Page 25 of To Catch A Rogue

"Without a doubt. But Blade... he's an honorary uncle. I love him. I would wade through rivers of blood for him. From what I've heard this week, this duke you're trying to rescue is a dangerous, manipulative bastard. And that was said fondly."

"You've been listening to Byrnes." The wind lifted some of Charlie's moonbeam-pale hair as he rested his elbows on the rail. He glanced at her, blue eyes wide and striking. "I'm here because Rogues don't leave Rogues behind. The Duke of Malloryn was trying to rescue Gemma and Obsidian when he was captured. He's cold and aloof, but occasionally you catch a glimpse of his humanity. He's the first to run into a burning building to pull others out. He would do it for us."

And Charlie had a core of loyalty that was unshakeable.

She looked at him, her heart aching a little.

She hadn't realized, until this moment, that Charlie had moved on. All week he'd interacted with these people with an easy, intimate manner. He was never coming back to the rookeries. He was never going to be one of Blade's enforcers. He considered himself a Rogue now.

Blade had known. He'd tried to tell her.

But she had the breathless feeling that Charlie had somehow moved beyond her reach, and even though she'd been the one to encourage it, the loss felt like another knife to the heart.

This was his new family, and she didn't belong here.

"There she is," Charlie breathed as the airship broke through wispy clouds.

An enormous palace spread beneath them, gleaming a pale yellow in the weak sunlight. Gilt painted the cornices of the windows, and fountains spilled through the gardens, though the trees were now bare. Every inch of the place had been built on a massive scale and designed to both intimidate and cause wonder.

"I've never seen anything like it," Charlie whispered.

I have. She could recall the sweeping estates of Illarion Palace far to the south as if she'd seen them only yesterday. And the palace in Saint Petersburg had been a glory of architecture, filled with secret passages and ornate ballrooms.

A far cry from the rookeries.

Men shouted. The grounds crew started working to land the airship, and Charlie and Lark moved out of the way as the airship began to lower.

A group of gentlemen and ladies wearing bright colors swarmed out onto the stone balcony overlooking the gardens, lifting champagne glasses and pointing.

It was morning.

"A little early, isn't it?" Charlie muttered.

"Could be vodka," she replied, searching faces for any hint of familiarity and relaxing when she found none. "At least they're not drinking blood."

Because the Crimson Court preferred their blood straight from the vein. Nothing like the Echelon's propensity for blood taxes or thrall contracts. No, nothing as polite as that.

The little hollow chill in the center of her abdomen was back.

It took almost ten minutes for them to land the airship at the docking stations set up on the south lawns. Two other airships were tethered there, bobbing up and down in the breeze.

The rest of the party joined them, suddenly serious and sober as a group of people walked out to meet them.

"Are we all ready?" Gemma asked. "Because there's no turning back now."

"To the end of the journey," Ingrid said, her bronze eyes flaring with heat as she surveyed the brightly clothed group.

"To the end of the journey," the others echoed.

"No Rogue left behind," Charlie murmured.

And then they were exiting the airship behind Lord Barrons. Lark faded into the background, tucked close to Charlie. Blade hadn't made an appearance. He'd said something about Balfour not needing to know he was here.

"Greetings," Barrons called in Russian, walking forward to greet the Russians with Gemma on his arm.

"Ah, Lord Barrons," said a crisp, Eton-accented voice in perfect English as the crowd parted. A tall, pale-haired man stepped through, smiling like a shark. "What an absolute delight. We're so pleased you could make it."

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