Remont stood beside Demetri in the parlor of Lord Gresham’s rented home on the outskirts of London. They had attended the small soirée in the hopes of finding information pertaining to Gabrielle’s uncle and the pig of a man she was engaged to. Apparently, Sutherland had put up a generous reward for any information about Gabrielle’s disappearance and was leaving no stone unturned.

The room had become positively stifling with a combination of too many bodies and too much perfume. Remont wondered why humans always felt it necessary to cover bad body odor with enough cologne or perfume to choke a horse. Why did they not just bathe?

No doubt out of sheer laziness.

Demetri shifted on his feet and leaned toward Remont. “There, to the right of the potted palms. The one in the bad suit.”

Remont looked in the corner where four round tables sat, surrounded by men of differing ages and social class. “You just described a dozen or more men, darling.”

Demetri’s lips quirked. “The cheap green suit.”

“Ah,” Remont said, eyeing the man in the worn green suit who glanced nervously about the room.

No wonder Gilbert Fairmont was nervous. Rumor had it the Viscount of Sutherland had given him a generous amount of money for Gabrielle’s hand. And if the rumors were correct, said uncle had already spent every shilling.

A problem since his niece had up and run.

A young man strolled into the room and walked directly to Gilbert. He kneeled down beside Gabrielle’s uncle and whispered in the older man’s ear.

Fairmont nodded, and the boy looked about the room, his gaze lingering over Remont and Demetri before returning his attention to the older gentleman. Gilbert slipped a coin into the lad’s hand, who in turn left as quickly as he had appeared.

“What do you suppose that was about?” Demetri whispered.

“I do not know, but perhaps I shall find out. Keep an eye on Fairmont,” Remont replied, following the boy out the door.

Once out of the room, Remont closed his eyes and jumped, meeting the young man in the hallway.

The startled boy glanced back over his shoulder.

“Is something wrong?” Remont asked, picking a non-existent string from the boy’s shoulder. The lad could not have seen eighteen years.

The boy shifted on his feet. “I—I thought I just saw you in there,” he said, pointing in the direction of the parlor.

Remont smiled. “You noticed me then.”

“I did not say that,” he blurted, then bit his bottom lip as though he had said too much already. “It is just that you look familiar.”

“Can I walk with you?” Remont asked, already starting down the long hallway that led to the front entrance. Thank goodness all the servants appeared to be in the parlor with the other guests.

The boy nodded, but he looked increasingly wary.

Remont read his thoughts easily enough and could see all the despicable things he had done in his short life. A boy with no soul, who had been serving as Fairmont’s eyes and ears, looking for Gabrielle in the hopes of receiving a handsome reward. It did not matter to the boy that the young lady he hunted would end up dead, murdered by her fiancé.

Then Remont recognized Darius’s townhouse in the boy’s thoughts. His stomach twisted when he saw a flash of Gabrielle glancing out a second-story window.

Damn it! The boy knew Gabrielle was with Darius at his townhouse—and Gilbert Fairmont did now as well. Sutherland would too, unless Remont waylaid the boy.

Resting a hand on the lad’s shoulder, Remont pulled him into the nearest room, shut the door, and pushed him up against a wall.

“What are you doing?” the young man asked, looking frightened and yet excited at the same time.

Remont had not yet fed tonight, and his fangs extended.

“What do you want?” the boy asked again.

Remont smiled softly. “I want to have a little taste.”

“Taste?” the lad repeated, his gaze shifting to Remont’s mouth. The young man released a sigh, and his breath reeked of stale tobacco and ale.

To Remont’s surprise, the lad’s hard sex brushed against his thigh.

Remont reached out and cupped the boy’s jaw. The lad leaned in, but at the last minute Remont turned his head—and pressed his lips to his neck, over the pulse that beat in triple time.

The young man groaned.

Remont bit down hard on his neck, his incisors breaking the lad’s skin. He seemed not to mind, for he moaned and his hands came to rest on Remont’s hips.

As his mouth filled with the young man’s blood, Remont closed his eyes and savored the taste and the exhilaration that rushed through his blood and heated his veins.

He had to be careful and not drink too much of the boy’s blood. Remont could easily make him into a vampire, but he always chose who he turned carefully. Like Demetri and Darius. They had been exactly what a vampire should be—powerful warriors, masculine, loyal, full of pride.

The opposite of what this devious boy was, and would always be. Tonight the lad had served his purpose, and tomorrow he would wake extremely weak, like he had drunk a few too many glasses of wine—but alive and still human, and with no memory of what happened here tonight.

As the boy slid to the ground, Remont pulled a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and wiped the blood from his lips.

The door opened, and Remont turned to find Demetri standing there, arms crossed over his impressive chest. As always, the sight of his lover made his blood stir. Dressed in a navy suit, knee-high Hessians, and a stark white shirt, Demetri’s dark beauty could make a grown man weep. Indeed, Remont had cried the night he made his longtime companion and lover.

Demetri glanced at the young man on the floor and lifted a dark brow. “Did you get what you wanted?”

Remont picked up on the double entendre instantly. Demetri had rarely been the jealous type, but every once in a while he showed that side with such a comment.

Remont shrugged and stepped over the boy. “He served his purpose quite well.”

“He desired you.” Demetri’s voice held a definite edge. “I could tell by the way his gaze lingered on you earlier.”

Remont pushed the handkerchief back in his pocket. “You noticed all this in a stare that lasted two seconds? Extraordinary!”

Demetri’s eyes narrowed. “You must have noticed him if you knew the stare lasted all of two seconds.”

“Just as you did, darling.”

Demetri flashed a devilish smile. “Touché.”

Remont touched his lover’s face and kissed him softly. “Come, the boy has served his purpose.”

“What did he tell you?”

“He told me little, but I did read his thoughts. Unfortunately, the lad has been watching Darius’s house. In fact, I saw a memory where the lad saw Gabrielle looking out a window.”

Demetri looked alarmed. “Damn it. Are you sure?”

Remont nodded. “Positive, which means we have to let Darius know.”

“Can you go? I will be along shortly.” Demetri reached out and touched Remont’s cheek. “I have a friend who asked me to drop by.”

Remont straightened. “Who is this mysterious friend?”

Demetri’s eyes softened. “The Earl of Whitcomb’s mistress.”

“She is in attendance tonight?” Remont had seen the brunette eyeing Demetri the second they entered the soirée.

“Aye, she is.”

“And Lord Whitcomb?”

Demetri grinned. “He is here as well, which makes the deception all the sweeter.”

Remont’s heart sank. Why did he allow this blue-eyed devil to get the best of him? Here he had thought Demetri would be anxious to return to his twin’s townhouse to relay the news to Darius and plan their upcoming departure. Instead he was more concerned with fucking Lord Whitcomb’s mistress. “You desire her?” he asked, managing to sound calm when he felt anything but.

“Yes.” Demetri’s dark brows nearly lifted to his hairline. “Creamy white skin, black eyes, and silky brown hair. Very exotic looking, don’t you think?”

“I did not think you cared for brunettes.”

Demetri shrugged. “I like anything that is beautiful.” He leaned in and nipped Remont’s ear. “That is why I like you so very much.”

Like? Remont’s heart sank even deeper.

“Far be it from me to stand in your way.” Remont started for the door. “I shall tell your brother what I have learned. Since he has asked us to stay with him, I already told our driver to pick up our bags from the hotel.”

“You always take care of me,” Demetri said, following him to the door and giving him a kiss, a soft peck on the lips.

Remont brushed his thumb over the pocket watch in his pants pocket, and specifically over the inscription that read, To my love—yours forever, D.

Demetri had given it to him three Christmases ago, and he never went anywhere without it. Unfortunately, Demetri never would completely belong to Remont. He could never be faithful to one person.

Just walk away from him. Leave him to this life and walk away.

Remont closed his eyes for a brief moment. If only he could walk away. If only he was strong enough to tell Demetri to leave once and for all.

Remont wondered what would have happened had he not stopped at that Scottish loch a summer evening over five hundred years ago. If he and Geoff had not parted ways in London.

He had not seen his old lover since Charles II’s reign, and that had been a quick conversation during the intermission of an opera.

Geoff had been a loyal lover, but Remont had not loved him the way he loved Demetri.

He feared he would never love anyone the way he loved Demetri, meaning he would spend eternity living in a hell of his own making.