by Sarah Piper
Dark Obsession
Vampire Royals of New York, Book Three
Copyright © 2020 by Sarah Piper
SarahPiperBooks.com
Cover design by Covers by Juan
All rights reserved. With the exception of brief quotations used for promotional or review purposes, no part of this book may be recorded, reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the express permission of the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, businesses, organizations, brands, media, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
Also by Sarah Piper
Get Connected!
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
About Sarah Piper
Also by Sarah Piper
Vampire Royals of New York
Dark Deception
Dark Seduction
Dark Obsession
Tarot Academy
Spells of Iron and Bone
Spells of Breath and Blade
Spells of Flame and Fury
Spells of Blood and Sorrow
Spells of Mist and Spirit
The Witch’s Rebels
Shadow Kissed
Darkness Bound
Demon Sworn
Blood Cursed
Death Untold
Rebel Reborn
Get Connected!
I love connecting with readers! There are a few different ways you can get in touch:
Email! Send me a note at [email protected]
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Chapter One
“This... is not… happening!”
The glass door shattered in a glorious explosion, casting the rose garden in a thousand sunlit shards.
Ignoring his bloodied hands, Dorian tore another chunk of stone from the hearth in the dining room and hurled it through the second door, obliterating it.
He grabbed another stone.
Another.
Another still.
In a matter of minutes, he obliterated the fireplace, then swiftly moved on to the furniture. The high-backed chairs. The oak table that had so recently hosted his brother Malcolm’s traitorous gathering and—centuries earlier—their last meal as mortal men. The cabinets that held his mother’s delicate bone china. The sideboard against which he’d so exquisitely taken Charlotte’s… confession.
Charlotte…
In a blur of blood and terror, Dorian smashed through every piece of wood, punched through every wall. He tore down the paintings, decimated the china, laid bare the stone foundations behind the wainscoting. He ripped loose the floorboards, still dark with the blood he’d spilled at the council meeting—Malcolm’s and the gray’s alike.
Blood and death, brother. Blood and death.
No one came to ease his pain.
No one even knew he was there.
Malcolm was gone—he’d vanished from Ravenswood after Dorian had damn near ripped his heart out.
Gabriel was back in the city, following Dorian’s command to hunt down Silas—the vampire who’d beaten Charlotte and left her for dead in a dumpster.
Aiden and Cole were out with the wolves, scouring the woods for more clues about the grays that had invaded their lands.
And upstairs, clear on the other side of the manor, the witch who’d delivered last night’s most crushing blow tended to the woman who’d stolen Dorian’s heart.
He couldn’t face either of them.
So there he remained, breathless and alone at the epicenter of his own chaos. His wounds had already healed, but blood soaked his skin, soaked his clothes, soaked the memories that clung to the room like cobwebs.
The more he destroyed, the more haunted he became, tormented by thoughts of his utter impotency. First, as House Kendrick had slaughtered his family. Later, as his human lover had murdered House Redthorne’s bonded witch. And last night, in the face of Isabelle’s dire pronouncement, he’d broken apart once again.
Charlotte D’Amico belongs to hell. I suggest you make peace with that and say your goodbyes…
Fire. Dorian needed fire.
Hands trembling, heart thudding, he stalked into the kitchen and grabbed a box of matches and a half-case of rum one of his brothers had left on the counter.
There was no thought of reason, of safety, of worry for the rest of the manor. There was only the need to destroy.
Today, he’d burn it all, just as he’d wanted to do decades ago. Centuries ago. It was time for that abominable room and everything it represented to go up in smoke.
But when he returned to the dining room, he was no longer alone.
Aiden paced the ruins, looking almost as filthy and bloodied as Dorian himself.
Meeting Dorian’s eyes across the disaster zone, Aiden cocked a smile and said, “If it’s a new look you’re after, Dori, a fresh coat of paint and some stylish window treatments would do wonders.”
Certain his friend was uninjured after his hunt with Cole, Dorian returned his attention to the mission, grabbing one of the bottles and soaking the decimated table with booze.
“Shall I fetch the marshmallows, then?” Aiden asked.
“Leave me, Aiden. I’ve things to burn.”
“Hmm. Don’t think I will, mate. I’ve always loved a good bonfire. Not to mention…” He turned toward the battered wall behind him and tore down the last remaining piece of art—a vile landscape of a barren, volcanic wasteland called Mists of Darkness. “I really hate this bloody painting. Been trying to tell you that since the first World War.”
“In case it isn’t painfully obvious, I’m in no mood for your feeble attempts at distraction.”
“And I’m in no mood to be flambéed, so whatever blaze of glory you’ve got your heart set on this morning, let’s move it outside, shall we?” Aiden carried the painting out through the battered doorway and pitched it into the rose garden.
Seeing no alternative to his friend’s annoyingly unwavering good sense, Dorian followed suit, hurling pieces of rubble out into the pale morning—splintered wood, broken paintings, priceless antiquities. With Aiden at his side, they made quick work of it, clearing the entire room in minutes.
Standing together in the gar
den before the giant pyre, they surveyed the wreckage of a past Dorian was more than ready to destroy.
“Unless you’ve got a speech prepared,” Aiden said, “pass me the rum, you bloody arsonist.”
Dorian sighed and handed over a fresh bottle from the case. Aiden took a swig, then emptied the last of it onto the pile, chucking the bottle in too. They poured out a few more bottles, then Dorian struck a match and touched it to the box. The moment it caught, he chucked the whole thing into the pile. The fire ignited at once—a rapturous blaze that seared his skin and soared up to the heavens.
They stood in silence for a long moment, watching the flames consume and devour, blackening the stonework at the center of the rose garden. The fractured bits of wood turned dark, the painted canvases curling in the heat. The fire surged, and one by one, the rose bushes ignited, glowing silver-white before turning to black ash.
There was something deeply satisfying about watching fire consume its kindling. Something pure and beautiful about the way it transformed light to dark, cold to heat, creation to destruction.
As the fire roared into the sky, Aiden peered into the empty husk formerly known as the Ravenswood dining room and sighed. “Nothing but pure potential now, is it?”
“I should’ve done it decades ago.”
“Yes, and now that you have…” Aiden looked back to Dorian, his eyes darkening with a concern that quickly worked its way into Dorian’s heart. “What’s this really about? I’m guessing it’s not just a new look you’re after.”
“What do you think it’s about?” Dorian raked a bloody hand through his hair. “Sasha’s been kidnapped. Charlotte’s uncle is a demon—one who nearly killed her last night. Not to mention there’s an army of grays on the loose. Have you already forgotten?”
“How could I? Did you see the way I impaled that poor bastard with a pole?” Aiden laughed. “History in the making, my friend. They’ll probably write a song about me. A ballad with—”
“For fuck’s sake, Aiden! How can you be so… so bloody you right now?”
“As opposed to what, Dori? Falling apart? Shall I find something else to torch, then? Massacre some poor, defenseless furniture?” He chucked an errant floorboard into the fire, an unfamiliar anger rising in his eyes. “Sasha is my friend. Forgive me for attempting to pull you off your mind-numbingly predictable path of self-destruction, but if you think my cracking a few jokes means I don’t care about what’s happening, then you don’t know me at all, your highness.”
The words cut deep, and Dorian shrunk before them, guilt gnawing through his chest.
“I didn’t mean… I appreciate your… I’m…” Dorian closed his eyes, unable to find the words. The fire flickered and danced, throwing cruel shadows across his eyelids.
They reminded him of demons.
Of hell.
In a dark, defeated whisper he barely recognized as his own, Dorian said finally, “Charlotte’s hellbound, Aiden. Isabelle found some sort of demonic claim on her soul.”
The admission stabbed a fresh hole into his heart, and he opened his eyes to relay the witch’s assessment, every word burning through him like the blazing fire.
She’s demon-touched…
A dark shadow…
Promised to a demon lord…
“But that’s…” Aiden’s mouth widened in shock, abject horror dousing the anger in his eyes. “No. I refuse to accept it.”
“As do I, but refusal doesn’t change the fact that soon—very soon, according to Isabelle—the woman I love will be…” Dorian’s voice broke, and he turned away, unable to face his oldest friend.
A hush fell between them, broken only by the crackle of the flames and a lone mourning dove cooing in the distance.
It was a long moment before Aiden spoke again, and when he did, his voice had softened considerably. “There’s another way, Dori. There’s always another way.”
“And if I had an eternity to find it, I’m certain I could. But I don’t have an eternity, Aiden. I’m not even sure I’ve got a week.”
“Have you told Charlotte about this?”
“I… I need more information.”
“She has a right to know.”
“Yes, and exercising that right means unleashing a thousand desperate questions I can’t even begin to answer.” Dorian sighed. He was wasting time—time he desperately needed if he had any hopes of breaking that demon bind. “I’m sorry, Aiden. I need to go.”
He turned away from the flames and took a step toward the manor, but Aiden stepped in front of him, a deadly warning flashing in his eyes.
“Whatever you’re thinking,” Aiden said, “it’s a rotten idea.”
“You’ve no idea what I’m thinking.”
“You’ve got the look. You’re about to do something reckless and impulsive that will either get you killed or—”
“No one ever won a war by staying home.”
“No one ever won a war by himself, either.” Aiden grumbled something beneath his breath, then said, “If you insist on marching to your doom, I’m coming with you.”
“No. I need you to keep watch over Charlotte. Colin said she needs to be monitored hourly for symptoms of concussion.”
“As will you if you don’t tell me what you’re up to.”
Frustration surged in Dorian’s chest, but he knew Aiden wouldn’t let him off the hook. “I’m going back to the city to find some Rogozin hellspawn to torture. Surely one of them knows something.”
Aiden beamed. “Brilliant! And… Not happening.”
“Today is not the day to test me, Aiden.”
“Nor is it the day to storm the demonic castle and pick off Rogozin’s underlings.” Aiden gripped Dorian’s shoulder. “Not alone, not while you’re half out of your mind with rage, and certainly not without—”
“A witch.”
Both men turned at the sound of the sudden proclamation, and Isabelle stepped out through the broken doorway, her gaze stern as she picked her way across the glass-strewn path. If the sight of the demolished dining room or towering inferno alarmed her, she hid it well.
Fear spiked in Dorian’s gut. “Is Charlotte—”
“She’s resting comfortably,” Isabelle said.
“Thank you for telling me,” he said. “Aiden’s going to look after her while I—”
“He’s right, Dorian.” Isabelle took a step closer, gazing up at him with the same beseeching look she’d given him the night of the fundraiser when he’d wanted to strangle Gabriel in the study. “You can’t interrogate demons without someone who can bind them. They’ll unleash hellfire the moment you make your presence known. Even if you manage to kill them before that, they’ll simply jump into the closest human vessel and try again.”
“Not to worry, Isabelle,” Dorian said. “I’ve no need to kill them. Merely to prod their minds for a bit of information. If they happen to suffer in the process?” Dorian shrugged and glanced at his fingernails as if he hadn’t a care in the world. “Ends, means, etcetera, etcetera.”
“You mean to leave them alive?” Aiden asked. “So they can run straight to Rogozin and tell him what you’ve been on about? That we know Charlotte’s uncle is one of them? That you’re searching for a way to break her curse? Are you trying to paint another target on her back?”
Isabelle’s eyes softened, and she let out a long, terrible sigh. “There is no way to break it, Dorian. It’s not a curse—it’s a binding contract.”
“All contracts have loopholes,” Dorian said.
“Not when they’re forged by a demon lord.”
The reminder cleaved Dorian’s heart in two, igniting his rage all over again.
“Bloody hell, do you two think me a fool? Oh, yes, I’ll just march in there straightaway and ask Rogozin’s dim-witted servants to point me in the direction of the filthy miscreant who’s cursed my woman to hell. Excellent plan!”
Isabelle glanced at Aiden, worry creasing her brow. “We weren’t suggesting—”
&
nbsp; “Understand something—both of you.” Dorian jabbed a finger toward the second story of the manor. “That woman sleeping off a possible head injury in my bed? She is everything to me. If she’s in danger, I’ll stop at nothing to obliterate it—including finding a way to break an allegedly unbreakable demonic bind. But I will not bring her further harm by blundering my way through an interrogation that even a simpleton could handle. We need to know about Rogozin’s plans, including the extent of Rudy’s involvement and where they might be keeping Sasha. Absent a better idea, torturing a few useless demons is the fastest and most reliable route. If either of you find such methods unsuitable, I’ll invite you to keep your commentary to yourselves and leave me to my work.”
“You’ll have to excuse him,” Aiden said to Isabelle. “You’d think after all these centuries living among mortals, he’d be more of a people person by now, and yet…”
“I’m not a person, Aiden. I’m a vampire, and I’ve got important business to attend to. So if you’ll excuse me—”
“You need me,” Isabelle said. “I can subdue the demons and prevent them from casting hellfire. And when you’re finished with the questioning, I can eliminate them before they reveal your actions to Rogozin.”
“Banishment?” Dorian narrowed his eyes. Banishing demons was an extremely particular skill set—one most upstanding witches avoided. “I thought your gift was empathic magic.”
