Dark Deception: A Vampire Romance (Vampire Royals of New York Book 1)

by Sarah Piper

  “Come on,” she grumbled. “Cut me a break.”

  His text finally popped up, but before she could read it, a shadow fell over her face, and she shoved the phone back into her purse, quickly getting to her feet.

  Two men she’d never seen loomed on the path before her, drinks in hand, tuxedos impeccable, their smiles perfectly pleasant.

  But every nerve in her body went on high alert.

  Gabriel may have glared at her with annoyance that bordered on contempt. But these guys?

  They looked at her like they wanted to eat her. And she was far enough from the main house that if they tried, no one would hear her scream.

  “Lovely evening, isn’t it?” one of them—a man with gray hair and a trim, matching beard—said.

  “Sure is.” Charley smiled, gripping Beyoncé 2 inside her purse. “I was just leaving, if you’d like the bench. Great view out here.”

  “The scenery is rather enchanting,” the younger of the two said, his beady eyes roaming her curves.

  “I wouldn’t go that far.” Graybeard frowned at Charley, sniffing at the air between them like a dog. “Redthorne royals cavorting with trash. What has the world come to?”

  Redthorne royals? What?

  “Sometimes trash has a certain… appeal.” The junior guy reached forward and touched Charley’s hair, his eyes dark with malice.

  Oh, hell no.

  All pretense of politeness shattered. Charley removed the weapon from her purse and took a step backward, aiming Beyoncé 2 at the douchebag who’d touched her. “Careful, boys. This trash bites.”

  “She said bites,” Junior said. “That’s so cute.”

  “Woman, you don’t know the meaning of the word,” Graybeard said. “But you will.” He flashed a cruel smile, his teeth sharp and long, almost like… fangs?

  What the fuck?

  Her mind flashed back to the bedroom at the Salvatore. Hadn’t she thought the same thing about Duchanes?

  Junior reached for her again, but this time Charley was ready for it. She squeezed the trigger, plugging him square in the chest.

  Her mouth quirked into a triumphant grin, but it didn’t last.

  The asshole should’ve dropped to the ground, muscles jiggling like a Jell-o mold. Yet there he stood, unmoving, unaffected, still grinning at her like she was the main course.

  Charley was sure of it now. The men had actual, real-life, terrifying fangs.

  “Was that supposed to hurt?” he asked, plucking the probes from his chest.

  “Maybe it’s a kink?” Graybeard said. “Young people are into pain these days.”

  Junior laughed. “Then I suppose it’s your lucky night, gorgeous.”

  In a blur, they dropped their drinks and surrounded her, Graybeard hauling her backward against his chest, Junior crushing her from the front, snatching at her breasts.

  “Help!” Charley screamed, knowing her cries would likely go unheard. “Fire!” she tried again, recalling all the self-defense stuff she’d picked up over the years. Weren’t people supposed to be more likely to help if you yelled fire?

  Graybeard fisted her hair, jerking her head sideways and exposing her neck. Junior leaned in and licked her flesh, groaning with sick pleasure.

  Charley choked back bile. She didn’t care how strong they were, how determined. She would not let this happen.

  She struggled against their hold, using her elbows, her knees, the back of her head, anything to get in a hit. But it was no use. The men were impossibly strong, like two stone walls closing in from all sides, determined to turn her into a pancake.

  But not before they had their fun.

  “Fire!” she screamed again, then slammed her head backward, finally connecting with Graybeard’s face. She heard the crunch of bone and hoped she’d taken out a few teeth, but the man behind her only laughed.

  “I love it when they fight.” He released his hold and shoved her away. “Run along, little plaything. Fast as you can.”

  She took off at a run down the hill, doing her best to stay upright in bare feet on the dew-slick grass. Her heart slammed against her ribs, lungs burning, feet stinging as rocks and sticks sliced through her skin, but she didn’t dare stop. Not until she was certain she’d left them far behind.

  For a fleeting instant, she actually thought she’d escaped. But when she took a chance and glanced back over her shoulder to check, her forward momentum came to a crashing halt.

  She’d run smack into them. Even though they’d given her a clear head start, somehow, they’d gotten out in front of her.

  How the fuck…?

  “You’re fast, gorgeous,” Junior said. “I’ll give you that.”

  “Not fast enough.” Graybeard laughed, resting his arm on the younger man’s shoulder. They leered at her again, their eyes even hungrier than before.

  The reality of the situation sank into Charley’s gut like a sharp-edged rock. Now, she was even further from civilization, trapped at the bottom of a hill in the darkness with two raving psychopaths, no weapons, no phone, nothing but crickets and moonlight.

  She dropped into a crouch and fisted a nearby rock. If she was going down, she was going down fighting.

  The men laughed again and took another step toward her, their smiles twisting into grimaces, those awful fangs flashing like blades.

  But then, just before they descended and shredded her flesh, they fell to their knees, strangled gasps slithering from their mouths.

  Dark blood spread across the front of Graybeard’s shirt like spilled ink.

  Beside him, Junior was covered in even more blood—more than Charley had ever seen in her life.

  His head, she realized, was gone.

  And there, like something out of the worst B-movie horror flick ever made, two of the so-called Royal Redthornes towered behind them, fangs bared.

  Gabriel clutched his knife, his arms and chest covered in blood, eyes wild with rage. Now, instead of an apple, he held a severed head.

  Dorian’s expression mirrored his brother’s. A hunk of raw, red meat glistened in his hand, blood leaking out between his fingers.

  Charley blinked.

  Not meat. A heart. Graybeard’s fucking heart.

  Charley blinked again, and the bodies of the men who’d ambushed her turned to ash before her eyes, scattering across the hillside.

  And Charley—master thief, champion of champions, fighter to the death—dropped to her knees, puked in the grass, and promptly passed out.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “Breathe, Charlotte. Just breathe.”

  Dorian pressed the damp cloth to her forehead, wishing she’d say something. After she’d passed out, he’d carried her inside and cleaned her up, changing out of his own bloody garments and slowly bringing her back to consciousness, only to have her spiral into a screaming panic.

  He’d had no other recourse but to compel her, and while the compulsion had silenced her shrieks of terror, the shock was still working its way through her system.

  She’d been sitting in the study for well over an hour now, her eyes glassy in the firelight, her breathing shallow and erratic as Dorian knelt before her, willing her to return from the darkness.

  He’d never seen anything like it before. Compelling someone to forget a traumatic event—any event—didn’t merely calm their fears or silence their reactions. It literally coerced the mind to write over those memories with new ones, as swiftly and completely as a novelist edits a scene in her story.

  “You wandered out behind the property and slipped on the hillside,” Dorian said now, repeating the scenario he’d crafted for her earlier. “Gabriel and I heard you calling for help.”

  What they’d actually heard were her screams; the sheer terror in her voice sent twin bolts of fear and rage through Dorian’s heart. He was already outside looking for her when it happened; Gabriel had arrived at the same moment. The brothers didn’t even speak. They simply acted, instantly eliminating the threat.

 
When news of the attack reached the manor, Aiden made quick work of clearing out the guests and staff under the pretense of a burst pipe. Gabriel and Malcolm had gone off to search the grounds for Duchanes, while Colin manned the crypts, just in case the vile bastard attempted to break in.

  Duchanes. The name burned a fresh path through his chest, igniting something darker than hatred, more vile than loathing. The vampires who’d attacked his woman belonged to that deplorable house. They’d defied all customs and rules, entering his home under false pretenses, using his generosity against him, attacking a guest on his property. And not just any guest, but a woman he’d claimed as his own.

  It meant war.

  In some ways, Dorian was relieved. Politics was complicated. But war? War simplified things.

  Duchanes would suffer. His bloodline would burn. And then, when the last of his house was forgotten and scattered to the winds, Dorian would personally send his enemy into the jaws of hell.

  But first, he needed to take care of Charlotte.

  “Dorian?” a weak voice called, pulling him back to the moment.

  Dropping the cloth, he took her hands and pressed them to his mouth, breathing in her scent. “Thank the gods and the devil both. How are you feeling?”

  She blinked down at him from the chair, her eyes still unfocused, her brow furrowed. “I think… I need a drink.”

  “Of course.” He got to his feet and headed for the small bar he kept stocked in the study, pouring her a hefty dose of his favorite scotch. “I don’t have gin on hand, but—”

  “It’s fine. Anything is fine.” She reached for the glass, then downed it in a few gulps, wincing at the burn.

  “Better?” he asked.

  She held out the glass for more.

  He poured a little less this time. “Careful, love. You’ve only just regained consciousness.”

  Heeding his advice, she took a measured sip, fighting off a shiver. “What happened?”

  Dorian pulled a blanket from another chair and draped it over her shoulders. “You had a fall. Nothing to worry about—just a slip and a good scare.” He told her the story he’d invented, sending gentle waves of compulsion through her mind.

  “It’s weird,” she said. “I remember walking along the path, and seeing Gabriel by the tree, and sitting on the bench by myself. I texted my sister, and then… I don’t know. It’s all a big blank.”

  “You may have a concussion,” he said, knowing damn well she didn’t. “I’ll keep an eye on you tonight.”

  She offered a watery smile, the first he’d seen since their encounter in the basement hours earlier. “Thank you, Dorian. I… I’m sorry for the trouble.”

  “It’s no trouble at all.”

  “Where is everyone else?”

  “I sent them home.”

  Charlotte squeezed her forehead and groaned. “Oh, God. I ruined the whole party.”

  “Nonsense.” Dorian knelt before her again, sliding his hands up her thighs. “It was the perfect excuse to cut short an otherwise dreadful evening.”

  She laughed, but it rang hollow, her eyes still glazed with confusion.

  Dorian lowered his gaze, his mind racing. Other than a few cuts on her feet, which he’d already healed with his blood, Charlotte didn’t have any physical injuries—he would’ve sensed them. So why wasn’t she accepting the compulsion? Even if the ordeal had left her drained, her mind should’ve been clear by now.

  “What’s wrong, love?” he asked.

  “It bothers me that I don’t remember falling. I don’t remember you guys finding me, either. You said Gabriel was with you?”

  “Yes. I was already looking for you—I ran into him on the path. That’s when we heard you calling for help.”

  She nodded, but Dorian sensed her mind was still spinning, working over the details and searching for the holes in his story. He was about to try another round of compulsion when Aiden entered the study, Gabriel and Malcolm right behind him.

  Their grim faces said it all.

  “Nothing?” Dorian asked anyway, rising and crossing the room to meet them. He didn’t want Charlotte to overhear.

  “Not a trace,” Gabriel said. The blood on his shirt had dried to a muddy black, and Dorian curled his hands into fists, another wave of fury rippling through him as he thought of the Duchanes traitors.

  “How is Charlotte?” Aiden asked.

  Dorian glanced over his shoulder and found her holding the drink in her lap, staring into the fire as if the flames held all the answers. “Hard to say. She doesn’t remember much.”

  “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Aiden asked.

  Dorian sighed and shook his head.

  “Didn’t you compel her?” Malcolm asked, unable to keep the superior tone from his voice.

  Dorian glared at him. “Didn’t you seek an alliance with a murderer?”

  “We don’t know that Renault gave the order for the attack,” he said.

  “Where is he, then? If he’s innocent, he should be just as eager to uncover the traitors of House Duchanes as we are. Instead, he’s fled the scene like a—”

  “Dorian.” Aiden gripped his arm, forcing his attention back to the matter at hand. “The compulsion. It didn’t take?”

  Dorian shook his head. “Doesn’t seem so. Not fully, anyway.”

  “Dorian?” Charlotte called out now, her tone more curious than anything else. “Am I going to turn?”

  “Turn?” Dorian exchanged a shocked glance with Aiden, then returned to his woman, kneeling before her once again. “What ever do you mean, love?”

  “You bit me.” She touched her lip, still swollen from their encounter in the basement.

  “That was an accident,” he said gently, reaching up to stroke her face. “You’re all right.”

  “I’ve read all the books. Seen all the movies. My sister is kind of obsessed, so we’ve got a whole library full.”

  “I’m still not sure what you mean.” Dorian forced a gentle smile, but inside, cold fear gripped his heart.

  Charlotte finally met his eyes. “If a vampire bites someone, they turn. Everyone knows that.”

  “And the good times keep on coming,” Gabriel muttered from the doorway.

  Ignoring his brother, Dorian rose from the floor and held out his hands, helping Charlotte out of the chair. “Why don’t I take you to bed. Everything will make a lot more sense in the morning.”

  Nodding, she got to her feet and yawned, and for a brief moment, Dorian thought they’d sufficiently dodged the bullet.

  But then she placed her hand against his chest and looked up into his eyes, her heartbeat suddenly kicking into high gear.

  The change came over her in an instant, her gaze turning from vacant and confused to sharp and discerning. Adrenaline flooded her bloodstream and she gasped, some dark, terrible realization taking root in her mind.

  “Stay away from me!” She jerked out of Dorian’s hold, her glass clattering to the floor.

  Dorian raised his hands and took a step back, giving her space. “Charlotte, I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe here.”

  “You’re a… you’re a vampire!” Her eyes darted around the room, her face as pale as the moon. “You’re all vampires. Those men outside… Fangs and… So fast and… Oh my God.” She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her hands to the sides of her head, as if her mind was ready to explode.

  Dorian could only imagine what she was going through.

  “This is fucking insane!” she shouted.

  “Charlotte, listen to me.” Dorian took a step toward her, his voice low. “Please let me explain.”

  She finally opened her eyes, her gaze alight with confusion and anger and so much raw, unchecked fear it made his heart ache.

  Dorian would never forget that look in her eyes. And he’d never forgive himself for putting it there.

  “Just breathe,” he said again, his tone deep and even as he willed a fresh wave of compulsion to take hold. “You had an acciden
t behind the gardens. You fell, and—”

  “Are you trying to manipulate me?” she demanded, the anger in her eyes starting to edge out the fear.

  “She’s got your number, brother,” Gabriel quipped, clearly enjoying the disastrous turn of events.

  “Of course not,” Dorian said to Charlotte. “I’m trying to explain what happened. You’ve had a rough night, and—”

  “Compulsion, right?” she asked. “That’s what it’s called. You’re trying to use your vampire mojo on me to convince me I’m imagining the complete and utter shit-show I’ve witnessed. Those men who attacked me were vampires. You and your brothers are vampires. And rather than admit it, you want me to think I’m going crazy. Do you have any idea how messed up that is?”

  “Charlotte, it’s not that simple. I’m—”

  “Don’t. Don’t come another step closer.” She grabbed the iron poker from the set beside the fireplace, brandishing it like a weapon. It wouldn’t do her any good, but Dorian admired her guts. “I remember now,” she said. “I remember exactly what happened tonight. I remember… God, I remember what happened in Central Park too!”

  “What happened in Central Park?” Aiden asked.

  “Not now, Aiden.” Dorian turned back to Charlotte. “If you’ll let me explain, I’ll—”

  “You’ll what? Spoon-feed me more lies? Erase my memories?”

  “Charlotte—”

  “Get back, or I’ll shove this thing through your heart!” She tightened her grip on the fire poker, tears spilling down her cheeks. “How long have you been messing with my mind? From the very start? Did you… Oh, fuck me. Of course.”

  Her eyes filled with a pain so sharp and all-encompassing, Dorian felt it echo through his own heart.

  In that moment, he knew exactly where her mind had gone.

  “Trouble in paradise, brother?” Gabriel taunted.

  Dorian whirled around to face him. “Leave us. Now.”

  “As you wish, highness.” Gabriel swiped a bottle from the bar. Then, pointing at Charlotte as if she were a pest in need of exterminating, “Take care of that, or I will.”