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

by Sarah Piper

  Cole waved away the suggestion as if it were the most ludicrous thing in the world.

  “I mean it,” Dorian said. “Estas, Rogozin, D’Amico, Duchanes, the grays… Things could get ugly.”

  “Can’t be much uglier ’n you.” he said.

  “He’s got a point, mate.” Aiden gestured at Dorian’s face and winced. “I’ve been staring at that hideous mug for two hundred fifty-odd years, and I’m still alive. Nauseated, but alive.”

  “Be serious,” Dorian said. “If anything were to—”

  “I’m totally serious,” Aiden said. “Have you seen your face?”

  Dorian grabbed the FierceConnect standard-issue stress ball from his desk, crushing it until his fingers went numb. Fucking Aiden. Fucking Cole. Dorian wanted to talk them both out of it. To thank them for entertaining his crazy scheme and implore them to walk away before they got in any deeper.

  But one more glance at his friends—at the steel in their eyes, the strong set of their shoulders—and he knew his efforts would be futile.

  “Thank you,” he managed, emotion tightening his throat. He trusted these men more than he trusted his own brothers.

  He trusted them with his life.

  With Charlotte’s life.

  The men nodded, and after a beat, Aiden frowned and said, “I’m sorry, mate. I knew Charlotte was a bit unpredictable, but a thief? I truly didn’t see it coming.”

  “You couldn’t have,” Dorian said. After all, Dorian himself had been right next to it—in bed with it—and he’d been blindsided too. “But… thanks.”

  Aiden shrugged. “You’re clearly still in love with her, and I still think you’re a crazy obsessive bloody damn fool, and after this, if you so much as smile at a woman, I’m fingerprinting her, microchipping her, and putting her through every psychological screening test known to man. But I’ve always got your back, mate. You know that.”

  Dorian nodded. He did know that. And it meant more to him than Aiden could imagine.

  “So what’s our next move, Columbo?” Cole asked.

  To Aiden, Dorian said, “Call Estas and tell him it’s a go. Set up the meeting for Saturday night. Cole will meet him for the exchange, and you and I will follow—from a safe distance, of course—to make sure everything goes smoothly.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Cole said.

  “Excellent.” Aiden rose from the chair and stretched, cracking his neck as if he were limbering up for a fight. “I’ll have someone from H.R. send up the paperwork for my raise.”

  Dorian chucked the stress ball at Aiden’s head. “Sod off, you bloody racketeer.”

  “Forty percent ought to do it. A nice, round number.”

  “How about dinner and a few pints?”

  “Eh…” Aiden considered the offer. “Throw in dessert and a movie, a little cuddling afterwards, and you’ve got a deal.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  echoes of city’s dark past seen in chilling east village discoveries; authorities fear crimson city devil copycat

  neighborhoods on edge as body count grows

  midnight curfew in effect for manhattan; police urge extreme caution in wake of grisly murders

  Dorian tossed the Friday edition of the Times into the bin. The gruesome headlines capped off the end of a long, hellish week, the days growing darker on all fronts.

  This morning’s discovery of three more human victims in the vicinity of Bloodbath put Duchanes’ body count at two dozen since the raid on the club. The increased police presence and constant media speculation continued to drag Dorian into a past he’d never quite outrun.

  Upstate, the grays were multiplying at an alarming rate, growing bolder and stronger, with Cole and his wolves reporting more sightings and fewer kills. Worse, they were starting to spread into populated areas. Since Tuesday, four humans had been slaughtered in towns around Annendale-on-Hudson, all of them written off as animal attacks—a ridiculous assumption that would only result in more casualties. The pack seemed to be moving south along the river, likely heading for the most densely populated place in the entire country: New York City.

  Dorian’s fucking city, where—if left unchecked—they’d eventually merge with the so-called “civilized” Duchanes vampires in a vicious tsunami of death and mayhem no human would survive.

  Brilliant bit of strategy, that. A city in chaos was a city ripe for demonic takeover—a threat that, while presently unconfirmed, still loomed large in Dorian’s mind.

  More than ever, Dorian needed his brothers united behind him. But Malcolm still wasn’t speaking to him, Colin had become so obsessed with solving their father’s great mysteries he was all but living in the crypts now, and Gabriel was spending the better part of his evenings trading favors among his network of unsavory supernatural associates in Las Vegas, all to dig up dirt on Charlotte’s uncle.

  Here at FierceConnect, while talks with Armitage Holdings had cooled significantly in the wake of the tensions with House Duchanes, Dorian continued to endure the parade of Rudy D’Amico’s spies masquerading as investigators, their questions becoming more invasive, their demands more ridiculous. The various regulatory bodies involved in the acquisition process were already starting to balk, undoubtedly suspicious about the on-again, off-again status of the deal and the constant schedule changes.

  It was, in so many ways, the perfect storm. Yet despite the gravity of his many responsibilities, Dorian’s mind was locked almost entirely on another matter.

  Charlotte.

  Soft, beautiful, fiery Charlotte.

  In the days since they’d parted ways at Ravenswood, he’d sent her five dozen roses each and every morning, telling himself it was all part of the romantic ruse they needed to carry on for her uncle, should the bastard pay her another visit.

  He’d emailed her more details about their fake Hawaiian getaway, telling her how much he was looking forward to it.

  He’d typed up lengthy texts—hot, filthy, depraved—only to delete them before hitting the send button.

  He’d conjured her memory in the shower, in the bedroom, in the closets, recalling the feel of her soft, wet mouth as he stroked his cock to no avail.

  Her presence was all around him—flooding his senses, filling his memories, haunting his dreams. Everything about her made him constantly hard, constantly frustrated, and constantly worried.

  In that time, he’d seen her only from afar, alternating shifts with Aiden and occasionally Gabriel to keep watch over Charlotte and her sister from a distance, hoping to grant them a modicum of privacy. Only once had she spotted him on the street, and though he hadn’t approached her, she’d waved at him, and the smile that broke upon her face had felt like the dawn.

  He was still thinking about that smile now, just after close of business at FierceConnect, as the rest of his employees took off for the weekend. And though it was probably a terrible idea, the moment he was certain he was alone in the office, he grabbed his cell and made the call.

  “Chateaux Noir,” he said when Charlotte answered, “makes the most exquisite Coq au vin in America. Believe me, I’ve tried them all.”

  Charlotte laughed, the sound immediately warming him. “Sounds divine. Is that what you’re having tonight, monsieur?”

  “It’s what we’re having tonight, madame. Six o’clock?”

  Her silence spoke volumes.

  “It’s just dinner, love,” he said softly. “An early one, at that.”

  Still no response.

  “Charlotte, I know we’re not exactly…” Dorian sighed and raked a hand through his hair, searching for the words that’d clearly abandoned him. “It’s just that… I was hoping…”

  Bloody hell, why was this so damn difficult? Not four nights ago, he’d gone down on her in the garden as if it was his last fucking meal, and now he couldn’t even invite her on a simple date?

  “Dorian…”

  “You’re over-thinking it,” he said. “Don’t.”

  “I’m sorry. It’
s—”

  “There’s no reason we can’t enjoy each other’s company over a nice meal and a bottle of wine,” he said, biting back his irritation. “I haven’t been out in the city on a Friday night in an age.”

  Charlotte sighed, and he pictured the curve of her eyebrow, the wrinkle that appeared when she was deep in thought. His thumb ached to smooth it out.

  “I would love to, Dorian. But I already have plans tonight. Rain check?”

  Dorian’s heart thudded.

  Plans? As in, a date? Did she have a fucking date?

  I will kill him without hesitation…

  He tried to dismiss it, but the thought wormed its way into his mind, burrowing deep, taunting him.

  Haunting him.

  “Of course,” he said. “Enjoy your evening, Charlotte. Be safe.”

  He ended the call and pitched the phone across his desk, anger and frustration pushing him to his feet.

  He knew he should let it go. Just head back to Ravenswood, call Aiden and Cole to make sure they were all set for Saturday’s meeting with Estas, review the additional Armitage files his corporate lawyers had sent over, work on his Midnight Marauder stats, test the new gaming gloves one of his programmers had delivered from R&D…

  Anything but give in to the idea presently slithering through his mind.

  But he couldn’t.

  If Charlotte was seeing someone new, it could jeopardize everything—the entire show they’d been putting on for Rudy, her safety, Sasha’s, all of it. Whether she realized it or not, Dorian and his family were risking a lot to help her; one way or the other, he had a right to know what she was up to.

  At least, that’s what he told himself as he poured a glass of scotch from a bottle he kept in his desk. The alcohol burned, but it steadied his nerves for the task ahead.

  One way or the other.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  After waiting in the limousine across the street from Charlotte’s building for nearly an hour, Dorian finally spotted his woman exiting the lobby.

  She wore a simple black dress and a sheer, wine-colored wrap, her hair and makeup expertly styled. With every step, she carried herself with purpose, poise, and stone-cold determination.

  Blood rushed to Dorian’s head, his heart thumping frantically in his chest.

  Stunning.

  In so many ways, the moment reminded him of the night they’d met, when he’d first caught sight of her in the Salvatore lobby, her smile lighting up the darkness.

  “Do you see her?” Dorian leaned forward through the privacy window, pointing her out to Jameson as she marched down Park Avenue on foot. “Black dress, fucking gorgeous?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Follow her. Don’t get too close.”

  As Jameson pulled the car into Park Avenue traffic, a flicker of guilt burned in Dorian’s chest. Although he and Aiden had kept tabs on Charlotte and Sasha all week, this was different.

  Dorian told himself it was only to keep her safe, but that white-hot guilt eating through his guts called him a bloody liar.

  He was spying on her.

  Because deep down, all dangers and threats to her life aside, Dorian was a desperate, lovesick, jealous asshole who couldn’t stand the thought of some filthy human lowlife putting his hands—or any other body parts—on his woman.

  What was her type, anyway? Thieves and con artists? Stockbrokers? A lawyer, perhaps?

  Dorian scoffed.

  Pathetic.

  But… wait.

  A new fear jammed into Dorian’s skull like an icepick.

  What if her new man wasn’t human at all? What if she’d fallen for another vampire?

  “Don’t lose her,” Dorian snapped.

  “She’s just ahead, sir.”

  Already he was itching to bolt from the car, to chase her down, to make a fucking scene. But he took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down, keeping a close watch as Jameson trailed her to Eighty-Fourth Street, where she cut west toward Fifth Avenue.

  It was a one-way street; they couldn’t follow.

  “Sir?” Jameson asked.

  “Cut down Eighty-Third. We’ll beat her to the other end and…Never mind. I’m going after her.”

  “But Mr. Redthorne, are you certain that’s—”

  “Yes.” Ignoring Jameson’s voice of reason, Dorian exited the car and followed Charlotte’s path, spotting her midway down the block. She was heading for the park, charging down the street like a woman on a mission, wobbling each time her spiked heels hit the sidewalk.

  Dorian kept his distance, following her right through the park until the path spilled them out onto Central Park West.

  Why was she walking? In heels and a dress, no less? Where was her date? What kind of classless twat made a woman walk across town for a date?

  A dead twat, that’s what kind.

  Rage boiled inside him anew. He couldn’t wait to wrap his hands around the bastard’s neck. Perhaps he’d get a meal out of it too. Sink his fangs right into that fat, juicy artery and—

  “Bloody hell.”

  The breath whooshed from his lungs as he finally figured out where she was heading.

  In a sharp, terrible instant, Charlotte’s so-called plans came into focus.

  Not a date. A fucking job.

  Just a few yards ahead of him on the sidewalk, she slipped away like a shadow beneath the blood-red awning, disappearing into the Salvatore.

  Moments later, Dorian stormed inside, promptly compelled the doorman, and stalked into the elevator, more than ready to make that fucking scene.

  The auction was set up in the same penthouse as before, but it looked nothing like the place in his memory. Gone were the bar and the high-end furnishings, the caterers and bartenders that had previously served the bidders. Tonight, the place was stripped to its barest bones, the walls stark, the hardwood floors scuffed from heavy foot traffic. There was no socializing—only the business of selling off the family’s final few pieces of artwork.

  Even the security guard that had chased them off the property was nowhere to be found.

  Standing in the shadows at the back of the main room, Dorian scanned the attendees. No vampires this time, but two demons were seated just in front of him—Chernikov’s, already taking advantage of their new weekend freedoms.

  Still, what the hell were they doing at an auction? He hadn’t pegged Chernikov’s foot soldiers as art collectors.

  With a sinking feeling, he wondered which of the humans they were after—which of the wealthy elites was ready to sell his soul.

  No matter. Dorian had other business tonight, and he quickly turned his attention back to the other guests.

  He’d expected Charlotte’s absence, and was more than ready to hunt her down in the study, self-righteous and smug. He’d wanted it, he realized. She’d promised him she was out of the game for good, and he wanted to catch her in that lie.

  It would’ve made things so much easier.

  Give me a reason to end this for good…

  But there she was, seated at the front of the room alone, beautiful and aloof, a touch of sadness weighing on her soft shoulders.

  Dorian’s heart sputtered. He wanted to go to her. To rewind the past few weeks, erase them, call a do-over on the entire mess. They could be strangers once again, crossing paths for a few brief moments of passion, nothing more.

  And then he could turn on his heel, walk back into the elevator, and forget all about her.

  Oh, for fuck’s sake. Who was he trying to convince? He’d never take that deal, just as he’d never forget her. Not in an eternity.

  The artwork set up on the platform was covered with sheets, and now the auctioneer approached, revealing the few remaining pieces—two sculptures, a handful of smaller paintings, an antique tea set, and…

  Oh, Charlotte…

  Dorian stifled a curse. She wasn’t working a job after all.

  Without preamble, the auctioneer began the event, selling off three
small paintings and a sculpture before getting to the painting that had captured all of Charlotte’s attention.

  One that had come to mean something to Dorian too.

  “Adrift, by Heinrich Von Hausen,” the auctioneer said. “We’ll open the bidding at five thousand dollars.”

  On the night they’d first crossed paths, Charlotte had told Dorian the painting of the ship on a stormy sea reminded her of her father—that she’d seen it with him on a trip to the Smithsonian as a child.

  Charlotte raised her bid card, but she was trumped by three others in quick succession. She tried to keep up, raising each bid by another thousand, but when the bidding reached five figures, she quietly tucked the card into her purse, her head low.

  Dorian knew she didn’t have money—not even the five grand she’d first bid.

  She wasn’t here to buy it. She was here to see it off. To say goodbye.

  She remained seated, and Dorian watched as the auctioneer made quick work of closing the deal, the final bid coming in at $350,000.

  Charlotte nodded once at the painting before her, then rose from her chair and headed for the exit.

  Dorian remained in the shadows along the back wall, but his caution wasn’t necessary. She walked right past him, so closely Dorian could smell her intoxicating scent, could see the tears glittering in her copper eyes.

  She hadn’t even known he was there.

  He caught up with her in Central Park, lingering on a bench not far from where they’d shared their first dinner. The memory made him smile as much as it made him ache.

  “Had I known hotdogs were the way to your heart,” he teased, “I wouldn’t have led with the coq au vin tonight.”

  Charlotte didn’t smile. Didn’t glance up to meet his eyes. She barely acknowledged his presence.

  Standing over her, his shadow eclipsing her face, Dorian said only, “I’m sorry.”

  “So you saw—”

  “Everything, yes.”