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

by Sarah Piper

  “My contact in Paris says Renault is building a case against House Redthorne. A case to legitimately overthrow your rule.”

  “He has no claim,” Dorian said, “and no cause.”

  “He will find one, highness,” Deegan said. “And what then? We should all bow as pliantly to our new rulers as we have to the old?”

  “It’s funny, Senator Deegan.” Dorian narrowed his eyes, making the old bastard squirm. “You speak of pliancy, yet as I recall, you were one of the more… outspoken members of my father’s council. One who caused him a fair bit of legal trouble over the decades.”

  Lawrence Deegan was a belligerent drunk and a womanizer whose antics on Capitol Hill had nearly gotten vampires exposed on national news. In the end, Augustus had given him an ultimatum: retire from the human political realm… or die.

  The old senator bristled, lowering his eyes. “I fail to see—”

  “And that’s precisely the problem, Senator,” Dorian said. “You fail to see.”

  “Why should we presume Duchanes’ guilt without proof?” a vampire called Regina Olivand asked. “And furthermore, why shouldn’t we consider a regime change? Perhaps our lives would improve with some new blood at the helm.”

  “New blood?” Dorian paced the small space that still remained in the overcrowded room, his eyes never leaving hers. “And you believe, Ms. Olivand, that King Duchanes would simply allow you to go about your business unmolested?”

  “We all want peace, your highness,” she said. “That’s all.”

  “Duchanes wants peace?” Dorian shook his head, disgust churning inside him. “Renault Duchanes is working with a powerful demonic faction to overthrow this city as we speak, and you believe he’ll simply smile and wave and wish you well on your journey? Extend the ring for a kiss, and offer you many blessings in return?”

  “House Redthorne is not united,” one of the upstarts chimed in. “That much is clear. How can you keep our communities safe and at peace when you can’t even keep your own house in order?”

  Dorian wanted nothing more than to feed the little shit to the gray, but again, he reined in his anger, forcing his smile back in place.

  “We’re still trying to get a handle on the situation unfolding beyond our walls, but I assure you, we will. As for House Redthorne…” Dorian glared at Malcolm, who sat primly with his hands folded on the table, a smile twitching at his lips. “We are experiencing some personal difficulties following the death of our father and former king. All shall be resolved in time.”

  “Of course,” the upstart said. “And I’m sure I speak for all of us here when I say I’m sorry for your loss. But in the meantime, I think reuniting the council is a good start. We’re your allies, Mr. Redthorne. We want to help.”

  “Is that so, Mr.—Sorry, what did you say your name was?”

  He puffed out his chest. “I’m Dominic of House—”

  “Stop.” Dorian cut him off with a raised hand and a steely glare that instantly drained the blood from the young man’s face. “I don’t actually care what your name is, bloodsucker. And do you want to know why?”

  “I… I…” He stammered like a sodding fool, all of his bravado evaporating. “Yes, sir.”

  “Because you’re a sniveling twat with a bubblehead full of idealistic nonsense. Yesterday you were undoubtedly still trying to give yourself a blowjob in the bath, yet here you are tonight, elbowing your way to a place at the grown-ups’ table.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Redthorne, sir. I—”

  “Yes, you are sorry. And from now on, you’ll address me as highness or king, if you address me at all, which I prefer you do not.” Then, whirling to face Malcolm again, “And you, brother? What are you proposing? Would you like to see us fall at the feet of King Renault Duchanes as well?”

  Malcolm rolled his eyes. “Don’t be melodramatic, Dorian. I simply want everyone’s voice to be heard. That’s why I’ve decided to reconvene the council, along with new delegates representing a diverse cross-section of the community at large.”

  Dorian made a show of glancing around the room, seeing many of the same old faces of the past. Even the new ones looked the same to him—an endless supply of wealthy, privileged vampires, the sons and daughters of those who’d come before.

  “No shifters represented?” Dorian asked. “No witches? No fae? I hardly think this room represents a fair sample of the so-called community at large.”

  “The other supernaturals need our guidance.” Malcolm got to his feet, the facade of cool superiority finally beginning to crumble. “Vampires are the ruling family for a reason.”

  “You are a prince, Malcolm,” Dorian warned. “Not a king. It is not for you to decide how and to whom such guidance is given.”

  “Yes, I am a prince. But you, highness…” He sneered at Dorian, disdain rising in his eyes. “You’re a pathetic excuse for a vampire king who lives and dies by the fickle whims of his cock.”

  Dorian blurred through the crowd, stopping just before his brother and lancing him with another warning glare, but Malcolm was just getting started.

  “Your blindness is the only reason House Redthorne even exists,” Malcolm spat. “If you’d been a bit more discerning as a human, you might’ve noticed your whore was a vampire before—”

  Malcolm blurred inexplicably from Dorian’s view, crashing hard into the adjacent wall.

  Gabriel, who’d just arrived, had him pinned by the throat. “Easy, brother. No need to air the Redthorne laundry in front of our distinguished guests.”

  Before Dorian could even process the fact that Gabriel, of all vampires, was actually defending him, Malcolm fired off a few more rounds.

  “You killed our witch!” he shouted. “You tore apart our city, slaughtering entire families with no remorse! You destroyed us, Dorian. And every day you exist, you continue to consume this family like a cancer!”

  Dorian stood there, taking every bullet to the chest, knowing each one was true.

  “Even tonight,” Malcolm said, his teeth gritted, eyes sharp with rancor, “you’ve brought a human traitor into your bed. A woman connected to Alexei Rogozin.”

  A collective gasp spread around the room like wildfire, igniting the gossip as sure as it ignited Dorian’s wrath.

  Everything else had been fair game. Cruel, perhaps, but fair.

  But Malcolm had no right to bring Charlotte into this. No right to put her in danger.

  Malcolm’s vacated chair was close at hand, and Dorian grabbed it without a second thought, smashing it against the table. Gripping a sharp, jagged piece of wood, he turned to the mob and shouted, “Who among you can claim innocence? Who among you hasn’t spilled a single drop of blood?”

  Dozens of eyes stared back at him, shocked and vacant in their pale faces.

  No one uttered a word. Not the assembled guests. Not his brothers. Not Aiden, who’d just joined them.

  “Who among you is prepared to deal with our enemies by any means necessary?” Dorian asked, turning to the cage behind him.

  Still, no one spoke.

  In a blur, he smashed through the cage and hauled the gray out by its throat, lifting it to its feet. Then, with everyone watching in abject horror, he buried the stake in the creature’s chest.

  It should’ve killed it—should’ve killed any vampire—but of course, it didn’t.

  Gabriel released his hold on Malcolm, and the vampires in the vicinity skittered backward, shocked and confused by the ineffectiveness of the stake.

  “What about you, brother?” Dorian asked, turning the gray toward Malcolm. “Since you’re so keen to lead us into that big, bright future, perhaps you’ve already got a plan for dealing with this?”

  “Dorian,” Gabriel warned. “Now is not the time for—”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Dorian rolled his eyes. Keeping one hand secured around the gray’s throat, he shoved his fist through its back and tore out the heart.

  Again, the gray survived.

  “Th
is.” Dorian held up the ravaged heart, blood dripping down his arm as the gray moaned and twitched in his grip, broken and bloodied but just as alive as every other vampire in that room. “This is but a preview of what Duchanes is planning. So, I ask… Who among you wishes to challenge your king for a shot at the helm?”

  Silence.

  “After all your talk of regime changes and peace,” he said, “is there no vampire brave enough to take the reins?”

  None of them spoke. None of them even breathed. The only sound in that room was the gray’s blood splattering on the hardwood floor.

  “Ours is not a democracy.” Dorian pitched the heart onto the table, where it slid and skidded to a halt in front of Lawrence Deegan. “We unite, under my rule, or we die. If any of you need a moment to consider your options, feel free to take a stroll outside to clear your minds. Though, I’d advise you to stay within shouting distance, unless you’re keen to meet another of our less civilized brethren.”

  With that, as swiftly as he’d torn out the bloody heart, Dorian ripped the amulet from the gray’s neck. Seconds later, the creature—heart and body both—turned to ash.

  Dorian pitched the dark amulet into the fire, where it exploded in a burst of black and purple smoke.

  Shaken and unsteady, Lawrence Deegan got to his feet, slowly backing away from the pile of ash before him. “Perhaps we should reconvene when things are—”

  “We will reconvene, Mr. Deegan,” Dorian said, “when I decide you can be of use to me. Until then, all of you may carry on with your lavish parties and petty squabbling, conniving and drinking and scheming and fornicating to your heart’s content. But when you go to bed each night, I want you to close your eyes, remember this moment, and remind yourself who’s allowing you to carry on. Because the minute you forget, the minute you let your guard down… Well. Perhaps your king will let his down as well. Do we understand one another now, friends?”

  Dorian took the time to meet each and every gaze, waiting for their acknowledging nods.

  Satisfied he’d made his point, he clasped his bloody hands together and grinned. “Excellent. Meeting adjourned.”

  Almost at once, every visiting vampire in that room rose to their feet, quickly making their way toward the exit.

  The air was so thick with cowardice, Dorian nearly choked on it.

  The last simpering imbecile had finally cleared out, leaving only Dorian, Aiden, Gabriel, and Malcolm. The cowardice in the air was immediately replaced with tension, sparking like a live wire.

  Dorian stalked toward his pathetic excuse for a brother, looming so close to Malcom’s face he could count the man’s fucking eyelashes.

  “What you’ve done is tantamount to treason,” he said, his voice dark and menacing. “I should kill you where you stand.”

  Malcom glared at him in silent rebellion, anger and frustration flashing in his eyes.

  Dorian didn’t want to see anger and frustration.

  He wanted to see regret.

  He wanted to see fear.

  Without warning, he shoved his fist through Malcolm’s chest, surprising the hell out of them both.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Gabriel shouted.

  Aiden was there too, desperately trying to calm Dorian’s rage.

  But that was an exercise in futility.

  Malcolm only gasped, his eyes wide, his heart beating frantically in Dorian’s unrelenting grip. In his gaze, Dorian found no further trace of anger. Only a debilitating fear that filled Dorian with a deep satisfaction.

  Perhaps that should’ve concerned him.

  But it didn’t. Not tonight.

  “You’re so convinced I’ve got a soft heart, Mac, but let me tell you something.” Dorian squeezed harder, fingers digging into the wet muscle. One swift jerk, and he could end this. End him. “All hearts are the same on the inside. Remember that next time you’re thinking about undermining your king, prince.”

  He held fast another minute, digging in deeper until Malcolm finally nodded, his eyes glazing with pain.

  Dorian released the heart and yanked his hand out of Malcolm’s chest, and Malcolm pitched forward, staggering as he attempted to catch his breath, his wounds already closing.

  The bastard might’ve uttered something after that—an apology, a curse, a threat—but Dorian would never know. He was beyond caring. He stalked out of that room, blood running down his hands—the gray’s, his brother’s, all of it was the same now—leaving a trail on the gleaming hardwood floors.

  When Dorian passed by the large mirror in the foyer, the brief glimpse of his reflection sent shockwaves of pain and fear rippling through his heart.

  In that reflection, he saw a vampire full of ire and violence.

  He saw a man full of hatred, capable of the worst kinds of cruelty.

  He saw his father, Augustus Redthorne, smirking at him from the depths of hell.

  He saw his own death.

  “Fuck!” Dorian launched his fist through the glass, shattering it into a thousand deadly shards.

  “That’s bad luck, Mr. Redthorne,” a voice hissed in the darkness.

  Dorian spun around as a figure stepped out of the shadows, cloaked and hooded.

  He blurred into the man’s space, gripping him by the throat. “What part of meeting adjourned did you not understand, bloodsucker?”

  “I’m no bloodsucker,” came the reply.

  The hood fell back, revealing the would-be assassin’s identity.

  He was a she. And she was—thankfully—neither vampire nor assassin.

  She was a witch.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Isabelle?” Dorian released her at once and blinked, not trusting his own eyes. He hadn’t seen Isabelle Armitage since the disastrous fundraiser, and in the wake of the stalled acquisition talks, he’d feared he’d never see her again. “What are you doing here? Is your father with you?”

  “No. We’d heard whispers that Malcolm was reconvening the council tonight. My brothers are concerned vampires are gaining too much power—they wanted to be sure the interests of mages and witches are well represented.”

  “I’m sorry you’ve wasted the trip, Isabelle.” Dorian sighed, clasping his bloody hands before him. “There is no council. Just a good bit of family drama centuries in the making.”

  She offered an understanding smile. “I said my brothers were concerned about their interests, but that’s not actually why I’ve come. I need to discuss something with you—their insistence was merely a convenient excuse.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  Isabelle nodded, keeping her voice low. “Am I correct in assuming once your company secured Armitage Holdings, your intention was for House Redthorne to propose a bonded partnership?”

  “That was my intention, yes. But with the deal currently in limbo, I’m not sure we should hold out hope for such an alliance.”

  Isabelle glanced toward the dining room, where the tattered remains of Dorian’s family lingered, undoubtedly wondering if their eldest brother had finally lost his bloody mind.

  Sensing Isabelle wanted some privacy, he led her into the study and shut the door behind them.

  “My father is unwell, Mr. Redthorne,” she said. “That’s the real reason for the delay with the acquisition.”

  “Unwell? What’s wrong?”

  “He’s suffering from early onset Alzheimer’s. His mind is fracturing, and my brothers are concerned about his ability to make decisions.”

  “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

  “We’ve tried to keep it quiet,” she said, her eyes filled with sadness. “He has his good days as well as his bad, though lately I’m afraid the latter are eclipsing the former.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “All I’m asking is for your patience. My brothers know Duchanes is a loose cannon at best, but they see my father’s illness as a way to secure their own financial futures, and Renault has promised to double FierceConnect’s offers at
every turn. They’re pushing for a quick sale, confusing my father with talk of counteroffers and legalities…” Isabelle sighed. “I’m doing my best to keep them at bay, but it’s not easy. Father’s health is my priority, and I don’t wish to upset him. But I know selling to FierceConnect is what he would’ve wanted.”

  Frustration mounted in Dorian’s chest, but he understood.

  “FierceConnect’s interest in Armitage Holdings remains strong, Isabelle. We can wait as long as necessary.”

  “And your interest in the bonded partnership?”

  “It would be an honor to offer you such a proposal,” Dorian said. “If and when the time is right for you.”

  Isabelle nodded. “I can’t pledge myself in an official capacity at this time without upsetting the balance at home, but I will help you, Mr. Redthorne—in any way that I can—until such time as our partnership can be solidified.”

  Fresh hope rose in Dorian’s heart. A bonded witch, after more than fifty years without one…

  It felt like a dream. No more chasing down freelancers. No more fading tattoos, eyes aching in the sunlight, mind clouding with confusion. No more falling victim to his insatiable hunger so soon after a feed.

  He could regain his full power. Protect his family. Protect his woman.

  It was almost too good to be true.

  “You’re… certain?” Dorian asked. “I’m not sure how much of that meeting you overheard, but I feel compelled to warn you my family is not in its strongest position right now. And with Duchanes causing havoc from afar… You’re putting yourself at risk, Isabelle.”

  In response, she gestured for Dorian to hold out his hands, palms up.

  “You’ll have to excuse the blood,” he said. “Malcolm and I—”

  “I know.” She placed her hands over his, their palms touching. “May I?”

  Dorian nodded, and Isabelle closed her eyes, whispering an ancient incantation that warmed his skin, sending waves of heat cascading up both arms.

  The magic was following the lines of his tattoos, he realized. Strengthening them as surely as Charlotte’s blood had strengthened them. But unlike the spell, the blood was a remedy Dorian couldn’t rely on. Not without putting the woman he loved at risk.