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

by Sarah Piper

  “No, I’d imagine he doesn’t.”

  It all made sense—everything from Duchanes attacking Chernikov’s demons in Central Park the night of the Salvatore auction, to his bid for Armitage holdings, to his sirelings’ attack on Charlotte at the fundraiser, to last night’s brutality. Even the attempted alliance was fake—a move Dorian now realized was backed not only by the other vampires of his house, but by Rogozin’s organization as well.

  An organization whose leader—if Chernikov was right—wanted to wipe vampires off the map.

  Rogozin was pulling all the strings.

  Chernikov raised his coffee mug and gave a single nod. “So you see, this is mutual problem, like you say. We have common interests. Keep our city in check, keep humans from discovering us, run our separate territories in best way we see fit, keep Rogozin from making hostile takeover. Yes?”

  “On all of that, we’re in agreement.”

  “Perhaps we should make deal.”

  Dorian sighed. He couldn’t imagine a worse idea.

  Unfortunately, he couldn’t imagine a better one, either. As he’d told his brothers in Charlotte’s penthouse last night, his war was with Duchanes, not Chernikov. And while he didn’t particularly trust the demons, he saw no reason to make an enemy of the most powerful one in the city, nor to allow him to be seduced by vampires eager to see Dorian’s head on the proverbial pike.

  Or Charlotte’s.

  The thought sobered him, despite his promises to eradicate thoughts of her from his mind.

  As much as he hated to admit it, Aiden was right. Duchanes was completely unhinged. They couldn’t simply leave the woman to fend for herself; even if she did have a connection to Rogozin, it hadn’t prevented Duchanes from harming her. Dorian needed to ask Gabriel to bring her and Sasha back to Ravenswood, where they could be kept safe from further attacks.

  As to her deceit… Dorian would settle on a fitting punishment later.

  Right now, he needed to gather his allies—even the unsavory ones.

  Especially the unsavory ones.

  “And if we enter into this devil’s bargain together,” Dorian said, “what are you proposing?”

  “I use my network to track Rogozin’s activities, keep watch on dark witches, and tell you about vampires asking for demon favors, shitting on crown.”

  “And in return? What is it you ask of House Redthorne this time, Nikolai?”

  The demon’s eyes glittered. “Two things.”

  “Name your price.”

  “I want access to Manhattan.”

  “Absolutely out of the question.”

  “My territory is—what is saying?” He puffed out his cheeks and patted his midsection. “Busting at seams.”

  “Manhattan is vampire territory. If I allow your demons access, we risk unsettling a very delicate balance—one that could have the rest of the factions revolting.”

  “You are clever and powerful, vampire king. I’m confident you can find way to make this happen. And if not?” Chernikov shrugged. “Then deal is off, and we watch Alexei Rogozin and his puppet Renault Duchanes take over our city, and delicate balance explodes like nuclear missile.”

  Dorian hated being outmaneuvered, but at the moment, he was dangerously low on bargaining chips, and Chernikov was right. Left unchecked, Rogozin could do a lot more damage than a few Chernikov demons setting up shop in Manhattan.

  “I’ll grant you limited access for a trial period of one month,” Dorian finally said. “Weekends only. Your men will maintain the utmost discretion, avoid poaching anyone under the age of thirty, and make the terms of every agreement clear from the onset. No more fine print.”

  Chernikov nodded. “And after one month, we revisit longer option.”

  “Done. What’s the second demand? You said there were two.”

  “I want only what was promised long ago, by your father.”

  “And we’re back to the bloody statue.” Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering if he could ever endure a demon meeting without getting a fucking headache. “Nikolai, how did you and my father come to meet?”

  The demon considered him a long time, likely deciding how much to reveal. When he spoke again, his tone took on a note of reverence. “Children always want to think best of their parents, especially when they are young. But a father… He is not always hero his sons believe.”

  “I learned long ago the futility of believing in fairytales, Nikolai. I’m well aware my father lived and died as a monster.”

  “A desperate monster.” Chernikov sipped his coffee, then let out a deep sigh. “As I’ve told you, your father and I knew each other many years. And in that time, we had many conversations, not unlike this one.”

  Many deals—not conversations. That was the implication.

  A chill gripped Dorian’s spine, rattling him from the inside out. Augustus Redthorne was the vampire king, brutal and powerful, unchallenged until his own experimentation with a cure aged him right into the grave. What desperate madness could’ve driven him to bargain with the demon lord—and more than once, if Chernikov’s suggestion was true?

  In exchange for the promised statue, what had the demon lord delivered?

  And what else, over the course of their long and sordid friendship, had Augustus offered as payment?

  “What interest does a demon have in the soul of a vampire?” Dorian asked. “Our souls are already bound for hell from the moment we make our first kill. And my father? He bought that one-way ticket sooner than most.”

  “Souls are not the only gift befitting a demon lord, vampire king.”

  …gift befitting a demon lord…

  Something about the words prodded at Dorian’s memories, but the harder he tried to grasp them, the faster they slipped away.

  He drained the last of his coffee, then rose from his chair, more than ready to make his escape. “We’re in agreement about Manhattan. As far as the Mother of Lost Souls, I have no further information.”

  “I am not only one looking,” Chernikov said grudgingly.

  The news that others may be seeking the sculpture—as well as Chernikov’s obvious discomfort about that fact—set Dorian’s nerves on edge.

  Why was everyone so interested in a bloody Scandinavian fertility statue? One that was almost certainly buried on Dorian’s property?

  “If I find a reference to it among my father’s belongings,” Dorian said, “you’ll be the first to know.”

  “See that I am, bloodsucker. You may not like me very much, but I promise you—I make better friend than enemy.”

  Dorian leaned across the table, so close he could see his reflection in the demon’s beady eyes. “And I make a better king than assassin, Nikolai, but one never knows when he might have cause to learn a new trade.”

  With that, he helped himself to another bottle of Chernikov’s vodka, turned on his heel, and marched out of the café, only marginally confident the demon wouldn’t incinerate him before he reached the parking lot.

  Safely back in the truck, he tossed the bottle to Cole, who caught it and let out a low whistle of appreciation.

  “Consider it a down payment,” Dorian said.

  “On?”

  “We’ve got some shoveling to do.”

  Cole set the bottle on the seat and pulled the truck out onto the road, flicking on the wipers as the first drops of rain splattered against the windshield. “I always say it’s a true friend who helps bury the bodies, no questions asked.”

  “Yes, only this time, we’re not burying the bodies.” Dorian retrieved his phone from the center console and texted Gabriel, instructing him to bring Charlotte and her sister to Ravenswood. “We’re digging them up.”

  Chapter Five

  Sitting at the dining room table, Charley tried to sip her coffee, but her hands trembled so badly, she spilled half of it onto her bathrobe.

  She and Sasha hardly ever ate in the dining room, always preferring the coziness of the breakfast bar. But today, Rudy
had it all set up—the good dishes, the placemats, cloth napkins, taper candles flickering in brass holders. If Charley didn’t know better, she’d say this was a celebration.

  Instead, it felt like the last meal before an execution.

  “Eat.” He settled in across from her, waving the gun at her plate of runny eggs and charred bacon. “I didn’t spend all morning cooking so you could turn your nose up like you just found a cockroach.”

  “Sorry,” she whispered.

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m sorry.” She grabbed her fork and sliced off a piece of egg, forcing it between her lips. The slimy texture made her gag, but she hid it well, chasing it with another gulp of coffee.

  Seemingly satisfied, Rudy nodded and set the gun next to the juice carafe, so achingly close she could smell the sharp metal. All she’d have to do was reach for it… and hope like hell she was faster than her uncle.

  That’s what he wanted—for Charley to make a move. To give him a reason to take her out of the equation, once and for all.

  She wouldn’t take the bait.

  Anger crept across her chest, heating her skin. Screw family ties. There was a time when she’d loved her uncle, but that time was dead, just like her father. Now, she hated everything about the man. His malicious eyes. The slurping sounds he made as he shoveled in his breakfast. The glint of candlelight on his tacky gold watch.

  No matter how hard she’d tried to play the good little thief, Charley could never get the upper hand with him. Rudy always had another trick up his sleeve, another manipulation, another curveball to throw her completely off-balance.

  “So help me understand something,” Rudy said. “Last weekend, did you not waltz into my apartment and make a big speech about how badly you wanted to be involved in this? How badly Travis and I needed you to be involved?”

  There wasn’t a right answer, so she nodded and swallowed down another bite of egg, hoping Rudy would say his piece, finish the ego stroke, and get the fuck out of there.

  “See? That’s why I’m so confused, kiddo. You say one thing, but the moment I actually call on you, you can’t be bothered to answer your phone.”

  “I forgot my phone at—”

  “Let me tell you how this is going to work. I’ll speak slowly, so you can follow along.” He sipped his coffee, then blotted his mouth with the cloth napkin like he was some high-society prick trying to impress her. “No more games, no more delays, no more missed calls and ignored texts, no more going off the radar whenever you feel like it. Your only job right now is to convince your boyfriend to get rid of his brothers and whisk you away next weekend.”

  “Next weekend?” Charley blurted out, stunned. “You guys are making a move already?”

  “We’ve got everything in place.”

  “But Uncle Rudy, I can’t. It’s way too soon. Getting them all out of the house on such short notice will be damn near impossible.”

  “Hardly impossible for a man of Dorian Redthorne’s significant means and a woman of your significant talents.”

  Charley shook her head, adamant. “I need more time. You can’t just—”

  “I can, and I will.”

  “He’s not—”

  “Enough!” Rudy banged his fist on the table, sending his fork clattering to the floor. He leaned forward and gripped Charley’s wrist, lowering his voice to an eerily soothing tone that belied the rage in his eyes. “Allow me to be absolutely clear, Charlotte. If you don’t make this happen, my next visit will not be to cook you breakfast, and I’ll be sure Sasha’s home too.”

  Charley felt the blood drain from her face. The room spun, and she had to pinch her thigh to keep from passing out.

  Rudy sat back, a gruesome smile sneaking across his lips. “Where is that little angel, by the way? Still with Darcy? I would’ve liked to see her today. Such a pretty thing. Reminds me of her mother, don’t you think? So… delicate.”

  “Stop,” Charley said, alarmed that he knew about Sasha’s whereabouts. How long had he been stalking her? “You know I’ll do whatever you ask. This has nothing to do with Sasha.”

  “What I’m asking is for you to get us unlimited, uninterrupted access to the house next Saturday.”

  Charley shook her head. She needed to make him understand—to give her more time. “It won’t work, Rudy. You have to trust me on this—as a woman. Dorian and I are just starting to spend time together. If I suggest a getaway—especially one that involves his brothers—he’ll get suspicious right away.”

  The words sat between them like smoke, acrid and dangerous. A vein on Rudy’s forehead pulsed blue against his skin, but Charley couldn’t afford to stop. Stopping meant a lack of conviction—an easily exploitable weakness.

  “I could plant the seed, though,” she rushed to add. “I know he’s busy with an acquisition at his company, but I’m sure when that’s all wrapped up, he’ll be itching for a vacation.”

  Charley didn’t know much about the acquisition—Dorian had only mentioned it in passing—but it gave her claim some legitimacy.

  “It’s probably been in the papers,” she hedged, hoping like hell it was true. Rudy had recognized Dorian that night outside the Salvatore; surely, he kept up with the business news. “He said something about ongoing meetings and investigations, and he really needs to be here for—”

  “I’m fully aware of the pending acquisition. Travis’ associates have been interviewing Redthorne and his staff, posing as corporate investigators.”

  “Seriously?” she asked. This, like most things in Rudy’s game, was news to Charley. “What for?”

  “Oh, Charlotte.” Rudy snickered and shook his head. “Sometimes I forget how naive you really are. With a heist of this magnitude, we need to leverage every possible opportunity to gain information.”

  “But I’m getting intel direct from the source.”

  “And yet, it didn’t occur to you that his employees might have valuable information pertinent to our interests?”

  Charley’s cheeks burned. No, it hadn’t occurred to her. She’d been too busy melting under Dorian’s exquisite, demanding mouth. And later, too busy fighting off demon attacks, saving his life, and nearly dying in the process.

  God, I wish he was here…

  “Then you probably understand better than me how important FierceConnect is to him,” she babbled on, desperate to convince Rudy that waiting was the right call. “He needs to be here to oversee everything. It sounds like a complicated deal, and—”

  Rudy raised a hand to cut her off.

  Charley hadn’t meant to flinch, but it was instinctual; she knew what the man was capable of, and she was rapidly running out of second chances.

  Stay calm. Stay strong. Don’t let him see your fear…

  She reached for the silver coffeepot and poured herself another cup, willing her hand not to tremble as her uncle glared at her, the air thickening with tension.

  “I have a theory.” Rudy tapped the table. Tiny ripples disturbed her coffee like a pebble dropped into a polluted lake. “Care to hear it?”

  A bead of sweat trickled down the back of her neck, rolling between her shoulder blades. She swallowed hard, then nodded, knowing she didn’t have a choice.

  Rudy rose from his chair and came to stand behind her, towering over her.

  Beneath the bathrobe, cold fingers latched onto Charley’s collarbone, digging in hard. Her flesh screamed at the rough contact, but she forced herself not to jerk away.

  “I think we have a conflict of interest here.” Rudy’s fingers crept dangerously up her neck. His enjoyment of the power game was obvious, every subtle move designed to elicit a reaction, but Charley didn’t budge.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Maybe,” Rudy said, his breath stirring the hair at the top of her head, “my little minx has feelings for the man. And in our line of work, kiddo, feelings are foolish.” He ran his thumbs up and down her neck, deceptively gentle. “Deadly, even.
”

  “I’m just doing what you asked. Keeping him close, getting him to trust—”

  “Shut the fuck up!” Rudy fisted her hair and yanked her head back, forcing her to meet his eyes—the gaze of a maniac.

  Blood rushed to her head, the headache returning with a vengeance.

  If you’re not an asset, you’re a liability…

  The old motto echoed. At this point in their fucked-up relationship, Charley had no doubt Rudy could and would kill her the moment he decided she was no longer an asset.

  But still…

  Something about his reaction was off.

  Planning a big score like Ravenswood took forever—months, maybe even years—and timeframes often changed. You had to stay limber, had to have a backup plan, had to be ready to switch things up if the original plan fell apart—which it often did.

  You had to adapt, and you couldn’t throw it all together at the last minute, no matter how badly you wanted to get your hands on that score.

  Rudy knew that.

  So why the hell was he so insistent about hitting Ravenswood this weekend?

  Still gazing up into his wild eyes, Charley opened her mouth to try to talk him down, but Rudy shoved her head forward and gripped her collarbone again.

  “I guess we can’t help who we love,” he said. “Poses a problem for me, though.”

  “But I don’t—”

  “Hush.” Rudy’s fingers dug deeper, grinding skin and muscle against bone. Charley pressed her lips together to keep from crying out.

  “If you were to warn Mr. Redthorne, or let the authorities know about our plan…” Rudy chuckled, but beneath his twisted amusement, Charley again detected something off. He was losing control, acting desperate. Careless.

  He’d always been cool and calculating. Not emotional. Not reckless.

  What the fuck’s got him so unhinged?

  “You can imagine what kind of position that would leave me in,” he said. “For the sake of the crew, I’d have to take immediate action. Permanent action.”

  Charley shuddered, frantically searching for some bit of logic to cling to in the face of his craziness.