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

by Sarah Piper

  But there was more to it than blood—there had to be. Blood could draw the demon here, but it wasn’t strong enough to hold her on its own, and it certainly wasn’t strong enough to totally bind her powers.

  Jaci closed her eyes, conjuring the images of the cards in her mind, chasing them down the dark hallways of her memory.

  Blood and vengeance. A severed heart. Death. Resurrection. Blood on the sheets. Betrayal.

  The dead shall rise. The dead shall return.

  Vita mutatur, non tollitur.

  Blood on the sheets.

  Betrayal.

  A severed heart.

  The dead…

  Holy shit.

  Jaci’s eyes flew open.

  That was it. The key to her binding spell. The missing piece.

  Everyone always said the eyes were the window to the soul, and that was true. But the heart? The heart was the house. It held the very essence of the vampire—of any being. It controlled the flow of his blood as well as the path of his life. Every beat was like a note in a symphony, a complex pattern that recorded the patterns of his life, the silence of his death. It was the purest, most powerful thing about him.

  The thing that truly could bind the powers of an ancient demon who’d cursed him.

  Normally, removing a vampire’s heart was one of the most efficient ways of icing him. But when the bloodsuckers died, they turned to ash—their bodies, their bones, their blood, their heart. All of it.

  Which is where Jaci’s resurrection magic came in.

  Vita mutatur, non tollitur. Life is changed, not taken away.

  Just like she’d done with the grays, she could postpone the moment of Gabriel’s death, allowing her to tear out his heart without turning it to ash. It wouldn’t even kill him.

  She closed her eyes once more, an image of his face floating before her. That strong, stubbled jaw, always clenched, always tight. Those ice-cold eyes, always leering at her.

  The quirk of a smile when she’d caught him off guard with a joke.

  The mint he’d brought her. The gum.

  Damn it.

  Guilt knifed through her chest, hot and sharp, but she quickly smothered it. What did she have to feel guilty about? After those early skirmishes, she’d tried to be kind to him. Tried to be…well, if not his friend, at least his associate.

  And all he’d ever done was complain. Criticize. Demand. Expect.

  Jaci opened her eyes and blew out a heavy sigh. She was just about to reach for a new bottle of wine when a sense of dread skittered up her spine, a dark presence lurking behind her.

  Spinning on her heel, she came face to face with a ghost. One she hadn’t seen in over six weeks.

  She’d assumed—hoped—he’d been killed in the Bloodbath massacre.

  But once again, fate was not so kind.

  “Hello, butterfly,” the ghost said, his Russian accent as thick as his neck. Kostya wore the mark of Rogozin now, but Jaci knew him from his Chernikov days. Days when he’d sworn fealty to the old guard, trading favors with Renault.

  Collecting payment from her.

  Her body burned with old wounds. With all the scars you couldn’t see.

  Another monster stepped up beside him. Jaci knew his face, knew his eyes, knew the cruel bite of his laughter, but not his name. Never his name.

  He has no name, butterfly, Kostya’s old words echoed. We call him He Who Likes to Watch…

  Fear paralyzed her, even as her heart damn near exploded in her chest. Her eyes darted around frantically, but no one was paying them any mind. The bar was too crowded, the music too loud, the other servers too busy.

  Kostya stepped behind the bar. Reached for her face.

  “Don’t,” she whispered, trembling so hard a lock of her hair vibrated before her eyes.

  “Now, now. That is no way to greet old friends.” He leaned in close, nuzzling into her hair, his wet tongue darting out to lick her ear. A hand snaked down between her thighs, rubbing. Squeezing. Pinching. “You have missed me, butterfly.”

  Jaci swallowed down bile.

  Behind him, He Who Likes to Watch watched. And laughed. And the sound of it—like rusty nails and broken glass and everything brutal and terrible that made her long for the tortures of hell instead—finally shattered her paralysis.

  She reached behind her, grabbing the first bottle she could get her hands on.

  Then she brought it down hard on the demon’s head.

  “I said don’t.” She clutched the jagged end, holding it toward his face.

  Behind him, the watcher watched. Laughed.

  Blood and gin leaked into Kostya’s eyes, but it didn’t hide his raw fury. Ignoring the wound, he reached out and grabbed her throat, his other hand snatching at her weapon, slicing her arm as he wrenched it away.

  He tightened his grip on her throat, cutting off her air.

  Spots danced before her eyes. She saw the wrath burning inside his.

  Saw the blood leaking into his mouth.

  Saw his arm cock back, the jagged edges of the bottle aimed at her face…

  And then, in a move so fast she nearly missed it, Kostya went down hard.

  Jaci sucked in a sharp breath and leaped backward as Gabriel descended, a blur of fists and fangs and blood.

  It was nearly soundless.

  It was nearly beautiful.

  Seconds later, the vampire rose to his feet.

  Kostya did not.

  And He Who Likes to Watch had apparently found something he didn’t like to watch because that asshole was long gone.

  “You… you killed him,” Jaci breathed. She stared at Kostya’s limp, ravaged body, at the black stain pooling on the floor. Wondered what’d happened to the demon’s essence. There were no humans in the bar, which meant he’d have to find another victim elsewhere.

  Likely, he’d be back. Maybe not tonight, but eventually.

  You have missed me, butterfly…

  “He shouldn’t have put his filthy hellspawn hands on you.” Gabriel’s voice shook with rage, his mouth glistening with demon blood. He pulled out his phone and sent a text—probably ordering someone to come clean up the mess. Then, leaning in close, “Come with me. Now.”

  Clutching her wounded arm to her chest, Jaci followed him out through the crowd and up to the VIP level. At the farthest end was his office. He led her inside, closed the door behind them.

  For a few beats, he remained at the door, his forehead pressed against it, his breath ragged.

  Jaci sat on his desk and sucked in a few deep breaths, still trying to calm the fuck down. To soothe the burn of those old wounds. To forget the murderous look in Kostya’s eyes.

  “That should not have happened.” Gabriel finally turned away from the door. The look in his eyes was inexplicably pained. “I thought my enemies knew better than to provoke me in my own establishment.”

  Jaci shook her head. “That particular enemy wasn’t trying to provoke you. He… he was one of Renault’s old pals.”

  “But not yours?”

  Jaci closed her eyes, her teeth grinding together to keep the bile from rising again. Everything in her itched. Everything in her burned.

  Somehow, she kept the tears at bay.

  When the wave of revulsion passed, she opened her eyes.

  Gabriel stood before her. Close. Too close. He watched her intently, and in that intense gaze she tried to count all the different shades of green, forest and spring grass and moss and olive, all of it flecked with gold that sparkled in the dim light.

  “Let me see,” he said softly.

  Jaci lowered her arm toward him.

  With the gentlest touch, he ran his fingers along the inside, parallel to the wound from the glass, his touch so soft it nearly made her weep.

  His nostrils flared, his eyes filling with more emotion than she’d ever seen there. Anger. Worry.

  Desire.

  Gabriel released her arm. “I’ve got a first aid kit somewhere. I’ll—”

 
“It’s fine. Just a scratch, really.”

  Ignoring her protests, he found the kit in a cabinet behind them, then shrugged out of his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves.

  “Does it hurt?” he asked.

  Jaci glanced down at the wound. She’d barely felt it when it happened, but now it was starting to sting. “I’ll live.”

  Gabriel snickered. “I should certainly hope so. Your shift isn’t over yet.”

  She snapped her gaze to his, ready to unleash hell, but his sexy smirk stopped her.

  “Come now, little moonflower,” he teased. “I’m not that much of a bastard, am I?”

  A matching smirk rose on her lips. “This is a trick question. It has to be.”

  “One you’re required to answer.”

  Her smirk stretched into a smile. “In that case, no. You’re not that much of a bastard. Only like, twenty percent bastard. The rest is all dickhead.”

  His velvet laugh, warm and genuine and unexpected, soothed the raw ache of Kostya’s attack.

  When the laughter finally faded, Gabriel took her arm once more, but he didn’t move to clean it. Didn’t move to patch it up. Didn’t move at all, actually.

  He stared at the wound, seemingly mesmerized by the slow trail of blood sliding along her pale skin. His breathing grew heavy, his fingers hot where they touched her.

  “Gabriel?” she whispered.

  He finally glanced up at her, the sight making her gasp.

  Red flooded his irises, chasing away a thousand shades of green.

  Jaci had seen vampires feed before. Renault had thought nothing of using her as his personal juice box whenever he got bored of his blood slaves. But something about the change on Gabriel’s face—in his eyes—it shook something loose inside her, a longing so deep and endless, she thought it might consume her.

  Wordlessly, she lifted her arm to his mouth. Blood ran from wrist to elbow, as dark as her thoughts. As dark as her heart.

  The vampire’s nostrils flared again as he took in the scent. A low, desperate moan rumbled inside his chest, primal and sexy. Possessive.

  Blood dripped onto his tie, reminding her of the Ten of Knives card. Black roses on white silk. Ruby-red blood.

  Betrayal, betrayal, betrayal.

  Gabriel’s, some secret plan he was keeping from her?

  Her own, yet to be committed?

  Vita mutatur, non tollitur….

  Jaci closed her eyes, that white-hot guilt coming back to bite her. An hour ago, she’d been so convinced she’d figured it all out—how to bind Viansa, how to save her father, all of it. But now, looking at the vampire prince with his red eyes and his sexy mouth, the echo of his laughter still lingering, the warmth of his touch… Jaci wasn’t so sure.

  Could she really do it? Could she trap him in a state of perpetual un-death and carve out his heart?

  Life is changed, not taken away…

  Gabriel’s lips were close to her skin, warm and soft and full, and suddenly she wanted nothing more than to feel them. To feel his tongue lapping up the blood, to watch those red vampire eyes, to experience the euphoria of a vampire bite she actually wanted rather than one that was forced on her.

  Blood and vengeance. A severed heart.

  Death. Resurrection.

  Blood on the sheets. Betrayal.

  Blood and ice.

  Magic and fire.

  Jaci’s heart pounded furiously. There was no way to hide her desire; she knew the vampire could sense it. Smell it.

  Gabriel’s breath was ragged, almost pained, as if he were trying to hold back the force of a tsunami with nothing but his bare hands.

  “It’s okay,” she whispered, her voice trembling. Fear? Desire? Hope? Shame? All of them collided in her heart, spinning and swirling, leaving her dizzy.

  Touch me, she whispered in her mind. Taste me.

  As if he could read her thoughts, Gabriel opened his mouth, a glint of fang shining in the dim light.

  She pressed her flesh against his lips.

  His tongue slid against her skin, and then…

  “Don’t do that again.” He backed away from her so fast, she nearly toppled off the desk.

  “I… I didn’t…” Frustration tangled her words. “I was only—”

  A sudden rush of cold air erased her words, and then she was on her feet again, immobilized against the wall by his muscled body, her wrists trapped above her head in one impossibly large hand.

  She sucked in a breath, trying to reorient herself after the unexpected blur. “Gabriel. I thought—”

  “No, you didn’t think.” Gabriel slid a hand around her hip, clutching her tight. His tone dripped with menace. “Because if you had thought—for even a single minute—you would’ve talked yourself out of whatever game you’re playing here.”

  Fresh blood trickled down her arm.

  The sight of it made him shudder.

  “It’s not a game,” she said. “I was trying to—”

  “Be clear about something, as I’m only going to say this one more time.” He leaned in close, lips tickling her jaw as he brought his mouth to her ear. His dick was hard, pressing against her lower belly, hot and eager despite the coldness in his touch. In his voice. “I own you, witch. If I want something from you, I’ll bloody well take it.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Hours before the club’s opening, tucked away in a leather alcove in the darkest corner of Obsidian, Gabriel eyed up the demon who sat across from him.

  The useless fuck hadn’t even bothered to put on a suit for the meeting. No skin off Gabriel’s back, but the demon might’ve thought better of donning a blue-and-white tracksuit if he’d known he was about to be buried in it.

  He glared at Gabriel, strumming his fingers impatiently on the table, his eyes completely black. An intimidation tactic, pure and simple.

  Gabriel let him enjoy it. It would be his last.

  “Thank you for meeting with me, Michael,” Gabriel finally said.

  The demon clenched his fist, still trying to call up some of that so-called intimidation. “It’s Mikhail, comrade.”

  “Apologies, comrade. You see, it’s only in the last hour that I learned you even had a name.”

  Gabriel had Enzo and Cole to thank for that. After the attack on Jacinda last night, they’d done a little digging. Found out all sorts of things about Kostya and his shadow here, He Who Likes to Watch. Gabriel didn’t know how often they’d crossed paths with the witch before, or in what context—Enzo and Cole weren’t able to find anything on her involvement. But judging from the pungent scent of fear in her blood when he’d caught them harassing her, it wasn’t too hard to connect the dots.

  Just the idea of this fuckstain watching anything about her…

  Gabriel closed his eyes.

  The scent of Jacinda’s fear had sent him into a rage last night. If Kostya hadn’t been there, he was pretty damn sure he would’ve torn out the throat of any unlucky bastard in his path.

  But her blood?

  That had sent him into a fucking tailspin. One taste of it on his tongue, and he’d about lost his damn mind. A fierce, feral possessiveness took over, chasing away all logic. All humanity. It was a fucking miracle he didn’t devour her right there.

  And this demon, this hellspawn filth had stood by and laughed while Kostya put his hands on her? While Kostya groped and threatened her?

  Gabriel reined it in. Took a deep breath. Forced a wide, amiable grin.

  “I have many names,” the demon finally said. “But you may call me—”

  “So, listen, Mike. I’ve got a proposition for you.”

  “About the witch, yes?” Yellow teeth shone from a sharklike grin. “Can we be frank, Gabriel?”

  “Mr. Redthorne.”

  The grin faltered, just for a moment. “Mr. Redthorne. Look, witch is… How can I put this? Prime piece of ass on silver platter. Yes?”

  Gabriel said nothing. Agreed to nothing. Did nothing but imagined the bitter taste of
the demon’s blood sliding down his throat.

  “If Kostya knew you were already…” The grin was back in full force, and Mikhail made a circle with one hand, shoving a finger inside it with the other, laughing at his own cleverness. “…marking your territory, he would not have touched her. She is your property now, this I understand. So.” He lifted his glass of vodka and nodded. “As saying goes, let bygones be bygones?”

  Now it was Gabriel’s turn to grin, his fangs sliding out, ready to feast. “Absolutely. Good talk, Mike.”

  Then, before the demon could flash his ugly, yellow-teethed sneer one more time, Gabriel launched across the table, grabbed his throat, and sank his fangs into the fucker’s artery, draining him.

  From the table behind them, hidden by a velvet divider, Isabelle worked her magic, quickly trapping the demon’s essence and banishing it to oblivion, ensuring it wouldn’t repossess a new vessel.

  The monster hadn’t even realized he’d been sitting on a devil’s trap, a sigil carved beneath the chair for the express purpose of preventing his otherworldly escape.

  Done and done.

  Gabriel got to his feet, leaving the demon carcass for the cleanup crew.

  Fucking hell, that was satisfying.

  “What happened to letting bygones be bygones?” Isabelle came out from around the divide, attempting a scolding glare. But behind her steely gaze, Gabriel noticed a glimmer of approval.

  “I got half of it right, didn’t I? The gone part?” Gabriel grabbed a cloth napkin from the table and wiped the blood from his mouth, then smiled at the witch. “Bloody hell, I feel so much better. Don’t you?”

  Isabelle sighed and held out her hands. “Let’s be sure you stay that way.”

  Gabriel was so pleased with his accomplishment, he didn’t even resist Isabelle’s magic infusion.

  Standing beside Dorian on the balcony later that night, Gabriel looked out across the sea of bodies, eyes peeled for any sign of demonic trouble.