by Sarah Piper
Still gripping her tight, Dorian glanced up from the bite and met her gaze. His eyes were the color of the sunset, wild and unbidden. Behind a dark and desolate smile, her vampire bared his fangs, blood slick on his lips.
“Is this what you want?” he demanded. “To live your life as a monster?”
Tears welled in her eyes, but it wasn’t from the bite or the arguing or even the very real possibility that he might not turn her.
It was because he was still punishing himself. Because he still thought he didn’t deserve happiness or love.
There were no words to encapsulate how she felt about him in that moment. So she pulled out of his grasp, slid her hands into his hair, and kissed him.
Hard. Deep. Bruising.
When she finally pulled away, her mouth was coated in blood, her heart threatening to beat out of her chest. “I’m not afraid of you, Dorian Redthorne. When I look at you—whether you’ve got fangs or a smile or a broody scowl—all I see is the man who has my heart.”
He lowered his eyes and shook his head, the fight draining from his muscles. “You may choose not to see the monster when you look at me, Charlotte, but that doesn’t mean he’s not here.”
“You’re wrong.” She took his face in her hands, forcing him to meet her gaze again. When he did, his eyes were back to their golden glow. “I do see the monster. I see him as clearly as I see the man. It’s who you are, Dorian. And that’s who I love.”
“Is this truly how you want to live your life?” he asked. “Consumed by an endless hunger, knowing at any moment you might snap? That you might catch a stranger on the street—an innocent person, a child—and end their life in a blink, all because you’re having a bad day?” He twined his fingers into her hair, and a tear slipped down his cheek, his eyes filling with anguish. “That you could kill the very person you love more than life itself?”
“Is that what it’s really like for you?” She touched her fingers to his lips, a knot of sadness tightening her throat. “No peace? No love? Not a single shard of light in all that darkness?”
“Charlotte, I…” He closed his eyes and kissed her fingertips, but didn’t answer her question.
“This is my choice, Dorian,” she said. “I’ve thought it through. And I’m asking you to help me—to turn me. If you say no, I—”
“You’ll what? Ask one of my brothers?” he backed away again, the smoldering embers of his earlier anger igniting once more. “One of our enemies, perhaps? I’m sure you’ll have no trouble finding a suitable sire. Vampires will be lining up for miles for a chance to sink their fangs into you.”
Charley wanted to be pissed—to lob a few insults, to lash out as sharply as Dorian had.
But all she felt in her heart was disappointment, and a profound sadness that he just couldn’t see things from her perspective.
“No, Dorian,” she said softly. “I was going to say… If you don’t want to turn me, I’ll respect that as your choice, and I won’t go through with it. I don’t want anyone else to do it—it’s you, or it’s no one.” She touched his face one more time and smiled, despite her sadness. “Whatever you decide… It doesn’t change how I feel about you. Nothing ever could. You have to know that.”
His eyes softened, but he didn’t say a word.
Charley stretched up onto her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, lingering just a moment before turning away and walking out of the room.
She didn’t wait to hear him speak his final answer.
She’d already read it in his eyes, and it broke her fucking heart.
Chapter Eighteen
The rose garden was covered in a layer of fine black ash—all that remained of Dorian’s epic bonfire. Someone—Aiden, he’d guessed—had hauled away the smoldering remnants of the dining room and boarded up the shattered glass doors.
Beneath the blackened ruins, the roses bloomed anew, their perfect beauty unmarred by his tempestuous rage.
And there, standing upon the charred cobblestones, cupping a blood-red bloom in her hands, was the woman who’d claimed his heart.
In her haste to escape his overbearing ridiculousness, she hadn’t bothered with a coat or shoes. Dressed in a red flannel button-down and faded jeans, auburn hair loose around her shoulders, she looked to Dorian like the very picture of autumn.
“Aiden told me you’d burned them,” Charlotte said as he approached, her voice touched with wonder.
“I did. Quite thoroughly, at that.” Dorian took the rose from her hands and brought it to his nose, inhaling deeply. The scent would always remind him of Rosalind—the bonded witch who’d died in his arms, right in this very garden. “The rose garden was always Rosalind’s favorite place. She tended to every bloom as if they were her own children. After her death, I tried to have the garden plowed under—the reminder was just too painful. But no matter what I did to destroy it—the plows, a flood, fire—the roses always returned.”
“Rosalind,” she whispered.
A light breeze ghosted through the trees, and Dorian’s heart warmed as he thought of Rosalind’s kindness. Whether or not she’d ever forgiven him, he hoped she was in a better place.
“The suite with the LaPorte painting—that was hers. It looks out over her roses. I’ve kept it up for her, changing out the artwork every few years, thinking maybe she… I don’t know.” He shook his head. “Sorry. I realize it sounds ridiculous.”
“I think it’s lovely,” she said. “And obviously she’s still with you. The roses are her way of letting you know.”
“Even in the cruelest winters, they continue to bloom beneath the snow.” Dorian’s chest tightened, and he returned the rose to Charlotte, his eyes never leaving hers. “It’s a remarkable sight.”
Charlotte smiled, and he swore the roses surrounding them brightened.
He didn’t think he’d ever stop marveling at the fact that she’d come into his life at all. That she’d remained. Moments earlier, he’d worried he’d finally chased the warmth from her eyes for good, yet there she was, still shining like the brightest star in his sky.
“I look forward to seeing it,” she said.
Look forward…
The words held so much promise, it terrified him.
Could he keep that promise? Could he tell her, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that when the first snows of winter blanketed Ravenswood, she’d be here to bask in the magic of it?
Or would she be in hell, serving the demon lord who’d claimed her?
“Charlotte, being a vampire…” Dorian closed his eyes, desperate to find the right words this time. Determined not to screw it up. “It will make you stronger. But it won’t make you any less terrified.”
“No?” She shared another smile, all for him, and took a step closer, the air carrying her sweet scent. “So you’ve always been fearless? Even as a mortal man?”
“I’ve never claimed to be fearless. The same things that terrified me as a man terrify me as a vampire—perhaps even more so.”
Charlotte let the rose fall to the ground and looped her arms around his neck, her coppery eyes bright as she gazed up at him. In the barest of whispers, she said, “What are you afraid of, Dorian Redthorne?”
He closed his eyes, unable to bear the intensity of her scrutiny. Her kindness.
“I can’t protect them,” he confessed. “No more than I could back then.”
“Can’t protect who?”
“Any of them,” he continued. “House Kendrick murdered half my family and turned the rest into vampires, and I couldn’t do a damn thing to stop them. To save my mother and my youngest siblings, even to ease their suffering… And here in this very garden, Adelle… She killed Rosalind, and I…” Images of the past rushed at him from all sides, dragging him back into the depths of his despair.
Two hundred fifty years on this planet, and the story of his life had been written in the blood of everyone he’d ever loved.
Everyone he’d ever failed.
“I should’ve been able
to protect my family,” he said. “My witch. You. Sasha. Even Malcolm. And now we’re facing a war with unknown enemies and ever-shifting alliances, and I’ve no guarantees any of you will be spared the same cruel fate.”
“There are no guarantees in this life, Dorian. There never were.”
She touched his face, and he opened his eyes, chancing another glimpse at the woman who’d turned his life upside down, who’d saved him, who’d made him believe in love.
“I want to give you everything, Charlotte. Everything your heart desires, even if those desires are… I just… I need a little time. The thought of changing you—of harming you… I know I didn’t handle things well earlier. I’m sorry. I—”
She stretched up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his mouth, silencing the last of his mangled apology.
Her lips were cool from the chilly air, but her mouth was hot and inviting, and Dorian eagerly returned the kiss, deepening it with soft, teasing strokes until he finally coaxed out a moan of pleasure. Her heartbeat quickened, the familiar hum of her pulse entrancing him as they picked up where they’d left off in his bed.
He was always so hard for her, so ready to devour her, everything in him aching to be closer to her.
After a kiss that lasted an eternity, she broke for air, gasping through swollen lips that sent a fresh bolt of desire straight to his cock.
“Tell me your mine,” she whispered urgently, mirroring the words he’d so desperately uttered in the car last night, the swell of her breasts rising and falling in time with her ragged breath. Her flannel shirt had shifted sideways, revealing a black bra strap and the soft curve of a shoulder, and in that moment, all Dorian wanted to do was claim her. Bite her. Fuck her. Answer her demands with a litany of hot, hard thrusts that would eradicate every last doubt.
The utter baseness of his thoughts reminded him of their very first meeting.
The very first taste.
“I’m yours, Charlotte. Always.” He captured her mouth in another bruising kiss and slid his hands under the curve of her ass, lifting her off the ground. She wrapped her legs around his hips, and he leaned back, relishing in the feel of her weight against his body, steadying him, anchoring him.
Right now, everything else could fucking burn. As long as Charlotte was in his arms, in his mouth, in his hands, nothing else mattered.
He carried her to the grass beyond the cobblestones and laid her on a bed of fallen leaves, unfastening her jeans and sliding them off with her panties. He stripped out of his own pants and boxers, then climbed on top of her, kissing her madly as he slid his hand between her thighs, seeking her endless warmth.
She was hot and slippery for him, her hips arching up to meet the urgent thrust of his fingers, her hands fisting the leaves at her sides.
Bloody hell, how he loved making her blush.
Making her moan.
Making her shatter.
She was close to the edge already, her body pulsing around his fingers as he thumbed her clit, her thighs trembling, her mouth parted as she gasped for breath…
But then she grabbed his wrist and stopped him, pulling herself up onto her knees.
“Not yet, Mr. Redthorne,” she said, her voice hoarse, her eyes dark with a feral desire that told Dorian everything he needed to know.
She wanted—needed—to take control.
It was a demand. A test. A question.
Would he give this to her? Would he let her call the shots?
The flannel skimmed the top of her bare thighs, and Dorian ached to lower his mouth to them, to trace every curve with his tongue until he had her writhing once again.
She knew it, too. He could read it in her devious little smile.
But his answer, now and for the rest of eternity, was yes.
“Whatever you need, love,” he whispered, holding up his hands, as if he’d just surrendered his very life. “Take it.”
She reached for the buttons on his shirt, slowly working them open and pushing it off his shoulders as she kissed her way down his chest, leaving a searing-hot path in her wake.
“On your feet,” she ordered, and he obeyed without question, standing naked before her as she knelt in the leaves and fisted his cock. “I’ve been wanting you to fuck my mouth all day.”
She brought her lips to him and blew a soft breath across his flesh, then swirled her tongue around the tip, licking and teasing him as she continued to stroke him with her fist. Just when he thought he couldn’t take another moment of the teasing, she moaned and closed her lips around him, taking him in so fucking deep it made him shudder.
“Charlotte,” he growled, fisting her hair. “Keep doing that, and I’m going to come right inside that dirty mouth of yours.”
She looked up at him through her dark lashes, her eyes sparkling with mischief. Dorian’s warning had only served to encourage her, and now she cupped his balls, teasing them as she sucked him in deeper, harder, her mouth so hot and wet and soft and…
“Fuck, I’m…” Dorian could hardly form words. “You’re so… Fuck…”
She pulled away in an instant, his cock mourning the sudden loss of her lips. “Don’t you dare come without me, Mr. Redthorne.”
The look in her eyes went from mischievous to ferocious, a raging storm intent on utter destruction. Dorian was powerless in its path.
She dragged him down into the leaves and pushed him onto his back, climbing on top and straddling him.
Dorian barely had time to catch his breath before she fisted him again, guiding him inside her, claiming his cock with a single demanding thrust.
“Fuck me hard, Dorian,” she breathed.
Dorian hated giving up control, but this was… Bloody hell, it was everything. Bare flesh on soft, wet leaves. A cool breeze caressing warm skin. The scent of fireplaces and fallen apples and the first bite of winter in the air. The perfect arch of her hips as she took him in deeper, her fingers digging into his shoulders, the faint hum of the blood racing through her veins.
Fuck yes, woman.
Dorian grabbed her hips, thrusting up as she ground down against him, their bodies colliding as they both fought for control. She took what she wanted, what she needed, rising onto her knees and then slamming back down again, her breasts bouncing inside the tight flannel, her fingernails scoring his flesh like claws.
Every thrust unleashed more of her inner wildness, her fierceness. She was getting close to the edge again, losing herself, ready to fall.
Dorian wasn’t ready. He didn’t want this fucking moment to end.
“Wait,” he whispered. “Wait.”
“No.” She gripped his face and leaned in close, her long hair spilling into his mouth, a dark fire burning in her gaze that only made him harder. “You said you own this pussy, Dorian. Prove it. Make it hurt.”
Fucking hell, the ferocity of her demands nearly made him come right there.
With a deep growl, he grabbed the back of her head and pulled her down against his mouth, licking and biting her neck, her jaw, her ear. He wanted to be everywhere at once, kissing her, sucking her, consuming her.
He slid his hands down her back and gripped her ass, bucking wildly against her willing flesh. Suddenly, he couldn’t get in that pussy deep enough, fast enough, hard enough. Dorian was out of his mind with desire, his balls heavy and aching to unleash hell.
“You’ll always be my bad girl,” he breathed, then raised a hand and brought it down hard against the bare flesh of her ass. She cursed his name and begged him for more, and Dorian was happy to oblige, alternating hot, hard spankings with a soothing touch, pushing her to the very edge of her limits.
“You make me crazy in the best way,” she breathed, still desperate for more. “I could die for this cock.”
Fuck… that mouth of hers was going to deliver him straight into madness. He couldn’t take it anymore. Not like this.
Dorian wrapped her in his arms and flipped them over, pinning her beneath him. Charlotte didn’t fight him this time, did
n’t try to take back the control he’d ceded earlier. She raked her nails down his back and arched her body, and he tore her flannel open to reveal the luscious curves of her breasts, her auburn hair splayed out on the carpet of leaves like a flame, her cheeks pink and glistening, her mouth parted in ecstasy.
Charlotte was a vision.
He continued to fuck her—to own her—just like she’d commanded. Lowering his mouth to her nipple, he bit her through the bra, then pushed the lace aside and licked, soothing the sting of the bite before sucking her into his mouth, his lips caressing her skin while his tongue teased the stiff, rosy peak.
The first tremors finally rocked through her thighs, slowly building to a crescendo as she panted and thrashed beneath him, and Dorian felt the answering call in his own body, his muscles tightening, everything in him ready to burst.
He brought his mouth to hers and breathed her name, and the feel of her soft sighs against his lips pushed him over the edge, driving him to euphoria as he sank deep inside her, burying himself, losing himself, unraveling, and when she finally reached her own breaking point, their cries of passion were indistinguishable, their bodies wringing out every last drop of pleasure until they were utterly spent.
Sticky and exhausted and unable to form words, they collapsed side by side onto the leaves, closed their eyes, and chased the sound of their wild heartbeats into oblivion.
“I thought I saw them in the rose garden a little while ago, but I… Oh, for fuck’s sake, Dorian!”
The words cut through the blissful haze, and Dorian opened his eyes and bolted upright in the leaves, just in time to catch Aiden’s glare.
Next to him, Isabelle stared in equally embarrassed surprise, her eyes sparkling with a hint of laughter.
“Dorian?” Charlotte sat up next to Dorian, then gasped, frantically trying to cover herself with the loose flannel. “Shit! I mean, sorry! Hi! We didn’t realize… Um…”
“We were just…” Dorian scrambled to reach for his pants without standing up and giving them both an eyeful. “My apologies, Isabelle. If you’ll just give us a moment to… gather our things…”
