Dark Obsession: A Vampire Romance (Vampire Royals of New York Book 3)

by Sarah Piper

  Sasha looked up at her, her blue eyes wide, but clear. She was Sasha again. She was okay.

  “I know you will, Chuck,” she said. “And after this? You’re totally getting another job, because your uncle is a fucking demon, and he sucks ass.”

  “It’s a promise, Sasha.”

  Silas and Dominic were no more than piles of gray ash in the kitchen, but on the couch on the living room, two useless sacks of shit sat together, their hands and feet bound, staring out with wide, terrified eyes.

  Behind them, four vampires stood like Greek statues.

  Aiden. Colin. Gabriel. Dorian.

  It reminded Charley of the night she’d first met them—the Redthorne brothers, assembled outside the guesthouse at Ravenswood. Hard. Handsome. Intimidating as hell.

  That night, she’d had no idea they’d become her family.

  No idea they’d be here with her now, taking down the man who’d done his damnedest to destroy her.

  Charley took the chair across from them and grinned at her uncle. “Guess Rogozin was right, Uncle Rudy. You’re shooting blanks, huh? No demon fire. That’s kind of pathetic for a demon host.”

  On account of the duct tape across his mouth, Rudy spoke only in grunts.

  Charley turned her attention to Travis.

  Her stomach twisted, her hands trembling with rage.

  “Are you certain you want to do this?” Dorian asked her, his voice full of concern. “I don’t mind taking out the trash for you.”

  Charley continued to glare.

  Travis. The man who’d pulled the trigger and ended her father’s life. The man who’d crawled into her bed, making her feel again and again like she should be grateful for the opportunity to service his dick. The man who’d roughed her up, who’d taunted her, who’d threatened her.

  “I’m certain,” she said to Dorian. “I’ll handle him.”

  Travis shouted something behind the duct tape, but Charley wasn’t ready to hear it.

  She got up and stood before him, leaning in close.

  “Hello, Travis,” she said soothingly. Seductively. “Remember me?”

  His pupils dilated as her compulsion took hold, and he relaxed, gazing at her with such adoration it made her teeth hurt.

  She’d meant to remove the tape. Meant to ask him some questions.

  How could you? Why? What the fuck is wrong with you?

  But suddenly she was on top of him, her fangs burning as she sank them into his neck, relishing in the taste of warm, coppery blood as it slid down her throat.

  She hadn’t planned on feeding on him—only terrifying him a bit. But now that she’d started, she was pretty damn sure she wouldn’t be stopping anytime soon.

  And Travis, subdued by her words, by the shock of her new form, remained utterly still.

  She drank.

  And she drank.

  And oh, God, she drank.

  Her body felt strong and alive, and beneath her punishing mouth, his pulse grew faint—barely a whisper. She swore she could feel his soul, clinging to the last vestiges of life.

  A soft touch on her shoulder drew her attention, and suddenly Dorian was kneeling at her side, his hand on her back, a soft, imploring smile touching his lips.

  “All right, love,” he whispered. “Not too much.”

  Charley shrugged, not ready to break away just yet. For the man who’d murdered her father, there was no such thing as too much. Too much pain, too much fear, too much death—Travis deserved it all.

  “Charlotte,” Dorian said again, “I will back you up on anything. You must know that. But I also promised you if you lost your footing, I’d help you find your way back.” He reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “This isn’t you. You’re not a murderer. Come back, love. Come back to me.”

  Charley closed her eyes, not wanting to see the love in his. Not wanting to see the disappointment if she didn’t obey.

  You’re not a murderer…

  The words reverberated through her mind, hitting her again and again until they finally broke through the bloodlust, the vengeance, the grief.

  But the voice in her head wasn’t just Dorian’s.

  Suddenly, she heard Rogozin too.

  Revenge… It does not fill hole inside you. It only leads to more holes.

  Charley’s resolve wavered. Could she do this? Kill a human being—even a piece of shit human being like Travis? He certainly deserved it.

  But in the end, Dorian was right. Charley may have worn a lot of masks in her life, taken on a lot of fake identities to get what she needed. But she wasn’t a killer. Not of humans.

  Killing Travis meant her uncle had won. That he’d given her one more role to play, turning her into a vicious murderer.

  Slowly, she came back to herself. Slowly, she pulled away from the vein and stepped back from the couch. Back from the precipice.

  Beside her, Dorian let out a breath and got to his feet.

  “Okay?” he whispered, and she nodded.

  She was okay. She wouldn’t kill him.

  But she wouldn’t leave him unscathed, either. Not after what he’d done to her.

  She hovered over the half-spent body before her, gazing into his eyes once more.

  In a soft, hypnotic voice, she said,

  “I want you to sit here in this apartment and rot, Travis. If by some miracle you survive the night, if by some miracle you ever make it out of here, I want you to remember this moment. Every day you wake up, every time you jerk off, every time you think to hurt another woman, I want you to remember me. Remember what I did to you tonight. Remember what I can still do to you, any damn day I please. You will live with that fear. That uncertainly. The constant looking over your shoulder, wondering just how close death really is, because that’s what I’ve lived with ever since you put a bullet in my father’s head.”

  She stood up again and wiped the blood from her mouth.

  Glancing once more at Dorian, she nodded and held her hand out.

  Dorian cupped her face, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. Then, with complete trust, he handed over the Blade of Azerius.

  Rudy screamed behind the duct tape.

  “What’s that, asshole?” Dorian asked. “I don’t think she quite heard you.” He tore the tape from Rudy’s mouth, and her uncle continued mid-rant, as though he hadn’t even realized he’d been muzzled.

  “…practically raised you!” Rudy shouted. His eyes were demon black, his watch lost in the struggle, but Charley was no longer afraid of him. Even without the blade, she finally saw her uncle for the desperate, pathetic stain that he was.

  “Paid your bills,” he continued. “Bought your clothes. Kept a roof over your head after your father died. He was the one who sold you out to Azerius! He was the one who made the deal!”

  “Because you fucked around with demons and backed him into a corner,” she said calmly, refusing to let him get under her skin. “He did it to save our lives. And even that wasn’t enough for you.”

  She pressed the tip of the blade to his throat, stopping just short of breaking the skin.

  “We’re supposed to be family, Charlotte,” his voice breaking now, his black eyes full of desperation.

  At the mention of the word family, Charley felt that hot coal ignite in her belly again, but she tamped it down. She wouldn’t give Rudy the satisfaction of unloading on him—she’d given away too much of herself already.

  Never again, asshole.

  “Charlotte!” he shouted. “Think about what you’re doing here. Please!”

  “No,” she said. It was a single word, spoken just above a whisper.

  It felt like the first time she’d ever said it to Rudy, yet she knew it was the very last thing she’d ever give the man.

  “Are… are you going to kill me?” he whimpered. “You said you weren’t a killer.”

  Charley stared down at the pathetic man before her and tried to feel… something. She’d dreamed about Rudy’s demise for so long tha
t when the time finally came, she thought she’d be elated. Instead, there was only a quiet relief.

  For years, Rudy had existed as her boss, her benefactor, her controller. When she tried to imagine him outside that role—even as the uncle she’d known in childhood—she saw only a faceless form.

  She felt neither remorse nor joy at his fate; for Charley, Rudy was simply gone.

  Nonexistent.

  She didn’t know whether that made her cold-hearted and cruel, crazy, or perhaps just shocked and numb. At the moment, she didn’t care.

  Rudolpho D’Amico’s story had come to its end.

  “I’m not a killer,” she said. “I’d never take a human life.”

  Rudy let out a rush of breath, his greasy lips stretching into a smile. “I know you’re not, kiddo. You’re a good girl. You—”

  “Fortunately,” she said brightly, “you’re not human.”

  Then, without another word for the bastard who’d sold out his family, who’d hurt Charley again and again, who’d relished in her pain, she shoved the blade into his throat.

  His eyes flickered like lightning, then turned black once more.

  Seconds later, his body turned into charred ash.

  Charley let out a deep sigh, and a new feeling rushed into her heart.

  Freedom.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The shadows on the stairwell were their only warning.

  “Move! Now!” Dorian pulled the emergency exit door shut and jammed the fire axe through the handles—a temporary blockade that wouldn’t hold the assailants on the other side for more than a minute.

  The group rushed back down the hallway toward the apartment they’d just abandoned, hoping to go out the windows, but the instant they reached the threshold, the windows in the apartment shattered, and a dozen Duchanes vampires crashed into view.

  There was only one way out now.

  Down through the club.

  Charley grabbed Sasha, and she and the others blurred to the back stairwell, the newly-arriving vamps closing in fast behind them.

  They hit the ground floor and barged through the door that led into the club.

  That led into utter chaos.

  The smell of brimstone and hellfire filled the air, and already the floor was slick with blood and ash. In her peripheral vision, Charley caught sight of one of the wolves charging at a gray, another taking down a demon. In his wolf form, Cole was glued to Isabelle’s side, protecting her from would-be attackers as she struggled to manage both demons and witches.

  Charley’s heart sank. They were outnumbered ten to one.

  “Hide!” Dorian shouted, touching her face once more, and then he was gone, blurring into the battle with his brothers.

  Charley grabbed Sasha and blurred her beneath the bar, just as the front doors exploded inward, ushering in a late arrival that nevertheless brought a smile to her face.

  “Good afternoon, comrades.”

  For a brief instant, the club fell silent as Rogozin strolled in, three dozen demons pouring in from behind him.

  “So many pieces of shit before my eyes,” he said. “Who is good guy, who is bad guy?” Rogozin laughed. “Well, how about we burn them all first, ask questions later, yes?”

  There was no more talking after that. No more grand declarations, no more jokes.

  Only bloodshed. Only fire. Only violence.

  The demons were impossible to tell apart—outside of Rogozin and the men she’d met at the hotel in Long Island City, Charley had no idea who was who, which side was which.

  She tried in vain to keep track of her vampire, but even that was an impossible task.

  It seemed as if they’d fought for days—a great clashing of fangs and fists, hellfire and wolf bites, the blur of the vampires, the blood. So much blood she thought it might wash them all away.

  There was nothing she could do in a fight like this—she didn’t have the strength and coordination to take on so many adversaries at once. She would only get in the way.

  On the drive down from Annendale-on-Hudson, Isabelle had given Charley the tattoos that would allow her to tolerate the sunlight—for a little while, at least. At the time, Charley wasn’t sure why she’d needed them so urgently, but now she was grateful the witch had insisted.

  It was going to be a long night, and there was nothing Charley could do but wait it out.

  So there beneath the bar, she held Sasha close, singing a soft lullaby her father used to sing, rocking her as the glass and blood and ash rained down all around them, and deep in her heart, Charley prayed she and her loved ones would last long enough to see the sun again.

  “By proclamation of the royal family and the Shadow Accords, Bloodbath is now property of House Redthorne,” Gabriel announced, although the Duchanes vampires who most needed to hear it were no more than ash beneath their shoes.

  Charley knew it was probably just a formality, but she figured she ought to pay attention anyway.

  She’d have to learn the ropes sooner or later.

  She was one of them now. A Redthorne vampire.

  The thought still filled her with awe.

  Even the Rogozin demons were showing respect, heads bowed, hands clasped before them.

  They’d kept their word and come through for Dorian, and now, thanks in large part to them, the battle was over.

  They’d won.

  Sasha was safe.

  And her friends had survived.

  Standing beside his brother, Dorian caught her gaze, giving her a quick, reassuring wink that filled her with warmth.

  Soon, they’d be home, and all of this would be a memory.

  Soon, Sasha would be in the sunroom with Aiden, learning how to play chess.

  Soon, Charlotte would be in the arms of her vampire king.

  She couldn’t help but smile.

  “All assets formerly belonging to Renault Duchanes have been seized,” Gabriel continued, “including the witches who now stand accused of treason. They will be interviewed and taken prisoner for further questioning at the behest of the king.”

  A slow clap started at the back of the room, and all heads turned toward the sound.

  There, from the darkest shadows of the deepest corner, a figure emerged, his clothes covered in blood and ash, his eyes wild with malice.

  “Quite a speech, brother,” Malcolm said. “I know I’m feeling inspired. Anyone else?”

  “Malcolm,” Dorian warned, but before he could utter another word, Charley felt the heat of Malcolm’s cruel glare and knew exactly who his target was.

  Her.

  She saw the blur of him.

  Felt the rush of air on her skin.

  Scented the foulness of his presence.

  After that, there was only pain.

  His vicious fingers, shoved deep into her back.

  Her heart wrapped in his fist, beating only because he allowed it.

  And across the space of the club, the man she loved let out a roar that rattled the windows, and she knew, in that moment, it was over.

  Her brief immortal life had come to its end.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Dorian’s heart fucking shattered.

  It was all he could do to stand upright, to give voice to the words inside.

  “Back off,” he called out across the club. “All of you.”

  At once, the demons and allies surrounding him retreated, leaving him to face the monster alone.

  Between them, the woman who owned his heart gasped for breath, her eyes never leaving his, even as the tears fell down her cheeks.

  Dorian could hear the faint beat of her heart, struggling in his brother’s grip.

  “Malcolm,” Dorian said, his voice a broken whisper, his own tears spilling freely. “If you do this… You can not come back from this, brother.”

  “Brother? Wait, are you speaking to me?” Malcolm made a show of glancing around the room, as if Dorian’s plea might’ve been directed at anyone else. “As I recall, brother, you ban
ished me from House Redthorne. I’m a free agent now. Just… Malcolm. Nice ring, don’t you think?”

  “Malcolm, please… I was wrong. The title is yours. My title is yours. The crown. The manor. The cars, the artwork, the money. All of it. Just… release her!”

  He shifted slightly behind her, and Charlotte gasped, her eyes wide with fear. She was utterly paralyzed. One wrong move, and it would end her.

  “You would give up all that power just for this human?” Malcolm asked.

  “You know I would.”

  “I do. Yet you would not give your own brother—your blood—the simplest courtesy or respect?”

  Dorian held up his hands and took a step closer. “Malcolm, you—”

  “Don’t!” he roared. “Don’t you fucking move.”

  Dorian stilled, catching Charlotte’s gaze once more.

  A smile graced her lips, and a thin, watery voice, she said, “One percent, right?”

  Dorian instantly recalled their conversation from the night of the battle at Estas’ place.

  “I took a risk… You can call it reckless or a death wish or batshit crazy if you want to, but that won’t change how I feel. It won’t change the fact that I’d do it a hundred times over if it gave me even a one percent shot at keeping you safe.”

  “Those are impossible odds.”

  “One percent is still a chance, Dorian. One I’ll take over the alternative every damn night of the week.”

  “What’s that, brother?” Malcolm asked. His eyes were crazed. Gone. The eyes of a feral beast who no longer remembered he’d ever had a soul.

  There would be no talking to Malcolm. No convincing him to do the right thing—the humane thing.

  He’d lost his humanity long ago.

  Dorian let out a deep breath, and with it, the last of his love for his brother.

  With one more glance for Charlotte, one more smile, Dorian blurred into them, the bone handle gripped tightly in his fist as the Blade of Azerius sank into his brother’s chest.