erupted in a loud, derisive laugh. “You speak as if I am at fault. Nay, brother. It is you who brought this curse upon us all.” He sobered, his eyes hard as he continued. “You and your lust for peasant flesh.”
Nicholas’s eyes narrowed upon his uncle as he steeled himself to remain as he was. It was no secret that the gargoyle curse had been brewed in a single night of lies and deception. Their mother had been a simple peasant girl when she’d captured Lord Victor’s heart, driving him to abandon a senseless betrothal. In a fit of rage, his wealthy and greedy intended bride, Lady Vivian, had spun a web of lies to her cousin Necesar, a powerful sorceress. Vivian had pleaded for vengeance, but even that hadn’t been enough to remedy her discontent. Anger had compelled her to a point of insanity, and in one final act of rage she’d torched her family’s castle, taking not only her own life but those of all who dwelled there.
And so, armed with the notion that Lord Victor had not only severed the betrothal after forcing himself on her cousin, but that he was also the one to be blamed for Vivian’s death, Necesar concocted a fierce spell, cursing the Drakon bloodline for all eternity.
Lord Victor looked weary. “No man should be made to suffer for the choices of his heart.”
“Aye,” Gabriel spat. “Just as an entire clan should not be punished for their leader’s irresponsible follies.”
Lord Drakon turned away then, his eyes solemn as he fastened a look upon the figure of a hunched and ageless woman who before had gone unnoticed. She advanced, her weathered face coming to rest upon Gabriel. She was called Agatha, and was a witch of the Ananovian clan. Dwellers of the hills of eastern Romania, this secluded race of witches had lent their assistance to the gargoyles for decades in return for protection. They were healers, not fighters, but their abilities were matched by none.
Agatha reached within her cloak and pulled forth two palm-sized flat, circular stones with hollowed centers. She kneeled, placing each onto the floor before her. Engraved with the sacred symbols of the Ananovian witch clan, they were called the Runes of Moloch and Cythe. They’d been harvested from the bowels of the earth and animated by the most powerful Ananovian warlocks. They were used in binding spells to contain spirits or souls of those who required captivity.
Before them, Gabriel wrenched at the chains, shaking the room once again with another fierce growl. “Sorcery! I see you have reached a new low, Victor!” he spat.
Lord Victor said nothing. He stepped back as the witch began to chant. A serpent-like stream of smoke crawled from beneath her cloak, swelling into a translucent cloud that quickly spun a web about the gargoyles who were fastened to the walls. They began to shriek and rip at the chains that bound them as the cold transformation to granite crept up their legs, snaking through their veins and freezing everything in its wake.
“Until we meet again, brother,” Gabriel spoke. A moment later he’d become a solid mass of stone.
Agatha retrieved the runes from the floor and handed them to Lord Victor. A veil of grief fell over his face before he accepted them.
“These runes bind their souls now,” Agatha spoke. “Destroy the stones and you will release your brother and his followers. They must be secured.”
Nicholas’s gaze strayed over the twelve statues, each frozen in a pose of rage and anguish. There was no question as to whether his father’s judgment had been deserved, for countless efforts had been made to reform the wayward gargoyles. Whether his father would choose to make it an eternal sentence, he didn’t know. Whether the world would ever be ready for Gabriel’s release was an even greater speculation.
Chapter 1
New York, present day
This was going to be easier than taking candy from a baby.
Daniela Ferreira adjusted the focus on her high-powered night-vision binoculars. She stood on the roof of the five-story building opposite the Langara gallery. From her vantage point, she could see directly into the wide glass windows that lined the front of the establishment. It was nearing 10:00 p.m and the owners were still busy unpacking crates of antiques. She had intended to hit a jewelry store tonight as well, but this was more important. Just within the walls of the gallery lay the item called the Rune of Moloch. It was said to be hundreds of years old and worth a hefty sum. From the illustrations she’d been given, it looked like nothing more than a flat rock. But then she never questioned a buyer’s interest in a particular item. She was hired to steal and deliver, and as long as she got paid for the task, she couldn’t care less about motives.
Stealing was a way of life for Daniela. It was her profession; a necessity for survival after her mother had walked out on her and her younger sister. Daniela had only been seventeen at the time. Ever since then she’d made a living robbing others. Her missions had gotten bigger and her equipment more advanced, but one thing hadn’t changed: she was still a thief.
Turning the knob on the top of the binoculars, she zoomed in on the two men who were still busy inside the gallery. They had removed their blazers and rolled up their shirtsleeves, and she could see the distinct outline of thick, corded muscles flexing beneath their shirts.
She’d heard of this pair; the Drakon brothers. They were renowned for their great business success and their incredible good looks. It seemed that the rumors served them justice. Tall and swarthy, they resembled the heroes of ancient Rome. Even from this distance their dark, chiseled features were unmistakable.
Lowering the device, she unsnapped the collar of her black leather catsuit—it was getting quite warm in the skintight attire. To distract herself, she reset the timer on her wristwatch. She’d done her research and knew full well that an advanced security system had been installed. Once inside the building, she’d have approximately five minutes to locate the Rune of Moloch, steal it and get the hell out of there before the police arrived.
When Daniela looked through the binoculars again, she noticed that a black Rolls Royce had pulled in front of the establishment. The driver held the door open as a woman exited. The woman moved carefully up the stone stairs in front of the building, no doubt hindered by the weight of her protruding abdomen.
Daniela’s mouth contorted with a wavering hint of jealousy. She briefly wondered if she’d ever find herself in such a state—pregnant and in a dress. At this rate, such a possibility seemed nonexistent. She was twenty-five and still a virgin.
Between conducting burglaries, evading the authorities and raising her sister, she simply had no time for men and their very expectant personalities. At least that’s what she told herself. Deep down inside she knew that she craved companionship.
She forced the thoughts from her mind and focused on the scene playing before her. The woman had entered the building and was immediately pulled into the embrace of one of the Drakon brothers. He placed an affectionate kiss on her lips before checking his watch.
Daniela couldn’t suppress the smile that crawled to her lips when he retrieved his blazer from the top of an unpacked crate and slipped it on.
She twisted her long, curly hair into a bun at her nape and pulled her black latex mask on. “Showtime.”
Nicholas Drakon pressed down on the crowbar until the lid of the small wooden crate creaked open. This was the last of them. The entire shipment had come from Romania and had arrived on schedule. The delivery consisted of twenty pieces from England, China and Spain, all dating back to the early 1500s.
He and his brother Marius had started
