."

Cold dread pooled in his gut. Mother of Lost Souls was a fertility goddess sculpture crafted in Finland in the fourteenth century. Dorian was intimately familiar with her; in 1815, his father had stolen her from the vampire royal family in London, right after he�d slaughtered them and usurped the crown. He then smuggled the statue into America, where she remained under lock and key until the crypts were constructed beneath Ravenswood, at which time she was unceremoniously bricked up behind a wall.

Which wall? Could be any one of hundreds, Dorian supposed. It was yet another secret his father had concealed, telling them only that the Mother of Lost Souls would be unearthed when the time was right.

She is what makes us powerful, he�d said. One day, you will see.

So, what was so damn important about this sculpture? And why the fuck did Chernikov want it so badly? Dorian could damn near taste the greed and desire on the demon�s fetid breath.

"My father and I didn�t spend much time together on his last visit," Dorian said, as close to the truth as he was willing to get. "He did not discuss this with me."

"He never told you of our arrangement?" Chernikov held Dorian�s gaze, a spark of challenge in his eyes. "I find this� unusual."

"If I discover anything about the sculpture, I will inform you straightaway." JrNovels.com