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

by Sarah Piper

  Malcolm’s eyes went wide, and in that moment, all the haze, all the insanity cleared.

  “Forgive me, brother,” he choked out. “The only… way to… All the… And summon the…” His eyes flickered as Rudy’s had, and then he released her, collapsing to the ground.

  Charlotte fell forward into Dorian’s arms, sucking in a strangled breath, the wounds in her back already knitting closed.

  Dorian held her upright, damn near choking on his relief. He’d only just looked into her eyes again when he caught the movement behind her.

  A white raven perched on an upended cocktail table.

  And there at the base, his brother rose from the ground, the blade still protruding from his chest, his eyes the color of midnight oil.

  “Who has summoned me, and for what purpose?” the creature formerly known as Malcolm demanded.

  Charlotte gasped. “Rogozin… He said something about Azerius… Something about how he kills his brothers like Cain, and that’s when he comes. I knew it had something to do with the blade, but I didn’t… Dorian, you’ve…”

  Dorian blinked rapidly, still not believing his own eyes.

  It wasn’t Malcolm.

  It was him.

  Azerius.

  The demon who’d claimed Charlotte.

  Though his eyes were entirely black, Dorian sensed the shift of his gaze to Charlotte.

  Dorian released his woman.

  Without another thought, he grabbed the demon and blurred him up to the roof, far away from the people he loved.

  Far away from Charlotte.

  In the pale, pre-dawn light, Dorian and the demon Azerius circled each other upon the gravely rooftop, sizing each other up. Dorian tried to think, recalling everything they’d learned about demon vessels, about Azerius, about the blade.

  The blade would not have killed Malcolm—only a wooden stake would’ve done that. But it likely expelled his soul and turned him into a host, which Azerius was now occupying. The creature still had Malcolm’s movements and gestures, which likely meant he possessed vampire power, but not demonic.

  No hellfire, or Dorian would likely already be dead.

  But it also meant he’d be a much stronger version of Malcolm, which put Dorian at a disadvantage.

  “I am Azerius,” the demon finally said, “King of Blood and Ravens, He Who Slaughters the Blood of his Blood, He Who Drinks the Blood of the Fallen, He Whom Before All Mortals Weep, He Whom Bringeth the—”

  “Yes, and I’m Dorian Redthorne, vampire king of New York, brother to the royal princes, and blah, blah, blah with the pageantry. Frankly, I don’t give a fuck about your titles. You’re in my city now, demon. Hitching a ride in my brother’s body, looking at the woman I love. We need to have a talk about your choices, demon.”

  “A talk? How about a deal instead?”

  “What are you offering?”

  “I will remove the demons from your city—all of the demons, from all of your cities.”

  “And in return?” Dorian asked, already knowing the answer. Already knowing he’d say no.

  “Hand over the woman,” Azerius said.

  “That’s all you’d ask of me?” Dorian laughed. They were still circling each other like wild dogs about to pounce. “One human woman—a woman you’ve allegedly already claimed?”

  “I cannot collect on that claim for another fortnight.”

  Dorian swallowed down his shock. His fear. “A fortnight is hardly a long wait.”

  “A fortnight on earth is several thousand years in hell. And what can I say? I find her… intriguing.”

  Dorian pretended to consider his offer, then shook his head. “A compelling offer, to be sure. But I’ve got a counter.”

  The demon king raised an eyebrow.

  “The woman claims herself,” Dorian said. “And you can take your contract, your titles, and all the demons in all the cities in the world, and shove them up straight up your arrogant ass.”

  The demon let out a deep, dark laugh that damn near reverberated across the city. “A fight it is, vampire king.”

  He blurred at Dorian, taking him down with a force like a mack truck. They rolled hard, and when they finally reached the edge of the rooftop, Dorian was pinned beneath his impossibly strong form.

  Azerius wrapped a hand around Dorian’s throat, but before he could get a good grip, Dorian shoved a knee into his groin, sending him reeling.

  Dorian blurred to the other side of the roof for a momentary reprieve, but again the demon was on him, blurring in and out of his space, slamming him with an uppercut and a jab, the force of the blows making his head spin.

  Another quick jab, a kick to the stomach, a fist to the face. Dorian took every blow, giving back just as many in return.

  They fought like feral ghouls. They fought like grays. They fought until Dorian’s ears rang and the world spun, and still, Azerius did not capitulate.

  Neither did Dorian.

  Azerius blurred in close again, sinking his fangs into Dorian’s shoulder and tearing out a chunk of flesh, carving him clear down to the bone.

  His arm felt as if it were on fire.

  Despite the agony, Dorian landed a fresh series of blows to the size of Azerius’ head, then dropped to a crouch, sweeping his leg out in a wide arc and knocking Azerius onto his ass. He leaped onto the demon, pinning his arms with his knees and grabbing his head, slamming it hard into the ground, again and again and again, caving in the back of his skull.

  Blood poured from the would, from his ears, from his mouth, but Azerius only laughed.

  “You would kill your own brother for this woman?” he demanded. “This human?”

  Dorian panted, his heart slamming against his ribs, sweat pouring into his eyes and nearly blinding him. “Again, and again, and again.”

  The demon laughed once more. Then, in a move so sudden and unexpected it made the whole world spin, Azerius blurred them back to the edge of the roof, pinning Dorian down once more.

  He wrapped his hands around Dorian’s throat, and this time, his grip didn’t slip. It was unrelenting, choking off the last of Dorian’s air, crushing his windpipe, fracturing the small bones of his neck.

  Soon, he would pass out.

  Soon, the crush of Azerius’s grip would decapitate him.

  Soon, Dorian Redthorne would reach his immortal end.

  “You fought well, vampire king,” Azerius taunted, blood leaking from an unhealed gash over his eye. “But only a miracle will save you now.”

  Miracle.

  The word triggered something in Dorian’s memory, just out of reach.

  An argument with his brothers.

  Colin, erupting in anger.

  A glass vial flickering in the firelight. A deep, red-orange glow.

  A miracle.

  Colin’s words whispering from the farthest reaches of his mind.

  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...

  A smudge of light as he blurred to the mantle.

  His fingers closing on the cold glass vial.

  The miracle, still in his shirt pocket where he’d shoved it out of Malcolm’s reach.

  “I am Azerius,” the demon said now, a grin of victory twisting his cruel mouth. “I am the King of Blood and Ravens. I am He Who Slaughters the Blood of his Blood. I am He Who Drinks the Blood of the Fallen. I am He Whom Before All Mortals Weep.”

  “You,” Dorian choked out, “are a test subject.” With his very last bit of strength, he jammed the syringe into Azerius’ neck and pressed the plunger, dosing him with the miracle cure.

  The air rushed back into his lungs as Azerius released his throat, his hands clawing at the puncture wound.

  But it was too late. The cure was already doing its work, turning the vampire body into a human, weakening him. Breaking him down.

  With Azerius still looming over him, D
orian shoved his hand through the demon’s chest—Malcolm’s chest—gripping his heart just as he’d done the night of the council meeting.

  In that terrible, blood-drenched moment, the demon’s eyes shifted from black to golden, his face crumpling in anguish as he looked upon Dorian with the face of his brother Malcolm.

  “Please, brother,” he said, stealing Malcolm’s voice. “Don’t do this.”

  A tear slid down Dorian’s cheek, and though he knew it wasn’t really Mac—knew it was just another of Azerius’ tricks—he took the opportunity to say goodbye anyway, knowing it would be the very last time he could.

  “I’m so sorry, Mac. For… for everything. But it’s already done. I… I hope you find peace, brother.”

  He tore the heart from his chest, holding it for a brief, bloody instant before everything turned to black ash in his hands, falling onto his chest and scattering in the chilly Manhattan wind.

  Dorian got to his knees.

  He stared at his hands for what felt like an eternity, and all around him, a hush fell over his city.

  And then Dorian Redthorne, vampire king of New York, brother to the royal princes, slayer of the King of Blood and Ravens, closed his eyes and wept.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  It was Charlotte who saved him.

  When they’d finally broken down the door and she appeared before him on the rooftop, whole and unbroken, the sun rose over her shoulder, and for a moment Dorian swore she’d brought him the dawn.

  “Charlotte?” His voice cracked, and he blinked up at her as if he hadn’t seen her in years.

  Centuries.

  Eons.

  “Dorian,” she breathed, dropping to her knees before him.

  He reached for her hair, the soft feel of it like a precious gift after all the vile things he’d touched today.

  “Malcolm…?” she whispered.

  A question. A prayer.

  Dorian could only shake his head.

  The tears fell from her eyes, and she drew him into her embrace, holding his head against her chest, pressing her lips to his ash-coated hair as he steadied himself by the beat of her heart.

  “What of the mark,” he whispered urgently, still holding her close, terrified to meet her eyes.

  “Isabelle says it’s gone.”

  Dorian choked back a sob, fisting her shirt. “Tell me you’re mine, Charlotte D’Amico. Please, love. Tell me you’re mine.”

  “I’m yours, Dorian Redthorne. Always.”

  He crushed her in his embrace, and together they held each other until the city was on fire with sunlight and the tears finally stopped and their hearts were beating as one with the same deep, perfect rhythm.

  Back on the main floor of the club, Dorian watched in silence as the Rogozin demons, Cole and his shifters, and Gabriel worked together to sweep up the ashes and mop the blood from the floor. Behind the bar, several witches sat bound to high-backed chairs as Colin checked them for injuries and Isabelle ferreted out whatever intel she could.

  Once loyal to House Duchanes, they were Redthorne prisoners now, and would need to be interrogated and punished for their crimes, but Dorian suspected most of them—like Jacinda Colburn, sitting at the end of the row—hadn’t a choice.

  He had no interest in further tormenting them. Only in ensuring something like this wouldn’t—couldn’t—happen again.

  Near the windows up front, Aiden and Charlotte sat with Sasha, Charlotte holding her sister in a tight embrace as the girl grilled them with a thousand and one questions. Aiden answered every single one of them with the patience of a saint, doing his best to guide her through her first trial-by-fire crash course on the history of the supernatural.

  All in all, she seemed to be taking it pretty well, just like her big sister had.

  Dorian smiled at the memory of Charlotte’s very first question.

  Why the fuck didn’t you tell me you’re a bloodsucking vampire king?

  They’d certainly come a long way since then.

  Taking a seat at the far end of the bar, Dorian reached for an unbroken bottle of scotch and a glass, filling it to the rim. Before he took his first sip, a shadow fell upon his face, and a thick, blood-soaked arm reached for the vodka.

  “Mr. Rogozin,” Dorian said, offering a small nod of thanks.

  “Please,” he said, filling his glass to the rim just as Dorian had. “Call me Alexei.”

  A few moments passed in silence, then Alexei finally said, “Seems to me, New York City is lonely place to be without allies—especially for Vampire Royals of New York.”

  “And for the most powerful demonic faction on the eastern seaboard.”

  Rogozin grinned. “Very true.”

  Dorian sighed and lowered his gaze to his untouched drink.

  In the history of supernaturals on the earthly plane, he was certain there had never been an official alliance between the ruling vampire family and the Russian demons—any demons. His father was likely turning over in the proverbial grave.

  But Augustus Redthorne’s reign was over.

  Dorian’s was just beginning.

  He’d never asked for the crown. Never wanted it.

  But for the first time since his father’s death, he was beginning to see it as the honor it truly was—an honor he didn’t have to bear alone.

  Turning his attention back to Rogozin, he said, “There are still other demons that need taking care of.”

  “Starting with Nikolai Chernikov.” Rogozin grinned. “Do not worry. Killing him will be great pleasure. Then, with Nikolai dead and backing of vampire king, we will quickly bring others in line.”

  Dorian nodded and took a deep, steadying breath.

  Considered his next move.

  Searched his heart for the alarm bells he was certain he’d hear.

  But they never rang.

  Deep inside, there was only acceptance. Hope.

  Things could be different now. Better. But it had to start with trust. A cautious trust, but a trust nevertheless.

  Without further hesitation, Dorian handed over the Blade of Azerius. “This will probably make your job a bit easier.”

  Rogozin took it with both hands, his gaze as reverent as it was surprised. “But… What about deal? What about ten million dollars?”

  “Keep your money, Alexei. Frankly, I’d rather the loyalty.”

  “You have already earned it.”

  “Really? Even though I felled your King of Blood and Ravens?”

  “Felled?” Rogozin chuckled. “You were worthy opponent, Dorian Redthorne. But Lord Azerius is like cockroach in nuclear attack. He can not be killed—not even by king of vampires.”

  “Alexei, I trapped him in a vessel, turned him into a human, and tore the bloody heart from his chest. He’s quite dead, I assure you.”

  “Not dead. Only banished for one thousand years.”

  Alarm flooded Dorian’s chest. “But I thought… What of the demon mark? The witch said it’s no longer—”

  “Relax, vampire king. Through your bravery, you have broken demon bind. Lord Azerius granted you reprieve and will not come after your Charlotte. D’Amico again. You, on the other hand? I can’t make promise.”

  Dorian blew out a breath and shrugged. “A thousand years, though, right? Plenty of time to prepare for a rematch.”

  Rogozin laughed, then lifted his glass. “So. Redthorne and Rogozin. Best friends forever?”

  Dorian laughed. “Let’s start with mutually benefitting associates and see where it goes.”

  “Fair enough, King Redthorne.”

  They touched glasses and drank, Rogozin gulping down his entire glass in one long pull.

  When he finished, he set his glass hard on the bar and said, “I will notify you when Chernikov deed is done. Later today, with any good luck.”

  “Thank you. Oh, and Alexei?” Dorian held his gaze, a new understanding passing between them—the first, Dorian hoped, of many. “Dorian will do just fine.”

  “
So let’s recap.” Gabriel righted an overturned stool and took a seat beside Dorian. “The royal Redthornes are now aligned with Rogozin demons. House Duchanes has been decimated, but Renault himself is M.I.A. Cole is still getting reports of grays upstate. And we’ve got a dark witch’s curse to unravel, unless we all want to die a slow, terrible death.”

  “Never a dull moment for House Redthorne,” Dorian said. “Not to worry, though. I think I’m finally ready to make some new hires. Security guards or… I don’t know. Minions. Don’t kings have minions?” He sipped his scotch and shook his head. “Bloody hell, this is a terrible idea. I really don’t like people.”

  “Fairly certain the feeling is mutual, brother.”

  “You know, Gabriel, you’re quite humorous when you’re not being an asshole.”

  “If I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard that…”

  “I can only imagine.” Dorian took another drink, then said, “So what’s next, little brother? Heading back to Sin City now that the worst is behind us here?”

  “Right. About that…” Gabriel reached for a glass and poured himself some scotch, then topped off Dorian’s glass. “Bloodbath was a terrible name with a terrible clientele, but the place itself has potential. Good bones, as they say. Plus, you really can’t beat the location.”

  “Bloodbath? This Bloodbath?”

  “It’s ours now, brother. To the victor go the spoils, et cetera, et cetera.”

  “You’re… staying?” Dorian could hardly speak through the sudden knot of emotion in his throat.

  “Well, someone needs to keep an eye on you. Look what happened last time we left you alone for fifty years—you damn near destroyed the place. Besides, I think I already have my first employee. She looks good behind the bar, does she not?”

  He grinned over at Jacinda, tied to a chair beside the other witches.

  “Fuck you, bloodsucker,” she spat. “I will bleed you dry and grind your bones into dust.”

  “See?” Gabriel said. “She’ll be winning customer service awards in no time.”

  “If you say so.” Dorian could hardly reconcile the fiery, angry woman behind the bar with the memory of the sweet witch he’d first met at the fundraiser, wandering through his gardens in search of rare herbs.