Heart of Thorns: A Dark Vampire Romance (Vampire Royals of New York: Gabriel Book 1)

by Sarah Piper

  “What did I tell you?” Aiden said to Isabelle. “Wrecking ball.”

  “You’ve made your feelings about my kind quite clear, Gabriel,” Isabelle said coolly. “But everyone in this room knows you’ve never killed a witch and you’re not about to start now.”

  He nearly laughed. The fact that Isabelle—an empathic witch with nearly forty winters behind her, a woman more shrewd than even his most ruthless Vegas pit bosses—believed such a thing…

  Well. That only proved how deeply Gabriel’s secrets ran.

  He looked at his captive again, still stirring her soup. Still beautiful. Still maddening.

  “Defiant little witch,” he ground out. “Trapped in an apartment that doesn’t belong to her, no allies, claimed as property by a royal vampire, yet she still won’t admit she’s been bested. I should kill her just for being so damned arrogant.”

  He wanted to, too. Snuff the flame right out of her eyes. Maybe then he’d stop thinking about what else would light her up. What else would make her tremble and gasp and call him Prince…

  “Jacinda Colburn may be dark,” Isabelle said, scattering his thoughts, “but she’s as much a victim as a perpetrator. A pawn in a game she has no business playing.”

  “We’re all pawns in someone’s game, Isabelle. Some of us are just better at winning.” Gabriel flashed a grin that would have most women melting into a puddle, but Isabelle was immune to his charms. The kind of woman who did not, as the saying goes, suffer fools.

  Intending on finding a fresh bottle of bourbon from the cabinet behind him, Gabriel rose from his chair. But the movement had him swaying, stars dancing before his eyes.

  For fuck’s sake.

  Three days on and he was still struggling to regain his full strength after the fight at Bloodbath. He’d lost count of how many demons he’d fed on, not to mention all the hospital blood bags he’d drained in the days since. Nothing had been enough to sustain him—a condition that was growing worse by the day. He was also increasingly sensitive to sunlight, and other than liquor, human food and drink—once an enjoyable indulgence—were quickly losing their appeal.

  Unlike his secrets, the effects of the family curse were not so easily hidden.

  “Give me your hands, Gabriel,” Isabelle said flatly, standing to reach for him. There was no judgment in her tone, but he couldn’t help but bristle.

  Everything in him burned to resist the offer, but it was no use. He needed the magic of her spells just as his brothers did.

  A vampire’s fate was a cruel one—a cloak of immortality and superhuman strength stitched together with threads of weakness and depravity. Even if he weren’t contending with the curse that amplified those weaknesses, without witchcraft, he and every other vampire would revert to their natural state.

  A gray. The same feral creatures his brother and Cole were attempting to hunt to extinction.

  He rested his arms on the desk and nodded for Isabelle to work her magic.

  Hands hovering just above his skin, she closed her eyes and muttered the spell. Heat and magic raced up both arms, tingling along the lines of the magical tattoos he’d received when he’d first been turned—remnants of another time, another witch he’d rather forget. The tattoos glowed brightly, then sank into his skin, darkening. He felt the effects immediately, a new strength coursing through him, a clarity of mind he hadn’t felt in weeks.

  A quick nod of thanks, and Gabriel turned his attention back to Aiden. “And you?”

  Aiden didn’t need further explanation. “No symptoms yet. We don’t know if I’ll be affected, though. Technically, we don’t share the same bloodline.”

  “No, but we share the same sire. And you were our brother then, for all intents and purposes.”

  “For all the good it’s done me.” Aiden laughed, warm and genuine as always, despite the fact that Gabriel had all but ignored him for most of their natural lives and a good bit of their immortal ones.

  Still. Gabriel was worried about him. He wouldn’t wish this curse on anyone but his worst enemies. And since his own father had sired Renault Duchanes, Gabriel’s current worst enemy was already cursed.

  Missing, but cursed.

  Gabriel rose and retrieved that bottle of bourbon, pouring himself another glass. “According to Malcolm, the… We have to… There’s…” He trailed off, memories of his deceased brother rushing at him unbidden.

  Malcolm, the traitor threatening Dorian, leading a council of enemies to undermine their family and usurp the crown.

  Malcolm, the bloodthirsty fiend murdering innocents in an alley to satiate his endless hunger.

  Malcolm, the human teenager desperately trying to shield Gabriel from their father’s blows on a rainy English morning, centuries past.

  Malcolm, the ashes clinging to Dorian’s skin after the battle at Bloodbath.

  Malcolm, the mystery they would never solve until, perhaps, they were reunited in hell.

  Gabriel cleared his throat. Swallowed half his drink. Tried again, his voice quiet with the pain of grief and betrayal he was still trying to bury. “The last time Malcolm ran into Duchanes, Duchanes insisted the curse was placed on our family, to be passed on to any vampires we sired. To me, that sounds like you’re at risk. Do you agree, Isabelle?”

  “It would depend on the precise wording and intention of the curse,” Isabelle said, “which we’ll likely never know. We have to assume the worst.”

  Aiden took another sip of his drink and shrugged. “I’ll avoid any tropical vacations and let you know if I start feeling hungry. Well, more than usual. As for Duchanes, Malcolm said he was already showing symptoms. Worse even than Dorian.”

  “I’m less concerned with Duchanes’ well-being and more concerned with the fact that he knows our family’s weakness. He’s still at large, Aiden. Likely regrouping. If word gets out about this curse, our enemies won’t need to roast us with hellfire or form secret councils to overthrow us. They can kill us with rumors. A weak king is a dead king.”

  “A rumor is not the truth.”

  “No? What is the truth if not the thing most people believe? The thing being shouted by those with the loudest voices? Our enemies suffered a grave setback at Bloodbath, but they’re not gone, Aiden. This is far from over.”

  “Dorian has aligned with Rogozin’s organization. The royal vampires and the most powerful demonic faction in the city are united. He’s inviting new blood onto a new council—younger vampires, demons from Rogozin’s organization as well as those who are unaligned. Shifters and witches too. All will have a voice under your brother’s rule. That’s the pathway to lasting peace.”

  Gabriel sneered into his glass. “For all the peace my brother believes he’s brokering, what good will it do if we’re all dead in a month?”

  “We’ll find a way, Gabriel.”

  “There’s only one way. Breaking this damnable curse before it breaks us.” Gabriel’s gaze shifted back to the laptop. Downstairs, Jacinda was sitting out on the balcony, drinking soup from an oversized mug and watching the sun sink behind the skyline. He glanced out his window, sharing the same view.

  “Jacinda Colburn can help us,” he said, though he wasn’t sure which of them he was more eager to convince—Aiden, Isabelle, or himself. “Both in tracking down Duchanes and breaking the curse.”

  “Doesn’t mean we can trust her,” Aiden said.

  Isabelle shook her head. “No, we can’t. But Gabriel’s right to try. I promised Dorian I’d continue researching the curse to the best of my abilities, but as I’ve told him, my experience with dark magic isn’t as broad as that of a true dedicant. As grim as it may seem, Jacinda really is our best hope.”

  “She’s already agreed to help,” Gabriel said, “though she claims ignorance as to Duchanes’ whereabouts and I haven’t yet shared the details about the curse.”

  “Didn’t she tell you to bugger off?” Aiden asked.

  “I didn’t say her help would be offered enthusiastically.”


  Aiden glanced at the laptop, where Jacinda—as if she knew she was being watched at that precise moment—turned and extended a middle finger toward the exterior camera.

  Aiden found it highly amusing. “Or even willingly, from the looks of things.”

  “We have an understanding, the witch and I.” Gabriel shut the laptop. “Or we will, once she accepts her predicament.”

  “And if she doesn’t?” he asked.

  Gabriel clenched his fist, the veins rising beneath his tattoos. Isabelle’s magic was already fading. “Then I shall just have to be a bit more… persuasive.”

  Chapter Seven

  All sorts of magic happened while Jaci slept.

  In the week since she’d been captured and locked away, someone had delivered groceries, including more fresh produce and an assortment of fresh baked H&H bagels in every possible flavor, with every possible topping.

  Someone had delivered an artful arrangement of flowers and plants for the balcony and window boxes, including some culinary herbs she could use in both cooking and spellcraft.

  Someone had delivered the exact shampoo and conditioner she’d requested, along with a bunch of soaps, lotions, and nail polishes she hadn’t.

  And this morning, as she’d stumbled bleary-eyed to the living room after a restless night, she’d nearly crashed into a tower of boxes stacked just inside the door—all of her things from the basement at House Duchanes, mundane and magical alike.

  House elves? Grocery fairies? Vampire henchmen? Jaci had no idea who’d delivered the goods—only that it wasn’t the vampire prince.

  As far as Jaci knew, Gabriel Redthorne hadn’t bothered to grace her doorstep once since the day he’d unceremoniously abandoned her here.

  Not that she was complaining. In all her years scrabbling to survive in New York, she’d never had so much peace and quiet, not to mention hot meals and a comfortable bed.

  But…

  What the hell was she supposed to do with herself? Gabriel had ordered her to track down Duchanes, but the vile bloodsucker did not want to be found—least of all by the witch who now worked for his enemy. And Gabriel hadn’t said another word about that mysterious curse, either.

  Typical man. Vampire, demon, human, they were all the same. Make a mess, drop a woman in the middle of it, and expect her to clean it up while they gallivant around like royalty, jerking off and taking all the credit for someone else’s hard work.

  Unfortunately for Jaci, Gabriel Redthorne was royalty. Supernatural royalty. And she needed to stay in his good graces and do what he asked, no matter how badly it chapped her ass.

  Besides, he’d saved her a trip back to Duchanes’ place. The fact that she’d never have to set foot in that house of horrors again filled her with an unreasonable amount of joy.

  Followed by a slightly-more-reasonable amount of dread.

  I hope we never find that bastard…

  Shaking off old ghosts, she headed into the kitchen, desperately seeking caffeine. She’d just set her black vanilla tea to steep in the pot and dropped a sesame bagel into the toaster when the hairs on her arms stood on end, a crisp, wintery scent invading her senses.

  “Just rolling out of bed, are we?”

  “Shit!” She grabbed the closest weapon off the counter and spun around to face the invader.

  Gabriel. Standing before her in all his late-afternoon glory, dressed in dark jeans and a fitted gray cashmere sweater, hair tousled, a few days’ worth of stubble lining his jaw, looking hotter than anyone had a right to. “If you’re planning to decapitate me with a butter knife, we’re going to be here a while.”

  Huffing out a sigh, she set down the knife. “Damn it, Prince. You can’t just sneak up on a girl like that.”

  “It’s my building, witch. I can come and go as I please, sneaking or otherwise.”

  Fear gave way to annoyance, which quickly gave way to relief.

  Relief? Yeah. She chalked it up to the fact that she hadn’t interacted with anyone but her cousin all week and talking to a demon in the bathroom mirror wasn’t the same thing as real, live company.

  “Looks like you’re settling in…” His mossy green gaze raked her from head to toe, taking in the sight of her flannel pajama pants and the oversized hoodie she’d basically been living in. “…comfortably.”

  Heat rushed to her cheeks. She wished she’d at least braided her hair, maybe put on a bra.

  Flashing a too-wide smile, she said, “Oh, you bet. Should’ve put getting kidnapped and stashed in a stranger’s apartment on my bucket list ages ago!”

  “Consider yourself fortunate I’ve stashed you in an apartment rather than a dungeon. Most prisoners don’t receive my courtesy.”

  “You think a cappuccino machine and a killer view means this isn’t a prison? Maybe I should take my chances in that dungeon.”

  He took one step, then another, crowding into her space and bringing the chill with him. “Say the word, witch, and I’ll gladly make the arrangements.”

  She held his gaze, searching his eyes for some hint of warmth. Humanity. Anything but that icy darkness.

  The toaster popped, making her yelp.

  Ridiculous.

  Raising that stupidly sexy eyebrow, Gabriel took a step backward, and she pushed past him to the toaster and retrieved her bagel. As she slathered on the cream cheese, she couldn’t help but wonder just how long it would take to decapitate him with a butter knife. Probably depended on the angle…

  Good graces, she reminded herself.

  “So, what brings you here today, Prince?” She set down her knife and lifted half the bagel to her lips. “Popping in for a spot of tea?”

  Ignoring both questions, he asked, “Have you had any luck tracking Duchanes?”

  “Oddly, he’s not returning my calls. I think he’s just not into me.” She took a big bite, then an exaggerated frown, speaking through a full mouth. “Maybe I’m too clingy?”

  The muscle on Gabriel’s jaw ticked. “I assumed you had other means of tracking him. Magical means.”

  “Normally, yes. But I’ve only just received my supplies today, and whoever packed them made a mess of everything. I need time to look through it all, organize it, cleanse my tools, set up an altar, charge my crystals by the full moon, which isn’t happening for another—”

  “I don’t need the play-by-play, Jacinda. Just find a way to get it done.”

  She shoved in another bite of bagel to stop herself from saying something rude. Something about gallivanting and jerking off.

  “Tell me about the curse,” she finally said instead. “Maybe we can get started on that while I figure out what to do about our missing vampire.”

  “It’s old, dark, and deadly.”

  “Deadly to whom?”

  He glared at her, waiting for the realization to sink in.

  Oh. Oh.

  “But… but you’re immortal,” she said. “How is a deadly curse against a vampire even possible?”

  “That’s for you to figure out.” He reached for her face, swiping an errant glob of cream cheese from the corner of her mouth with his thumb. Then, licking it clean, “And break.”

  Jaci’s appetite abandoned her. She turned away from him, forcing her heart rate to chill out and buying herself a minute to think.

  The things that could kill a bloodsucker were few and specific. Decapitation, as he’d mentioned. A wooden stake through the heart, tearing out said heart, or—a favorite of demons everywhere—burning them with hellfire. She’d never heard of a vampire dying by curse—not a curse a witch could conjure on her own, anyway.

  Which meant… oh, fuck. The curse wasn’t just dark magic. It was demonic magic. It had to be.

  An icy finger of dread slithered along her spine, colder than even the vampire’s impatient glare. A curse of this nature combined the worst of both worlds—crafted by the darkest witch, bound by a demon with all the powers of hell. It was a rare combination—a dangerous mix that ultimately required the witch to s
acrifice herself to hell in order to fully bind the spell.

  As far as Jaci knew, no one had practiced demonic hexwork in centuries. Even her own dark work with the resurrection amulets paled in comparison.

  “What’s the curse, precisely?” She finally turned to face him again. “You’re still standing here, so I assume it’s not the sort of thing that kills you on a whim.”

  “A whim, no. This curse is more of the slow-torture variety.” He took a step toward her, closing the distance between them again. His eyes carried a dark warning, one he didn’t need to put into words.

  There was only one reason he’d trust her with this.

  Because he knew, as much as she’d tried to hide it, that Jaci needed him as much as he needed her. Maybe even more.

  After all, Gabriel could buy himself another dark witch. But Jaci? She had nowhere else to run.

  “Think of it as reverse evolution,” he continued. “From vampire passing as a human, with all the luxuries and comforts that come with it, to a vampire suffering as a gray. Desperate. Hungry. Feral. And it’s not just me who’s at risk. It’s our entire bloodline, including all future sired vampires.”

  Jaci blew out a breath and finally poured her tea, nearly forgotten in the wake of his visit. There was enough left in the pot for a second cup, so she made one for the vampire.

  “And the witch?” She passed him the mug. “What do you know about her?”

  Surprising the hell out of her, he took it, nodding his thanks. “Nothing. The curse is hundreds of years old, and most of what we know is hearsay.”

  “What about—”

  “I’ve told you all I know, Jacinda.” The warning flashed in his eyes once more, the steam from the mug only making him look more ominous. “Either you can help me, or you’ve got thirty seconds to devise another use for yourself. I’m not running a charity.”

  “You’re not? And yet you’re so kind and generous.” With a roll of her eyes, Jaci gestured for him to follow her to the dining table, where she’d already started laying out her tools. She selected a silver athame from the pile, along with her favorite Tarot cards and a ritual bowl made of copper. None of the items had been properly consecrated in her new space yet, but she didn’t know when the vampire would grace her with his presence again.