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

by Sarah Piper

  Keeping her eyes on Gabriel, she said to Sasha, “Dorian invited us to visit his manor upstate. You in?”

  “I finally get to meet Mr. Already Forgotten?” she asked, excitement bubbling from her voice. “And he has a manor? Seriously?”

  “And an infinity pool and hot tub,” Charley said, “so you might want to pack a swimsuit.”

  “On it!” Sasha disappeared into her bedroom, leaving a trail of exuberance in her wake, but Charley was still on edge.

  Holding out her hand to the vampire in her entryway, she said, “Can I borrow your phone? I left mine in Tribeca.”

  “You can speak with him at Ravenswood, Ms. D’Amico. Please pack your things. We really need to get on the road.”

  Charley folded her arms across her chest and arched an eyebrow. It was barely ten in the morning, and she’d already puked multiple times, lost her roses, and survived a thorough manhandling by her psycho uncle. And even though Dorian wanted to keep her safe, his protective instincts—along with his feelings for her—would come to a spectacular, explosive end the moment she made her epic confession.

  So if Gabriel wanted to stand there and have a fucking brood-off? Fine. She could do this all day.

  “Do these childish antics work on my brother?” he asked with a look of supreme irritation.

  But he also handed over his phone.

  Charley tried not to gloat, but she knew this little win with Gabriel would probably be the highlight of her whole day—the very last thing she had to smile about.

  Because the minute she heard Dorian’s voice, she was pretty damn sure she’d fall apart.

  Chapter Seven

  By the time Dorian and Cole made it back to Ravenswood, the rain had soaked the grounds, making for slippery, messy work that left Dorian wet, cold, and thoroughly grouchy. It wasn’t helping his injuries either—the wolf bites still burned, his healing slowed by the damp chill.

  Fortunately, the weather didn’t darken Cole’s enthusiasm, and it wasn’t long before he and Dorian were standing shoulders-deep in a soggy pit several hundred feet behind the manor, rotting planks creaking beneath their feet.

  Coffins.

  “Jackpot.” Cole set aside the shovel and reached for his cigarettes, tapping one out of the pack. “Now, you mind telling me who’s in there? I prefer knowing a little something about a man before getting up close and personal with his rotting corpse.”

  Dorian speared a coffin lid with the tip of his shovel. The wood was soft with age and moisture, splintering easily. “Any corpses buried here are nothing but bones by now.”

  “Yeah, but whose bones?”

  “Father never said.” Dorian sidestepped a plume of smoke and glanced out across the vast acreage, the green grass so vivid it made his eyes hurt. In the distance, Ravenswood Manor stood sentry, a silent, immovable witness to more secrets than Dorian could imagine. “Two hundred-odd years ago, he dragged me and my brothers out here at three in the morning, right in the middle of a blasted storm, and ordered us to dig the hole. He’d already brought the horses round—two of them drawing the cart, jumping at every crack of thunder, the poor beasts.”

  “They brought the coffins?”

  Dorian nodded, remembering the wet, earthy smell of the horses, the sucking sounds their hooves made in the mud. It was a wonder the cart hadn’t overturned.

  “Malcolm and I helped him lower the coffins into the hole, neither of us saying a word. When it came to Father’s antics, we’d learned not to ask too many questions.” Dorian stiffened, suppressing a shudder. “He waited until we’d buried them, and then he stood on top of the mound, lifted his hands skyward, and said, ‘A gift befitting the lord of demons—may his eternal reign darken our doorstep only until we’re ready to see the light.’”

  Cole shook his head and laughed. “Your old man was a crazy sonofabitch. You know that, right?”

  “Better than most.”

  At the time, Dorian hadn’t the faintest idea what his father was on about. They’d all assumed he’d executed some poor, helpless humans in a ritual sacrifice—a gift for the demons, as he’d said.

  It wouldn’t have been the first time.

  But this morning, as Dorian stalked across the Luna Del Mar parking lot after his meeting, Chernikov’s words continued to chew through his mind, finally biting into the memory of that stormy night.

  The coffins.

  The befitting gifts.

  And Dorian began to suspect it hadn’t been a sacrifice at all… but an investment.

  Tightening his grip, he jammed the shovel back into the wood, prying away the splintered pieces of one lid, then the other, finally revealing the contents.

  “Those ain’t bodies,” Cole said.

  “Those,” Dorian said, crouching down to retrieve the child-sized bundles nestled inside the otherwise empty coffins, “are insurance policies.”

  The crypts beneath the manor were dank and dark, the stone sweating with condensation. Come winter, the passageways would be slick with ice, many of them inaccessible. But for now, Dorian paced the narrowest of them, giving Cole and Aiden a few moments to catch up.

  After years of seclusion, the wolf’s re-emergence in their lives was a blessing in a season that had seen far too few, and watching the old friends embrace loosened the knot in Dorian’s chest. Even Colin, normally reserved in his affections and expressions, couldn’t help but smile when Cole reached out to shake his hand.

  Considering last night’s attack in Tribeca and the grays roaming the woods, all of them were glad to count the wolves among their allies. But for Dorian, it went even deeper; aside from Aiden, Cole was the last true friend he had.

  Together, the four men headed into the tomb Augustus had used as his laboratory. Dorian set the bundles on the stone slab in the center, carefully removing their musty cloth wrappings to reveal the mysterious objects within.

  One was a confirmation.

  The other? Yet another mystery.

  “So you’re telling me Chernikov’s had a hard-on for this thing for two centuries?” Aiden picked up the Mother of Lost Souls sculpture, carefully turning it in his hands. It was approximately eighteen inches tall, made of painted clay and polished stones. “I’m no art critic, but I find her a bit homely. I mean, honestly. The poor thing doesn’t even have nipples.”

  “Yes, Aiden, I’m sure nipples would make a world of difference.” Dorian scowled and relieved him of the statue, but he didn’t disagree with the overall critique. She was homely. The stuff of nightmares, really.

  The body was similar to many fertility goddess pieces he’d encountered over the years, with exaggerated breasts and a belly swollen with child. The problem—missing nipples aside—was her face.

  From the neck up, she looked more demon than human, with obsidian eyes, a forked tongue, and a nest of what Dorian suspected was human hair. Her teeth were jagged and yellowed, much too large for her mouth.

  They reminded Dorian of the vampire fangs Cole had found in the woods.

  “Why would Father go to all the trouble of burying this in a coffin?” Colin asked. “He didn’t destroy it, so clearly it serves a purpose. Yet he kept it hidden from us. Why?”

  “He probably didn’t realize he was going to die so quickly,” Aiden said. “If he had, perhaps he would’ve told—”

  “No. He didn’t trust us,” Colin said, meeting Dorian’s gaze. “He knew his days were numbered—that’s obvious from the journals. He was surprised he’d lasted as long as he had. This was simply one more secret he intended to carry with him to hell.”

  “Actually, I don’t believe that was his intention at all.” Dorian set the statue on the table, gazing into her dark eyes. “Father didn’t need our help that night, digging the grave. He could’ve managed on his own, but he insisted we join him. He called it a gift befitting the lord of demons—the same phrase Chernikov used. It can’t be coincidence.”

  “That doesn’t mean Father meant to tell us about it.”

 
; “The Mother of Lost Souls was no secret,” Dorian said. As much as he wanted to agree with Colin—to add one more checkmark to the terrible father column—on this, he couldn’t. “We’ve all known about her from the moment Father stole her from House Kendrick. We knew he buried her at Ravenswood. Not in the crypts, as I’d always assumed, but still on our estate. He wanted us to find it, Colin. I’m certain.”

  “For what purpose?” Colin asked.

  “I don’t yet know.” Dorian sighed, his father’s long-ago words ghosting through his mind.

  She is what makes us powerful. One day, you will see…

  “Then she’s useless to us,” Colin said, “just like the man who buried her.”

  Hurt flickered in his eyes, but then he looked away, turning his attention to the second object they’d unearthed—some sort of ancient book. It was cold to the touch, but despite its long years in the coffin, undiluted magic hummed across the cover, preventing them from opening it as surely as it’d protected the pages from the elements.

  “What do you make of it?” Dorian asked Colin.

  “I’m not well-versed in demonic languages, but from the symbology on the cover, the closest translation I can come up with is the Book of Lost Souls.”

  “Brilliant,” Aiden said. “A matched set. And Chernikov never mentioned it?”

  Dorian shook his head. “As far as I know, he’s only after the statue.”

  “Maybe it’s an instruction manual.” Cole ran his fingers along the spine, tiny silver sparks following in his path. “Some assembly required.”

  “For fuck’s sake,” Dorian said. “This isn’t a piece of furniture from Ikea. It’s an ancient sculpture Chernikov believes belongs to his family—a piece he’s allegedly been seeking for centuries. One Father obviously hid from him, despite his promises to the contrary.”

  “Cole might be onto something though,” Colin said, his grim face suddenly brightening at the prospect of solving another puzzle. He was so much like their father in that way—a fact that intrigued and frightened Dorian in equal measure. “If we look at this objectively, setting aside our feelings about Father… All indications are that the book and sculpture are connected. Perhaps it’s a grimoire, and it activates something within the sculpture itself.”

  “Wonderful,” Dorian grumbled. “For all we know, it’s a demonic beacon and it opens a portal to hell.”

  “Also a distinct possibility,” Colin said.

  “Demonic beacon?” Aiden took a step back from the table. “Perhaps we should put it back in the ground—forget we ever found it.”

  But Colin’s eyes were already alight with possibilities. Dorian suspected he’d be spending all his time down here now, poring over their father’s journals for clues about this new mystery… along with clues about the old ones.

  Dorian rubbed his tired eyes and sighed. They hadn’t even told the others about their father’s alleged discovery of a cure for vampirism. So much had happened since Colin first shared the news with Dorian last night—the attack, dealing with Charlotte’s injuries, the revelation of her treachery. There hadn’t been time for a family meeting.

  And now?

  Bloody hell, Dorian hardly knew where to begin.

  He was certain about one thing, though.

  Now more than ever, the crypts and their expanding collection of secrets had to be protected at all costs.

  Not just from Chernikov, who desperately sought the sculpture and likely didn’t believe Dorian’s feigned ignorance on the matter.

  Not just from Duchanes, who was almost certainly plotting to claim the entire estate after murdering its present occupants.

  Not just from Rogozin and the other demons pulling the strings, masterminding their own gruesome takeovers.

  But from the woman—the human woman with whom Dorian had made the regrettable mistake of falling in love, whose loyalties remained a mystery, her motives as deep and muddy as the pit he’d just unearthed.

  And now, Gabriel was in the process of bringing her here—straight to the scene of the yet-to-be-committed crime.

  Telling himself he’d made the right call—that here, at least, he could keep a close eye on her and decipher her plans—Dorian turned back to the task at hand, hiding the objects among his father’s things. He and Cole had just tucked away the statue when the phone buzzed inside his suit jacket, scattering his dreary thoughts.

  Gabriel.

  “Did you retrieve them?” Dorian asked.

  “If by them you mean me and my sister,” came the fiery, feminine, definitely-not-Gabriel reply, “then no. We’re still in Manhattan, un-retrieved, waiting for an actual invitation. Or an explanation. Hell, I’d settle for a simple hello at this point.”

  The knot inside Dorian’s chest tightened anew, the melodic sound of her voice filling him at once with repulsion and desire.

  The battle between the two emotions made him ache.

  Forcing a steely chill into his voice, he said, “Hello, Charlotte. I was hoping you and Sasha were already en route.”

  “En route? Do you hear yourself right now?” She paused, her footfalls echoing as she headed into another room and closed the door.

  His thoughts immediately went to her bedroom, to the bed upon which he’d coaxed—through all their sinful, late-night phone calls—more orgasms from her body than he could recall.

  The same bed where a handful of hours ago, he’d confessed his secrets over her nearly broken body.

  “Dorian,” she said, her voice soft and muffled, way more sensual than he cared to acknowledge. “What the hell is going on? Why did you leave last night?”

  Pain laced her words, and Dorian was immediately sorry, knowing he’d been the one to cause it.

  But then the truth rushed back at him with a vengeance, and he shored up his heart, determined not to waver.

  Not again.

  “As I’m sure Gabriel explained,” he said coolly, “it’s too dangerous in the city right now, and I don’t have enough men to keep watch over you.”

  “I understand, but you can’t just send your brother here to pick us up like we’re the forgotten dry cleaning.” She sighed into the phone, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Dorian, we almost died last night. When I woke up without you this morning, I thought… I thought something happened. I was worried about you.”

  Even at a whisper, the concern in her voice was clear.

  Now, in addition to the desire and repulsion duking it out in his chest, molten guilt flooded in, burning away everything else.

  He resented all of it.

  He resented her.

  He did not have time for this.

  “Please don’t fight me, Charlotte,” he said, exasperation creeping into his voice. “Not on this.”

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  Dorian nearly laughed. The answer could fill an entire library, and he could just as easily ask her the same question, filling a second.

  Between the two of them, there were more unexplained mysteries than the ones lurking in the crypts—and most of them were almost certainly lies.

  Not an ideal start to a relationship.

  Which is why there will be no relationship, you bloody fool. Nor any more carnal delights, no matter how readily the sound of her voice makes you hard as stone, even now…

  “We’ll discuss everything later,” he said. “In person.”

  When I can read the lines of your deceptions in those beautiful, devious eyes…

  By the silence that followed, Dorian knew he’d won her over. Charlotte was nothing if not pragmatic; she’d seen a glimpse of what a vampire like Duchanes could do, and there was no way she’d risk another altercation—especially not where her sister was concerned.

  “Fine,” she finally said, and Dorian tried not to sigh in relief. “We’ll be there in a few hours.”

  “It shouldn’t take you more than two, even with traffic.”

  “Sasha’s in the process of convincing Gabriel to take us to
lunch.”

  “Lunch? Did you not warn her he’s the most ruthless Redthorne Royal of all? She’s got a better chance of convincing the demon factions to attend afternoon tea at the Ritz-Carlton.”

  “You haven’t met my sister. Her powers of persuasion are legendary.”

  “I imagine she learned them from you.”

  “Damn straight.”

  Dorian didn’t know how the hell he’d deal with the two of them in his home together.

  The thought brought an uninvited smile to his lips anyway.

  But then it faded, the reminder of Charlotte’s betrayal blowing the warmth from his chest as swiftly as a late autumn breeze ushered in the winter.

  He’d been waiting for it, he realized. Waiting for her to mention the notebook and floor plans he’d taken from her bedroom. To spin some elaborate tale he was all too eager to accept.

  He wanted her to prove him wrong. To prove him a fool for ever doubting her. To spin back the clock to those moments when he’d cradled her hand in that bed and saw the entirety of their lives together, one breathless kiss at a time.

  But she hadn’t said a word.

  Which meant she was either playing a very twisted game…

  Or she had no idea she was about to walk into a minefield.

  “Just get here, Charlotte.” Dorian closed his eyes, admonishing himself even before the words slipped free from his mouth. “And please… be careful.”

  He ended the call and glanced up to find all three of the men watching him intently.

  Colin, merely curious.

  Aiden, his eyes narrowed with concern, as if he could sense the battle raging inside Dorian’s heart.

  And Cole, the only one who knew what Dorian had discovered about his woman last night, smirking at him like that bloody phone conversation had just proven every last one of the wolf’s infuriating points.

  I’ll tell you what, Red. That look in your eyes? That’s not the look of a man out for a few quick fucks…

  Cole’s smirk turned into a full-on laugh, and Dorian stormed over to the elevator, telling himself Cole was dead wrong. That a few quick fucks was all he truly wanted—all he’d ever wanted from that woman. His cock, still stiff from the sound of her voice, seemed happy to agree.