by Sarah Piper
“But you don’t feed that way.”
“It’s… not something I wish to get accustomed to again. But it’s not an issue for my brothers or Aiden. You’ll likely find it much more palatable then—”
“Dorian, I don’t…” She closed her eyes. As hungry as she was… no. The thought alone made her stomach turn even worse than the cold blood. She understood it was a natural urge for her now—for all vampires—and she wasn’t judging any who went that route. Hell, maybe she’d change her mind eventually too.
But right now, she just couldn’t bring her brain around to the idea of sinking her fangs into another human being and drinking their blood. Consensual or not, it just didn’t feel right.
“I don’t want that,” she said softly, shame heating her cheeks. She cursed herself, feeling like a spoiled child. What the hell was she expecting? “I’m sorry, Dorian. I don’t mean to be so difficult. I’ll figure something out.”
“Charlotte, there’s no need to apologize. This is all new to you. It’s going to take a bit of time, is all. Right now, I just need to ensure you’re getting the nutrients you need.”
He slid his fingers beneath her chin and tipped her face up, bringing his mouth down to meet her lips in a soft, reassuring kiss.
“I’m right here, love,” he whispered, just like he had earlier. Then, tracing his thumb across her lips, “I’ve an idea. I’ll crack open another blood bag and fix us both a nightcap.”
“Can you add some extra gin to mine? Like, mostly gin, with just a splash of the red stuff?”
Dorian laughed. “If you think it will help.”
“Certainly can’t hurt.”
An hour later, Charley had it all figured out.
A few quick sips of blood, followed by a shot. As a vampire, she now had a high tolerance for alcohol, so she could handle a bit of mix-n-match, especially if it helped her get used to the taste of her new primary food source.
They were sitting in the butter-soft leather chairs in the study again—one of her favorite spots in the manor, second only to Dorian’s bed. She had no idea where the other Ravenswood occupants were, but for now, she was closed away with her vampire king, slowly coming to terms with her new form.
Her new forever.
She was a vampire. A fucking vampire.
She still couldn’t believe it.
Charley downed another sip of blood and a shot, then flashed a half-bloody smile at Dorian. “I think I’m finally getting the hang of this whole bloodsucking thing.”
“I’m thrilled to hear it.” Dorian took some blood and a shot of his own. “Though I can’t say I’ve ever turned feeding into a drinking game.”
Charley set down her glass and crawled into his lap, straddling him on the chair. “I like introducing you to new experiences, Mr. Redthorne.”
“Is that so, Ms. D’Amico?” The firelight flickered in his eyes, his lush mouth curving into a smile.
“Speaking of new experiences… You know what would make this blood go down even better?”
Dorian laughed. “I can only imagine.”
She flashed a wicked grin, then slid down onto her knees before him, reaching for the button and zipper on his pants and freeing his cock.
She stole the glass from his hand and took a sip of blood, then lowered her mouth, slowly taking him in.
“Charlotte,” he whispered, closing his eyes and sinking into the pleasure of her tongue as she teased his hot, hard flesh.
She sucked him for a moment, then pulled back just long enough to finish the blood before descending on him again.
“Fuck, that’s… perfect…” Dorian slid his hands into her hair and tugged, her eyes watering at the delicious sting.
She’d gotten her fill from the blood, and now, with her vampire’s cock in her mouth, she wouldn’t stop. Not until she fucking wrecked him.
She swirled her tongue over his smooth flesh, then took him in even deeper, licking and sucking, scraping her teeth lightly along the top as she pulled back, only to swallow him whole again. He pulled her hair and rocked his hips, desperate, as always, to take back control.
For a few hot, delicious minutes, she gave it to him, letting him fuck her mouth, harder and deeper with every stroke. She moaned softly, loving the taste of him, the way her mouth made him come undone, one deep kiss at a time.
He was getting close. She could feel it in the tightening of his thigh muscles, see it in the ripple of his abs, hear it in his hot, shallow breaths.
Fighting back for control, she slid his cock almost all the way out, then took him in deep again, sucking him hard, devouring him with her lips and tongue until her vampire king could no longer take any more of her delicious torture.
“Charlotte,” he ground out, fist tight in her hair as he finally broke, bucking wildly against her mouth, coming down her throat in a rush.
With a soft moan of pleasure all for him, she swallowed, then rose from the floor before the crackling fire, and Dorian glanced up at her with wide, dazed eyes, his heartbeat thudding through his chest, his breath still ragged and raw.
She’d just dragged her thumb across her lips when the study door slammed open, and a drunken asshole crashed their party.
“Well, well, well,” Malcolm slurred, stumbling into the study. His clothes were covered with dirt and blood, his hair matted. The stench alone was enough to turn her stomach.
Narrowing his eyes on Charley, Malcolm sniffed the air as if she were the offensive one. “Looks like you’ve been busy, brother.”
Gabriel trailed in behind him, his jaw clenched in a tight grimace. “You’ll never guess who I ran into tonight,” he said to Dorian, rolling his eyes.
Dorian, who was still busy tucking himself back into his pants, glared at Gabriel. “Where did you find him? And better yet, why the fuck did you bring him back here?”
“He was feeding on some poor student on Prince Street. I thought he’d be safer at home.”
“It was consensual,” Malcolm said, unable to hide the smugness in his tone, even through his obvious inebriation. “Can we say the same about you, Ms. D’Amico?” Malcolm’s lips twisted into a mocking smile. “A vampire pet for the vampire king. Very interesting development.”
At this, Gabriel’s eyes widened, and he fully took in the scene.
The blood bags. The scent. Charley figured even the sound of her heartbeat was different now.
Gabriel said nothing, his face unreadable.
But it seemed Malcolm was just getting started. “Are you hungry, little pet? I bet you could use a nice, thick, bloody—”
In a blur, Dorian slammed him into the wall beside the hearth, the fire poker pressed against his throat, his palm over his brother’s heart. “Talk me out of it, Mac. Ten seconds.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Relax, brother.” Malcolm raised his hands in surrender. “I’m not here to fight, nor to insult your pretty little—”
Dorian pushed harder against his chest, growling in another warning.
“—vampire,” Malcolm finished. “In fact, I wouldn’t be here at all if Gabriel hadn’t dragged me back, kicking and screaming the entire way.”
“Bloody hell,” Gabriel said. “By the way he was carrying on, you would’ve thought I’d torn off his balls.”
Dorian closed his eyes, a wave of exhaustion rolling through his body.
He was fucking tired.
Tired of the arguing. Tired of his brothers. Just plain tired.
He pitched the fire poker and released Malcolm, returning back to his chair next to Charlotte.
“As you can see,” he said, “we’re otherwise occupied this evening. So if you don’t mind, Malcolm, go fuck yourself off to bed, and we’ll talk again when you’ve sobered up.”
“Since I’m here, I’d rather talk now. I’ve news from the front lines.”
Dorian shook his head, his rage kept in check only by Charlotte’s gentle touch on his arm. “And your new friends, Dominic and Silas? Have you bro
ught news of them as well?”
Malcolm’s face paled. “Dominic and Silas? Hmm. I’m not sure I’m familiar with—”
“Save it, brother,” Gabriel said, pouring himself a glass of bourbon. “We’ve seen the pictures in the paper. We know you’re cavorting with the enemy.”
“Again,” Dorian added, still burnt about the council meeting.
“The paper. Right.” Malcolm let out an indignant huff. “You can’t honestly believe I’d—”
“Plot against the crown?” Dorian asked. “Conspire against your own brother? Betray your blood? Now, where would I get such an outlandish idea?”
“Betray my blood? Now there’s an interesting turn of phrase.” Malcolm helped himself to a bottle of Dorian’s scotch, tossing the cap into the flames and taking a drink. Then, pointing a wobbly finger at Dorian’s face, “Do you know what father’s little rebellion against House Kendrick cost us?”
Dorian scoffed. “Do you have several days? A month, perhaps?”
“You have no bloody idea.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Dorian said. “Say your piece and be done with it.”
Malcolm strolled around the room, taking in the books on the shelves, the paintings on the walls as if he’d never seen them before. “Renault Duchanes is back from Paris,” he said casually. “Oh yes, we caught up over a… bite. Or two. Like old friends.”
He turned his gaze to Dorian, clearly waiting for a reaction, but Dorian refused to give him the satisfaction. Instead, he seethed in silence, blood simmering beneath his skin as he waited, once again, for his brother to get to the fucking point.
“Renault told me the most fascinating story about his sire. I mean, about our father. That is to say…” Malcolm took another swig from the bottle, then laughed. “Well, that’s the punchline, brothers. Father sired Duchanes. Apparently it happened in France long ago—some sort of favor to save his pathetic life, promises of servitude, all very hush-hush, you know how it goes.”
“Duchanes told you this?” Gabriel asked. “And you believed him?”
“Not at first, of course. But the longer we talked… It seems Renault is suffering the same afflictions as we are, brothers. Oh, don’t look at me as if you don’t know. The aching eyes, the blurriness, the constant hunger. Bloody hell, I’ve only just fed, yet I feel as if I’ve been starved for months.”
He reached over for one of the blood bags Dorian had left on the table and tore off the top, sucking it dry in a matter of seconds.
Dread coiled in Dorian’s gut, and he knew Malcolm was speaking the truth—about this, at least. He could see it in his eyes—the hunger. The weakness. The darkness creeping in around the edges.
Dorian glanced at Gabriel, but his youngest brother closed his eyes and tipped his glass back, giving nothing away.
“What does this have to do with Father and House Kendrick?” Dorian asked, still fighting to keep from throttling Malcolm where he stood.
“It’s a curse,” Malcolm said simply. There was no smugness in his tone, no bait upon which he’d hoped his brothers would bite.
He was speaking the truth again.
The dread in Dorian’s gut sank deeper.
“After Father failed to deliver the Mother of Lost Souls as per their agreement,” Malcolm continued, “comrade Nikolai had his dark witches brew up a very special punishment. They unleashed a terrible curse—not just on Father, but on our entire bloodline. Including…” He blurred into the space behind Charlotte’s chair and leaned in close, burying his mouth in her hair. “…the vampires we sire.”
Dorian was just about to take him down, but Charlotte saved him the trouble, blurring out of her chair, spinning on her heel, and punching him square in the face.
It was a move straight out of Midnight Marauder, and it did wonders to brighten Dorian’s foul mood.
Malcolm hobbled backward and laughed, rubbing his now-bloodied mouth. “I see the king’s first sire is already getting accustomed to her vampire strength. Better watch it, brother—she’s feisty.”
Charlotte glared at him. “Touch me again, and you’ll need fucking surgery to remove my fist.”
He held up his hands, his smirk firmly in place. “Save your strength, Ms. D’Amico. You’ll need it once the curse takes hold.”
“You and your lies are not welcome here.” Dorian rose from the chair and pointed toward the door. “Take the bottle and go.”
“You feel it, Dorian. Tell me you don’t.”
“Irrelevant,” he snapped. “Once we’ve bonded with the witch, this won’t be—”
“It’s not the witch bond, brother. It’s the curse. And now you’ve cursed the woman you claim to love with the same fate.”
Dorian readied another denial, another command, another insult, but they all died on his tongue.
Despite the traitorous source of this new revelation, somehow, Dorian knew it was true. He could feel it in his fucking soul.
Bloody hell. Cursed by dark witches? Was there no land mine their father had left unplanted?
Dorian let out a deep sigh. “Is that all, Malcolm? Or is there some other darkness you’d like to spread at my feet tonight?”
“No need to be testy, Dorian. I only wanted to share the information.”
“Consider it shared.” He grabbed Malcolm’s elbow and steered him toward the door. “Now leave.”
Malcolm jerked free of his hold and glared at him. “You look at me with such contempt, all because I speak the truth. I would’ve thought you’d be more grateful.”
“The fact that I’m allowing you to leave this manor in anything other than an urn is all the gratitude I can muster. Perhaps you’re the one who should be grateful.”
“Me? And yet Gabriel gets a free pass?”
“For all his faults,” Dorian said, “Gabriel is not a traitor to the crown. To his own blood.”
“Are you certain?” Malcolm met Gabriel’s gaze across the room, his eyes darkening with new malice. “Certain in all our years as men and vampires, our little brother never once betrayed your trust?”
“Don’t,” Gabriel warned, but Malcolm only grinned.
Then, leaning in close to Dorian, he whispered, “Perhaps you should ask him about his relationship with Evie. As I understand it, they were quite… close.”
He blurred out of Dorian’s reach in a heartbeat, and Dorian turned to find Gabriel pinning Malcolm to the floor, hands wrapped around his throat.
“Charlotte,” Dorian said through gritted teeth, “if you’ll excuse us—”
“No problem. I’m more than happy to skip the testosterone-fest tonight.” She gave him an understanding smile and touched his shoulder, then left him to deal with his brothers alone.
Dorian tried to pry them apart, but Gabriel was enraged, his cold eyes boring into Malcolm with a dark hatred Dorian had only ever seen in their father.
Malcolm managed to get in a swift uppercut, which Gabriel was all too glad to return.
“Enough!” Dorian roared, yet still his brothers fought, throwing fists and baring fangs, tearing at each other like wild animals, destroying half the study in the process.
Dorian finally wedged himself between them, launching Gabriel into a chair and pinning Malcolm to the floor, a knee jammed hard between his shoulder blades.
Gabriel was just about to jump back in for another round when Colin blurred into the room.
“This ends now!” Colin bellowed, a darkness rising from within, his eyes burning with wrath.
The spectacle of Colin’s anger was so shocking, Dorian and the others immediately backed away from one another, retreating to separate corners of the room.
“The fighting, the insults, the blood…” Colin shook his head, his body trembling with rage. “Is this all we’re capable of? We’re brothers, for fuck’s sake!”
Malcolm spit out a mouthful of blood. “And Father—”
“Father?” Colin’s lip curled in disgust. “Always about Father, is it? His dirty dealings. His crue
lty. His legacy. Well. If you’re so interested in his legacy… Here. Here is what Augustus Redthorne has left for his sons.” He pulled a syringe from his pocket and set it on the mantle over the fireplace, where it rocked back and forth, the red-orange liquid inside catching the light.
“What is it?” Dorian whispered, already afraid of the answer.
“That, brothers, is the cure,” Colin said darkly. “The miracle our father spent the better part of his immortal life creating. Distilled to its essence, slightly improved for quicker administration and effectiveness, but the cure nevertheless.”
“How do you know it works?” Gabriel asked.
“I don’t. It took me some time to find all the pieces scattered among his notes, but that is the formula, precisely as he recorded it, along with my modifications.” He backed away from the mantle with his hands raised as if the syringe were poison.
It was poison, Dorian realized. It had killed their father and would just as surely kill them. Faster, if Colin’s modifications worked as designed.
“So there you have it,” Colin said. “An easy escape from all your many burdens—yours for the taking.” He spun on his heel, glaring at each of them in turn. “Gabriel? Do you wish to test it? Malcolm? Dorian? By all means, brothers. I could definitely use a test subject, not to mention some bloody peace and quiet!”
Something dark and sinister flickered in Malcolm’s gaze, and Dorian knew in an instant what he was thinking.
Dorian was there in a blur, swiping the syringe from the mantle and shoving it into his shirt pocket a heartbeat before Malcolm got there.
“Tested or not,” Dorian said, “no one is taking this cure. Not today, not next week, not in a thousand years. That, brothers, is an order.”
Malcolm shook his head, so clearly repulsed by Dorian’s attempt to spare his life, he couldn’t even be bothered to hold on to his anger.
“You’re no better than Father, Dorian,” he said, all the fire gone from his voice. “And because of that, you have doomed us all.”
There was a time when the words might’ve hurt, but Dorian had no more room in his heart for traitors. Especially not the traitors who shared his blood.
