Dark Seduction: A Vampire Romance (Vampire Royals of New York Book 2)

by Sarah Piper

  “Forgive me, brother,” Malcolm said, “but why do you seem consoled to learn that the demons who attacked you and vandalized your penthouse belong to Rogozin?”

  “Because they don’t belong to Chernikov. Chernikov and I made an agreement this morning, during which he assured me his organization was not involved. If I’d discovered he’d lied to me… Let’s just say I’m relieved to keep my hands free of demon blood for another night.”

  Dorian updated his brothers on the meeting with the demon lord, including their mutual concerns about Duchanes working with Rogozin and Rogozin’s potential plans with the dark witches and demon portals.

  “That’s just what we need,” Aiden said from the adjacent chair, his tone uncharacteristically blue. “An endless supply of demonic enemies streaming in through the front door, fresh from hell and united against us.”

  “Let’s not forget about the grays,” Dorian said.

  “Grays?” Gabriel, who’d been staring into the flames, finally glanced up. “As in, vampire grays? Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “Cole Diamante and his associates are tracking a band of them in the area,” Dorian said. “Now that he’s come back into the fold, Cole has assured me he and the wolves will back us. But yes, the presence of the grays concerns me. After so many years without a sighting, the timing is quite suspect.”

  “Duchanes,” Gabriel said.

  Dorian nodded. “Chernikov has promised to keep me informed of anything he learns about House Duchanes and other vampires looking to ally with demons against the crown. He’s also got an eye on Rogozin and the dark witches.”

  “And what will that juicy bit of intel cost us?” Malcolm asked.

  “Weekend access in Manhattan for his underlings, with certain restrictions in place.”

  “Annoying,” Malcolm said with a shrug, “but tolerable.”

  Dorian took a long pull from his scotch, bracing himself for the rest of the story. “He also wants the Mother of Lost Souls.”

  “Does he now?” Malcolm laughed. “Excellent! Just ask him to kindly point us to its location, and he’s welcome to it.”

  Dorian, Aiden, and Colin exchanged a loaded glance.

  “We’ve… already located it,” Dorian said. “And no, he’s not welcome to it, nor to the demonic text that came along with it.”

  Gabriel and Malcolm remained silent as Dorian, Colin, and Aiden took turns filling them in on their various findings and theories—not just about the statue and the demonic book, but about what Colin had shared with Dorian last night before the attack.

  Father’s alleged cure for vampirism and other so-called supernatural ailments.

  “So you’re telling me there’s a way to wipe supernaturals from the face of the earth?” Gabriel asked, his voice low and sinister. “And we’re sitting on the bloody recipe card?”

  “I’ve yet to locate the precise recipe, if that’s what you wish to call it,” Colin said. “But yes, I believe Father’s journals contain such information—along with a great deal of other highly sensitive data that could become quite dangerous in the wrong hands.”

  “Then why are we standing around up here, jacking off?” Gabriel shot to his feet. “We need to get down to the crypts and burn it. All of it.”

  “I’m no sentimentalist,” Aiden said, “but I would advise against it.”

  Gabriel wheeled on him, his deadly cold eyes shooting daggers of pure ice. “And I would advise against advising the royal family unless such advisement is specifically requested, which it wasn’t. Furthermore—”

  “Sit down, Gabriel,” Colin said, his face stern and commanding, his eyes alight with an anger Dorian had never seen in the typically genteel vampire. “And for once in your immortal life, shut your sodding mouth. Please.”

  “Thank you,” Aiden said. “Bloody hell, this family. Perhaps I should’ve taken my chances and stayed in England. Not that you lot could’ve survived as long without me.”

  “Agreed.” Dorian raised his glass, offering a nod of thanks to his dear friend.

  “Aiden is as much a part of the royal family as any of us,” Colin continued. “And it’s high time we start treating him accordingly. I, for one, appreciate his advice. And in this case, I happen to agree with him. But even if I didn’t, I would welcome his thoughts. So, if you’ve got a problem with rational discourse, Gabriel, kindly excuse yourself from this meeting.”

  All of them were stunned into momentary silence by Colin’s uncharacteristic outburst.

  For a moment, Gabriel seethed, and Dorian worried he might escalate things—his favorite hobby.

  But then he just nodded, sinking back into his chair with nothing more than an aggrieved grunt.

  “Aiden,” Dorian said, sharing a quick smile and a wink with his best mate, “please continue.”

  “Thank you, Colin. Dorian.” Aiden cleared his throat. “As I was saying, I wouldn’t be so quick to destroy the evidence, so to speak. For one thing, we don’t know if there are other copies floating about, or if anyone else was working on the research with your father. It’s possible he had assistance from vampires or mages in other countries. If this information were to find its way into the wrong hands through other means, the last thing we’d want is for House Redthorne to be in the dark.”

  “I understand your position,” Gabriel said, albeit grudgingly. “But if Father truly died from this so-called cure, what’s to stop our enemies from weaponizing it?”

  “Nothing,” Aiden said. “Which is why—in my humble, non-royal, unsolicited opinion, of course—I feel we’ve got the advantage here, and we need to hold onto it. If Colin can solve the puzzle from the source material, we’ll be one step ahead of our enemies.”

  “How do you figure?” Gabriel asked.

  “Like Augustus, Colin is a doctor. If he can decipher the cure for vampirism from your father’s research, perhaps he can decipher a cure for that cure. Perhaps there are even applications beyond weaponry—applications that can help rather than harm vampires, or humans, or shifters, or anyone else with whom we share this beautiful, terrible world.” He shook his head and let out a deep sigh. “Ignorance for the sake of enshrouding others in darkness is still ignorance. I understand the risks, Gabriel, but in this case, I prefer the light.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Colin said. “The material will be kept secured in the crypts. I shan’t remove it, not even for a little bedtime reading. But it will be kept—not destroyed—for all the reasons Aiden articulated and more. Can we set aside our differences on that much, at least?”

  All of them nodded in turn, even—however reluctantly—Gabriel.

  But as much as Dorian agreed with Aiden and Colin, he couldn’t help the new worry gnawing through his chest.

  “There’s… something else,” he finally said, knowing he couldn’t keep it from them for another moment. “In approximately three weeks, unless we can devise a way to stop it, a group of thieves will break into the manor and rob us bloody blind. I have reason to believe the ringleader is working for Rogozin, which means we have to assume the crypts are at risk as well.”

  “Thieves?” Malcolm rose from his chair. “How do you know about this, Dorian? Who is this ringleader?”

  “A worthless cunt by the name of Rudolpho D’Amico.” Dorian ran a hand over his face and sighed. “Otherwise known as Uncle Rudy. Charlotte’s Uncle Rudy.”

  In the raucous volley of questions that followed, Dorian did his best to convey the severity of the situation without implicating Charlotte—a difficult task that left him even more wrung-out than his efforts to keep his hands and mouth from her luscious body.

  Considering Dorian’s terrible history with women—and the consequences such history had brought upon his house—his brothers took the news in stride, even showing concern for Charlotte and Sasha. It was as if the women’s very presence in the manor today had loosened something inside all of them, shining a sliver of light into an otherwise dark, impenetrable fortress of blame and
regret.

  Dorian only hoped his willingness to help Charlotte wouldn’t one day become another of those disastrous regrets, adding yet another layer of darkness to the brotherhood whose return he was only, just now, beginning to welcome.

  “So,” Malcolm said when Dorian finally finished, “we’ve got traitorous bloodsuckers siding with demons looking to make a major power play. We’ve got grays running unchecked in the woods—very likely released by those same traitors. We’ve got a tentative alliance with a demon kingpin who, by all rights, is our mortal enemy. And we’ve got a band of bloody thieves who not only pose a danger to the innocent women upstairs, but are also backed by the very traitors who cast the proverbial first stone.”

  “That about sums it up,” Dorian said. Then, to Gabriel, “I’d like for you to look into this man. This… Rudy.”

  The name still left a bitter taste on his lips, no matter how many times he’d said it today.

  Gabriel glanced up at him, and Dorian prepared for the inevitable argument. But then his brother nodded and said, “Anything in particular I should look for?”

  “Firstly, we need to confirm the Rogozin connection. If they’re still involved, someone will know about it.”

  “Did you check with Chernikov?”

  Dorian shook his head. “Just because we have an agreement doesn’t mean I trust the filthy demon. As far as I’m concerned, the fewer people who know about the planned heist the better. I don’t want House Redthorne cast in an even weaker light.”

  “I’ll see what I can dig up,” Gabriel said. “Piece of shit like that is bound to leave a trail.”

  “Yes, and the sooner we can find it, the sooner we can follow it—and the sooner we can bring him down.”

  “Beyond the human stain,” Malcolm said, “it’s time to face the bigger facts here, brother.”

  Dorian bristled at the self-important tone. “To which bigger facts are you referring, brother?”

  “We’re outgunned in this fight,” he said, crouching down to place another log on the fire. “House Duchanes may be the black sheep among the covens at the moment, but even if the other greater houses turn their backs on them, they’ve still got the numbers, the demons, and—lest we forget—a powerful witch who devised a poison strong enough to wholly incapacitate you.”

  “Don’t forget the bloody grays,” Gabriel added. “I’d bet my own balls Duchanes is responsible.”

  “The odds are certainly stacked against us.” Malcolm rose from the hearth and dusted off his hands, making a show of furrowing his brow and tapping his lips as if he were channeling some utter brilliance from the great beyond.

  To Dorian, it was all part of his endless scheming.

  “For fuck’s sake,” Dorian said. “If I wanted to see a one-act play, I would’ve bought a ticket and put on a better suit. Out with it, Mac.”

  Malcolm met his gaze, his eyes sparkling with a determination Dorian already wanted to quash.

  “Reunite the Council.”

  “The Council?” Dorian scoffed, dismissing the ridiculous suggestion at once. The Council was nothing more than a glorified vampire circle-jerk—a group of high-ranking, mostly ancient vampires who used to gather under the pretense of discussing the mind-numbingly endless politics of the various greater houses, when in fact they just needed an excuse to drink wine and congratulate themselves on their many uninspiring achievements.

  They were so utterly useless that Dorian’s father had disbanded the group decades ago, and the supernatural races had survived in their absence in relative, self-regulating peace.

  Until now.

  “I’ve no interest in resurrecting those dusty relics from the grave,” Dorian said.

  Malcolm folded his arms across his chest. “Need I remind you we’re four vampires standing against—”

  “Five,” Dorian said firmly, glancing again at Aiden. “And we’ve got Cole and the wolves on our side as well, not to mention Lucien and Isabelle Armitage, whom I’m confident will align with us once we’ve eliminated Duchanes.”

  Malcolm shook his head, his face reddening with barely contained anger. “Even if that deal comes to fruition, that still leaves us gravely outnumbered. We need to take charge, Dorian. We—”

  “You mean you need to take charge. That’s what this is about, is it not? Your endless politicking, your scheming, your tiresome manipulations?”

  “Who needs another drink?” Aiden asked, heading for the bar with a roll of his eyes. “Speaking of one-act plays.”

  “If I’m taking charge,” Malcolm said, “it’s because you refuse to. Dorian Redthorne, vampire king? Please. You wear the title as if it’s nothing more than one of your bespoke suits—something to try on for a party and cast aside when—”

  “I didn’t ask for the crown. I wear the title because it’s my duty.”

  “A duty you shirk at every turn.”

  “And you would do better? All this maneuvering, all these games, and you truly believe our situation wouldn’t be just as dire—if not more so—with you at the helm?”

  “I would at least try, which is more than I can say for a man who’d rather spend his days playing with his cock and kneeling at the altar of yet another hot piece of—”

  Dorian had him on the floor in a heartbeat, his knee against Malcolm’s chest, forearm pressed to his throat.

  Malcolm’s eyes ignited with rage, but he only laughed. “You’re pathetic, highness. And when House Redthorne finally falls, I want all of us to remember this moment, and know we’ve only ourselves to blame.”

  “Why?” Dorian bellowed. “Why are you so insistent on undermining me and ruling our house? Our family? What do you want from me?”

  “You have the audacity to talk to me about family?” Malcolm’s lip curled, rage vibrating through his muscles. “Do you remember when we were turned? When our family was decimated?”

  The images, never far from Dorian’s thoughts, rushed to the surface in stunning, brilliant detail.

  The piercing screams of his mother and sister.

  The sharp scent of blood mixing with the sweet scent of spilled brandy.

  The twins, clinging to each other in fear.

  Evie, her eyes wide and hopeless as her own brother swung the blade that ended her life.

  Augustus, watching with little more than a sad acceptance as his newfound partners turned his sons into monsters, butchering his wife and youngest children in the process.

  When it was time for Augustus himself to submit to the bite, he’d done so with pride, truly believing he’d just saved his family from eternal heartbreak. In that man’s twisted mind, the losses were all part of the risk—a fair price for the eternal reward.

  “Don’t,” Dorian whispered now, his heart banging in his chest as he tried in vain to beat back those awful memories. “Please.”

  He rose from the floor and backed away, finally allowing Malcolm to get to his feet, but the younger vampire would not relent. He’d seen a glimpse of Dorian’s weakness, and he attacked it furiously.

  Relentlessly.

  Joyously.

  “On that fateful day,” Malcolm said, “as sweet little Fiona lay dying in your arms, do you know who lay dying in mine?”

  Dorian didn’t respond. Of course he knew—he’d replayed those brutal moments in his mind so many times, he saw them even in his sleep, like a movie he could never turn off, an ending he could never alter.

  It was their mother who took her final breaths in Malcolm’s arms.

  “Mother’s only concern was for her children,” Malcolm continued. “What was left of them, anyway. She made me promise to take care of you—all of you. Do you know why?”

  “She thought I was dying,” Dorian said, and the others looked on in silence. In sadness. In shame.

  “No. You were always strong of body and mind, Dorian. She knew if anyone were to survive, it would be you—her precious eldest son.” He took a step closer, crowding into Dorian’s space, his eyes full of the old ha
tred he’d never quite buried. “And do you know what her last words were, as she gasped and sputtered for air?”

  Dorian shook his head. He’d been too focused on Fiona’s last words to hear their mother’s.

  Why didn’t you help us, Dori?

  “You must look out for them,” Malcolm said softly. “For I fear your brother’s soft heart will be the death of you all.”

  A tear slipped unbidden down Dorian’s cheek, burning his skin with shame.

  “Compassion has no place in the royal court, brother,” Malcolm said, reaching up to cup Dorian’s cheek, swiping the tear with his thumb. His touch was gentle, but his eyes still burned with contempt. With disgust. “A lesson you’ve yet to learn.”

  Dorian turned away, unable to take another moment of Malcolm’s judgment.

  He was right, of course. Just as their mother had been right.

  Dorian possessed a vile temper, an aloof disposition on the best of days, and a legendary lust for blood that was, at times, unquenchable.

  Yet despite his violent past, despite the rage coiled inside him now, despite the monster endlessly rattling its chains, the heart that beat at his core was as soft as a rotten apple, and following it had brought House Redthorne nothing but pain and ruin.

  Dorian closed his eyes, utterly defeated. One by one, he felt the silent departure of his brothers and Aiden, leaving him to duel alone with his many ghosts.

  Hours earlier, he’d looked into Charlotte’s eyes and told her that loving someone wasn’t a character flaw. And maybe that was true for everyone else.

  But not for Dorian Redthorne.

  For the king of the vampires, love would always mean one thing, and one thing only: certain death.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Charley paced.

  Thanks to Dorian, she was getting really good at it too. But even after dozens of laps from one side of the guest bedroom to the other, she still couldn’t cast off the frantic energy buzzing through her veins.

  Only one thing could scratch that particular itch, but despite their adventures in the dining room and the close call in the kitchen, Dorian had made it pretty damn clear it wouldn’t happen again.