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

by Sarah Piper

“Throats torn clear out. Blood drained. No signs of struggle though, thank fuck. I doubt those animals suffered—it happened too fast.”

  Dorian took a deep breath of cigarette-and-marijuana-tinged air, his mind churning. He couldn’t imagine why any vampire would do such a thing. Animal blood didn’t sustain them, and most vampires with a taste for mutilation preferred human victims.

  “It doesn’t add up,” Dorian said. “If not for the blood, I’d say we were dealing with something else.”

  “Ain’t just the blood.” Cole fished something from the pocket of his flannel and tossed it on the table.

  Fangs. They scattered between them like dice, jagged and broken, stained with blood and rot.

  Dread pooled in Dorian’s stomach. Vampires didn’t lose their fangs.

  But the wraiths did—those vile, inhuman creatures without access to human blood, bound to misery in the dark, dank places of the world.

  Dorian selected one of the sharp, yellowed bones from the table, turning it over against his palm. “There haven’t been any reported sightings of the grays in decades.”

  Grays. A mildly pleasant euphemism for monsters that were anything but.

  “Near as I can tell, they’re coming from up north. Probably a cluster of ‘em holed up somewhere in the Adirondacks.” Cole scratched his scruffy beard, his brow creasing. “Any idea what would bring ‘em down our way? Can’t imagine they’re here to pay respects to the late king.”

  “Nor to swear fealty to the new one.”

  “I’m bettin’ not, your highness.” Cole grinned, a moment of levity that brightened the dark night. “Gotta admit, I didn’t think the ol’ man would ever kick off.”

  “No one was more surprised than I, believe me.”

  “I’d say sorry, but I know how you felt about him.”

  Dorian appreciated the man’s honesty. “The world is certainly a better place without Augustus Redthorne.”

  “Can’t imagine it’s easy though, all your brothers being back.” Cole dug through the junk on the table for a lighter, then plucked the half-spent joint from the ashtray, sparking it up and taking a deep drag. “How you holdin’ up?”

  Dorian laughed. “I see your self-imposed isolation hasn’t prevented you from keeping up on the latest vampire gossip.”

  “Matter of survival. Gotta know who the players are.” He offered the joint, but Dorian declined, and Cole took another hit, the pungent smoke quickly overtaking the tiny kitchen. “Besides, if this bullshit with the rogues proves anything? Ain’t no place secluded enough to outrun fate. Not for us.”

  “You think being stalked by grays is our fate?”

  “I’m just sayin’… The human world? That’s exactly what it is. The human world. We can play in their sandbox, Red, but it won’t ever be ours. Our world is…” He shook his head and scooped up the teeth, fisting them tight. “Blood and death, brother. Blood and death.”

  Cole had always been prone to philosophical tangents when he smoked, but tonight’s declaration felt particularly ominous.

  Blood and death, brother. Blood and death.

  He was right. That was their world. And Dorian, in the blind, selfish pursuit of his own desires, had dragged an innocent woman right into the thick of it, putting her directly in the path of Renault Duchanes and his demon mercenaries…

  She’s not bloody innocent, you knob.

  “Anyway,” Cole said, “I figure something must’ve changed up north, right? Something messed with their home environment. Either that, or someone led them here on purpose. But who the fuck would do that?”

  “Renault Duchanes.” The name was out of Dorian’s mouth before he could even think it through, but the moment he said it out loud, he knew it was true. “House Duchanes is plotting against the crown. I turned down their alliance after my father’s death, and after that, everything just… fell apart.”

  Dorian told him the story—the spurned offers for the Duchanes witch and the blood donors, the attacks on Charlotte, the string of threats in Dorian’s penthouse. So much had happened, it was hard to believe it’d only been a few hours since he’d left Charlotte’s bedside.

  Since he’d nearly drained her dry.

  Since she’d nearly died in his arms.

  Since he’d discovered her betrayal.

  “I heard some of the vamps got pretty riled up after your old man died,” Cole said, “but I had no idea shit hit the fan so hard. So Duchanes has demons in his back pocket, and now you’re saying the grays are his too?”

  “Duchanes is desperate for power, Cole. I put nothing past him, no matter how dangerous or despicable.”

  “That’s what worries me.” Cole stamped out the last of his joint and refilled their mason jars. “We don’t even know how many we’re dealing with here, Red. If these fuckers get out of the woods, they’ll—”

  Dorian held up a hand to silence him. That was one picture Cole didn’t have to paint—it shone in vivid, technicolor detail in Dorian’s mind.

  It was hard enough for so-called “civilized” vampires to control their urges. The grays had zero control—they operated purely on instinct, and that instinct pushed them to consume. It was just as he’d told Charlotte: they could hunt, they could fuck, and they could feed, and that’s exactly what they did, until they burned up in the sunlight or rotted from starvation.

  If they escaped the woods and reached a populated area, no one would be safe. The creatures would destroy everyone in their path, leaving no witnesses alive. And if by chance a single human escaped to tell the tale, no one would believe him anyway—it was too outlandish, even for the most open-minded among them.

  By the time humans realized what they were dealing with, scores of innocents would be dead.

  It was a terrible, brutal bit of chaos—and the perfect way to slaughter humans without getting one’s hands dirty.

  Duchanes’ name was written all over it in blazing neon letters. For all Dorian knew, the pathetic vampire had a safe house nearby and was presently holed up inside with whatever sycophants he’d gathered, licking his wounds from the earlier confrontation and plotting his next attack.

  “So tell me about the woman,” Cole said. “I assume she’s the reason the boys found you vampin’ out in my woods tonight.”

  Dorian’s silence confirmed it.

  “Do I need to stage an intervention?” Cole asked. “Thought you were done with that psycho vampire shit.”

  “I was. I am.” Dorian swirled the moonshine in his glass, his chest burning with a mix of leftover rage at Charlotte, the shame of nearly losing control tonight, and the swill he’d been drinking for the last hour. “I was just… blowing off a little steam.”

  “Right. And this little steam… She got a name?”

  When Dorian didn’t answer, Cole said, “She’s the one you brought out here the other day, right?”

  Heat rose in Dorian’s chest at the memory. Charlotte, twirling like a fallen leaf in the wind. Gasping at the beauty of the landscape. Peppering him with lightning-round questions on vampire origins. Laughing as she tested the limits of his Ferrari as well as his patience.

  “I wasn’t aware you’d been watching us,” he said.

  “Peepin’ Tom ain’t my style.” Cole laughed. “But the scent? No hiding that, my friend. Wolves have an even stronger sense of smell than bloodsuckers. I’m surprised you two didn’t bang right there on my rocks.”

  “The thought had crossed my mind.”

  “Just a thought, huh?”

  Dorian shook his head, intending to steer Cole onto some other topic—any other topic. But when Cole rolled a fresh joint and offered Dorian the first hit, something inside him broke loose. This time, he took Cole up on the offer, sucking in a deep drag, letting the pungent smoke work its way into his system.

  And then, the dam burst.

  Before Dorian could shut himself up, the whole story spilled out. How he and Charlotte had met, the instant chemistry between them, the intrigue, the way her dev
ious smile had shone a light on the darkest places inside him.

  And the shameful admission that he still bloody yearned for her, even now.

  “A beautiful woman plotting against a ruthless, bloodthirsty vampire king?” Cole said when Dorian had finally reached the end of the story. “Sounds like the start to a bad soap opera.”

  Dorian rolled his eyes. “Yes, my reputation precedes me.”

  “And she’s still alive because…?”

  He tightened his grip on the drink and met Cole’s gaze through the smoke, attempting to channel some of that inner ruthlessness. “Because I’ve yet to decide the precise manner in which I’ll stamp the light from her eyes.”

  Cole scratched his beard, trying not quite hard enough to hide a smirk. “I see.”

  “You see nothing,” Dorian snapped.

  “If you say so, Red.”

  “Charlotte D’Amico is a liar and a thief, and that’s putting it kindly.” Dorian lifted a hand, counting down on his fingers. “She’s been playing me from the start. She’s got connections to at least one powerful demon crime syndicate—which, by the way, she refuses to discuss. She’s oddly fixated on two pieces of art from my collection—which, by the way, she also refuses to discuss. She’s manipulative, selfish, infuriating, and… and bloody hell, Cole. I wish I’d never met her.”

  “Yeah, I can see that.”

  “Sarcasm? Really? I bear my soul, and that’s the sage advice you have to offer?”

  “Sage advice?” Cole shook his head, still smirking. “Okay, here’s the thing. Wolves? We mate for life. Takes a long time to find the one, but when we do, we fucking know it. And there’s nothing we won’t do for our mate, no matter how badly she fucks up. I mean nothing, brother.”

  “I’m not a wolf.”

  “And I’m still single, but that’s not the point.”

  “Have you not heard a word I’ve said? She’s after my art, Cole. Left to her own devices, the woman would probably steal the very silverware from the dinner table. In fact, I should check my collection. For all I know, she pocketed her fork after brunch the other day.”

  Cole laughed, his eyes like half-moons in the smoky haze. “If you think this is about your art—or your damn silverware, for that matter—you’re even blinder than you are stoned.”

  “She’s connected to Alexei Rogozin, for fuck’s sake!”

  “Connected how, exactly?”

  Dorian didn’t have an answer for that—not for lack of trying. Charlotte had completely shut down at the mention of the demon’s name. Before they could revisit the conversation, Duchanes attacked, and they’d nearly died.

  Dorian, because of Duchanes and the demon.

  Charlotte, because of Dorian.

  A surge of guilt rose inside him, but he chased it away with another swig of moonshine.

  “I know you nightwalkers don’t like to be tied down,” Cole continued. “I get it. Keep your options open for the long, immortal slog. But I’ll tell you what, Red. That look in your eyes?” He tilted his glass in Dorian’s direction. “That’s not the look of a man out for a few quick fucks. That’s the look of a man who—”

  “Whatever you’re about to presume about my present state of affairs, about what I feel, about whom and how frequently I choose to fuck, allow me to disabuse you of—”

  Dorian’s cell buzzed, cutting him off.

  Aiden.

  Keeping his eyes locked on Cole’s irritating, know-it-all smirk, he took the call, hoping his friend had some good news about Charlotte’s sister Sasha.

  “Aiden. Have you—”

  “Where the bloody hell are you?” Aiden demanded. “For fuck’s sake, Dori. Your brothers said you took off without even—”

  “I’m upstate. Have you found the girl?”

  “What are you doing up—”

  “Sasha,” Dorian said. “Is she with you?”

  “Not yet. I’ve been to every club and coffee shop and dreadful hipster bar in Brooklyn too—no trace.”

  “Keep looking. She’s not safe with Duchanes on the loose.”

  “And what of Charlotte?”

  Across the table, Cole snickered.

  “Charlotte,” Dorian bit out, tossing one of the broken fangs at Cole, “is a grown woman. She can look after herself—believe me.”

  “Against an unhinged vampire like Duchanes? And a band of merry demon dickheads we’ve got no idea how to track? Have you gone bloody mad?”

  “Yes, Aiden. As a matter of fact, I have gone bloody mad. So, unless you’re hungry for a taste of my wrath, I suggest you… you simply… fuck.” Dorian’s words tangled, the marijuana slowing his thoughts, turning his tongue heavy and thick. He let out a deep sigh, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I’m… sorry. You’re right. The situation is… less than ideal.”

  It was a long moment before Aiden spoke again.

  “What happened?” he finally asked Dorian. “Why did you leave Manhattan? I thought she was under your protection.”

  “She… is,” Dorian said, realizing it was still true.

  Fucking hell, woman. What have you done to me?

  “Has there been any change in her condition?” Dorian asked softly.

  “According to Colin, she’s resting comfortably, on the road to a full recovery. They sent Marlys home.”

  Dorian let out a breath of relief, but the feeling didn’t last long.

  In all his personal suffering over Charlotte, he’d almost forgotten about the damn demons. He had no idea which clan Duchanes’ minion belonged to, nor the rabble he’d scented en route before he leaped out of that window with Charlotte.

  He imagined his Tribeca penthouse was thoroughly trashed.

  Fresh worry tightened his chest, cutting through the numbing haze of the marijuana. Had tonight’s attack truly been an attempted payback for the slights against House Duchanes? Or were the overly ambitious vampire and his demon fuckwits searching for something else?

  And why the fuck had the mention of Rogozin’s name sent Charlotte into such a cold, impenetrable state of fear?

  The sting of her betrayal tore through him anew, but Cole was right—it wasn’t about the artwork or the silver. Dorian didn’t know what she was really after, but something told him it went far beyond his collection.

  Artwork could be bought and sold, stolen, auctioned off to the highest bidder… But so could secrets.

  And in Dorian’s experience, secrets were far more valuable.

  There were secrets lurking in the crypts of Ravenswood—secrets that could destroy not just the Redthorne line, but every member of every supernatural race in existence.

  There were secrets Dorian’s father had shared with Nikolai Chernikov—secrets the demon lord had not-so-subtly wielded as threats.

  There were secrets Charlotte had locked away—secrets Dorian suspected tied back to his enemies, whether Charlotte herself realized it or not.

  Dorian closed his eyes, trying to slow the progression of his thoughts.

  It didn’t matter that he never wanted to see her treacherous, beautiful face again.

  She was a loose end—one the vampire king could not allow to unravel.

  “Keep looking for the girl,” Dorian finally said. “I want Colin back at Ravenswood. I’ll have Malcolm and Gabriel keep an eye on Charlotte’s building.”

  “And the demons?”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Not in the slightest.”

  Aiden sighed, his concern weighing heavy on Dorian’s conscience. “You’re exhausted, Dori. You need to rest.”

  “And I will. In my next life.”

  With a promise to return to Ravenswood soon, he disconnected from Aiden, then met Cole’s gaze again. Outside, the mournful call of a lone wolf echoed across the forest, raising the hairs on Dorian’s arms. In perfect succession, the other wolves joined in.

  They’d found something.

  An eerie quiet settled into the kitchen�
�the calm before the storm.

  “We’re in some shit now, ain’t we,” Cole said softly. It wasn’t a question.

  “It’s not your fight.”

  “No, I reckon it ain’t.” He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair, a smile breaking across his face. “But it is my woods, my cabin, my hooch, and my weed. What’s one more IOU between friends?”

  Dorian gave a slight bow of his head, more grateful to the wolf shifter than he could express. Thumbing through the contacts on his phone, he said, “There’s an idiom in the human sandbox, Cole. Something about hornets’ nests and kicking them?”

  “Then we best get you some boots, brother. Wouldn’t want you to scuff up those thousand-dollar, pretty-boy Italian shoes.”

  Dorian laughed—the last one, he imagined, for a long while.

  Then he hit the call button and brought the phone to his ear, the last remnants of a pretty nice buzz leaving him.

  “Commissioner? Dorian Redthorne here. I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour, but it’s come to my attention that a nightclub on St. Mark’s Place is conducting illegal activities in our fair city. Drugs, human trafficking, underage drinking—quite terrible, really. I’m certain you’ll find a thoroughly invasive investigation and an extended shutdown warranted. Bloodbath—yes, that’s the one. Thanks so much. My best to Gina and the kids.”

  Cole shook his head and grinned. “You slippery sonofabitch.”

  “It pays to have friends in high places.”

  Cole glanced at the phone, eyeing the name of the next contact Dorian pulled up. “And low ones, I see.”

  “I like to keep a full spectrum on hand.” At that, Dorian hit the call button, knowing the man on the other end wouldn’t be quite as accommodating as his friend in law enforcement.

  As expected, the call went straight to voicemail.

  “Meet me at Luna del Mar at sunrise,” he demanded, skipping the pleasantries. “And comrade? Don’t be late.”

  Chapter Three

  “Dorian, look out!”

  Charley struggled against the nightmare’s deadly grip, tossing herself clear out of bed. The impact jolted her awake, scattering the last of the dream-monsters from view.