by Sarah Piper
Total fucking fantasy.
It wasn’t self-pity—just par for the course in her line of work. Don’t get too close, too attached, too hopeful.
It hadn’t been a problem for her before. But now, Dorian Redthorne was giving Charley a taste of what she’d been missing out on… and she wanted more.
She didn’t know whether to smile or cry. So instead, she poured herself a mug of coffee from a silver carafe and said, “I can’t believe you made all this. It smells amazing.”
“And here you thought I was just a pretty face with a huge—”
“Waffle iron, by the looks of things.” Charley reached over and carved off a slice of waffle, then took a bit of everything else, quickly loading up. She eyed the strawberries, but there was no more room on her plate.
“Allow me.” Seeing her predicament, Dorian plucked a strawberry from the bowl and leaned forward, slipping it between Charley’s lips, watching intently as she bit into it. A trickle of sweet, red juice ran down her chin, and Dorian caught it with his thumb, then popped the rest of the berry into his own mouth. “Hmm. I could eat breakfast with you all day, love.”
“Could you?” She glanced down at the plate as more questions bubbled up inside. “Seriously? Because I thought vampires drank blood for breakfast.”
His smile faltered, and he leaned back in his chair, reaching for the coffee. “We drink blood to survive, but eating regular food is part of what allows us to hold onto our humanity.”
“What happens if you skip the O-positive and just eat regular food?”
He met her gaze across the table, his eyes cold and severe. “It’s not a pretty sight, Charlotte.”
“Tell me,” she demanded.
“We’re eating breakfast.”
“I want to know.”
Dorian set down his coffee mug, impatience tightening his jaw. “Without regular ingestion of human blood, a vampire will lose all trace of his humanity, physical and otherwise. He’ll revert to his natural monstrous state—a pale, mindless, physically-deformed nightmare who exists only to hunt, to fuck, and to feed on whatever helpless creatures cross his path. He retreats to caves and tunnels, as sunlight blisters his skin so horribly, it exposes the muscle and bone beneath. Eventually, over many years, he will decompose, alive and conscious till the bitter end.”
The strawberry turned to lead in her stomach, and Charley lowered her eyes.
The awkwardness crept back in between them, a thousand new questions burning through her mind like wildfire. There was so much she wanted to know—about vampires, about his family, about Dorian himself—but every time she opened her mouth to ask another question, her words turned to ash.
It was crazy. All of it. And it wasn’t her world. She shouldn’t have gotten a single glimpse, let alone an up-close-and-personal tour.
But she had.
Charley took a few more bites, but despite her grumbling stomach, she couldn’t eat.
Setting down her fork, she said, “I think it’s probably best if I head out.”
“You want to eat in the gardens? I can bring everything—”
“No, Dorian. I want to go home.”
“Now? But you’d planned to stay the weekend. I haven’t even told you about the art you asked after, and despite my best efforts to scare you off…” He offered a small smile, breaking through some of the tension. “…it’s clear you have questions about other things as well.”
“You mean about mindless vampires and werewolves and bogeymen?” Charley rolled her eyes, waiting for him to tell her she’d seen too many movies.
But Dorian said nothing.
“Are there other supernatural beings?” she asked. “Not just vampires?”
He speared a bite of waffle with his fork and shrugged. “I thought you wanted to go home.”
“I don’t know what I want anymore. That’s the problem.” She rubbed her eyes, her resolve weakening. Curiosity was definitely winning out—not just about the stolen artwork, but about the whole new world Dorian had opened up. With a single glance, he’d smashed through the lid on Pandora’s Box, and now that those demons had escaped, there was no putting them back inside.
“Wait… what about demons?” She looked up at him again, her heart sputtering.
“You’ve got questions, I’ve got answers.” Dorian’s mouth curved into a smug, sexy smile. “Perhaps I can tempt you with another deal.”
Charley shook her head, but she was already smiling again too. “State your terms, Mr. Redthorne.”
“I’ll allow you to return to the city this afternoon, if you’ll allow me to take you on a brief detour first.”
“Where?”
“A place I think you’ll love. It’s not far.”
“Hmm. So you can murder me and drink my blood?”
“Charlotte, I don’t need to leave the comfort of my own home to drink your blood, nor do I need to murder you.” His eyes glittered with mischief, despite the warning lurking beneath the surface.
Still, he had saved her life. Not just last night, but that night in Central Park too. Maybe he wanted to scare her, but Charley’s gut told her he didn’t want to hurt her.
Just the opposite, actually.
His eyes softened, and he let out a deep sigh. “You have questions only I can answer. I’m offering to do just that. But you need to show me a little trust too.”
“I know. It’s just… a lot to process. You’re a lot to process.”
He reached across the table and took her hand, stroking his thumb over her skin, sending ripples of heat up her arm. “Spend the day with me, love. Let me show you my favorite place in the world.”
“Just talking, right?”
“If that’s what you wish, then yes. Just talking.”
Charley drained the last of her coffee, then set her mug down on the table, decision made.
“Fine. But I’ve got a pre-condition.” She smirked and nodded toward the door beyond the breakfast nook—the one that led out to the garage, where Dorian’s collection of priceless automobiles awaited. “I’m driving.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Sitting in the passenger seat of his red 1962 Ferrari 250 GTO, Dorian wiped his damp hands on his pants.
I can’t believe I agreed to this.
“Don’t worry,” Charlotte said, downshifting smoothly to take the next curve. She reached over and patted his knee as she accelerated into the turn. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”
“But it’s not a rodeo, is it? No.” Dorian removed her hand and placed it firmly back on the wheel. “It’s a priceless piece of machinery careening down a mountain road with a driver who may or may not be plotting my demise.”
“Careening? Please. I’m in complete control.” Charlotte laughed, her hair whipping around her face in the breeze. She took her hand off the wheel to brush away a few strands that had blown into her mouth. “I’m surprised you actually let me drive it.”
“No more than I, believe me.” When he’d led her into the garage, she’d headed straight for the classic red Ferrari, admiring it with such reverence that when she finally turned to ask for the keys, Dorian swore there were tears in her eyes.
There was no way he could’ve turned her down. Not about the car. Not about anything.
And that, frankly, scared the hell out of him.
Dorian opened his eyes as the engine whined, Charlotte waiting until the last possible second to shift into fifth gear.
“This car is unbelievable,” she said. “So responsive. I feel like I could drive it with my eyes closed.”
“I’d really prefer you didn’t.” Dorian’s heart rate skyrocketed as they glided into another curve, the sun-dappled road cutting through a swath of eastern red cedars and paper birch trees. The power in the engine was unmistakable, and when Charlotte flashed him another smile, her whole face lit up.
He’d never seen anything so pure, so radiant.
They reached a long straightaway, and Charlotte gave it more gas. The car
wasn’t built with a speedometer, but from the blur of scenery along the road, Dorian guessed they’d hit eighty.
“Do I make you nervous, Mr. Redthorne?” she asked.
As nervous as Dorian was, Charlotte's enthusiasm was contagious. He couldn’t help but appreciate her skill. She handled the car with such ease, such unrestrained joy, it was as if she’d been born driving it.
Not only that, but every time she wrapped her hand around the gearshift, a bolt of heat shot straight to his cock.
“No,” Dorian said, forcing himself to relax. He curled his hand around the back of her neck, stroking her earlobe with his thumb. “Apparently, I trust you.”
“How much longer? I mean, until we get there, not until you stop trusting me.”
“The turnoff is round the next bend.” He trailed his fingers down her arm, then down along her thigh, wishing she’d worn a dress instead of the tight leggings. Still, there was something soft and sweet about her casual clothing, her messy hair, her makeup-free face. It was another facet of what he now understood was a deeply complex, contradictory woman—one he wanted to know. To care for. To keep safe, just like he’d vowed last night.
“Right here, love.” He pointed at the nearly hidden turnoff up ahead. “Make the right at the tree trunk, then drive all the way to the end.”
Charlotte downshifted, navigating them onto the rough road. A few moments later, they arrived at the end, no more than a small dirt clearing among the trees.
They were, as he knew they would be, alone.
“Dorian, this is incredible.” Charlotte stepped out of the car and walked a few dozen yards to the edge, a rocky ridge that sloped down into the valley a hundred feet below. Beyond, the Catskill Mountain range stretched out before them, red and gold in the autumn morning light.
“Why do I recognize this place?” She turned, hitting him full on with that bright, copper-eyed gaze. “It’s like a painting come to life.”
“Precisely.” He pointed at a rocky outcropping several feet away. “That’s where Cole Diamante sat to paint—”
“Fall of Secrets! Of course! I’ve seen that painting a hundred times at the Met. It was Diamante’s last landscape. After that, he moved on to portraiture, but he never achieved the same level of critical acclaim before his death. Too bad, really. His portraits are exquisite too.”
Dorian laughed at her exuberance. “Is there anything about art you don’t know?”
“I didn’t know this place was here.”
“Well, there is something else you don’t know about Cole Diamante, but if I share this secret, you must promise not to tell a soul.”
“I swear it.” She made an X over her heart, her eyes sparkling.
“Cole hasn’t passed on—he’s only retreated from the public eye.”
“What? Are you sure?”
“Quite. He owns this land, and he’s a former associate of mine, though he doesn’t venture out much anymore.”
“But that would make him over a hundred and fifty years old!” She narrowed her eyes. “Vampire?”
“Wolf shifter, actually.”
“Seriously? So wolf shifters are a thing?”
“Yes, though they’re increasingly rare. They mostly travel in packs and stick to their own kind, generally preferring the forests to the city. Cole is a lone wolf—always has been.”
“I can see why he likes it out here. It’s beautiful.”
The breeze picked up, blowing her hair into a wild frenzy around her head.
Charlotte didn’t squeal, didn’t try to smooth her hair back into place. She only laughed, throwing her arms out and twirling into the breeze, spinning until she was out of breath and the air finally stilled.
When she stopped and looked at him again, there was so much light in her eyes, it nearly blinded him.
“You’re beautiful, Charlotte D’Amico.” He grabbed her and pulled her close, pressing his lips to hers. She stiffened in his arms, but then relaxed, parting her lips for him as he drank her in, her mouth warm and soft, her gentle murmurs stirring him into a frenzy.
Entirely too soon, she broke their kiss and gave him a playful shove, glaring at him with a mix of amusement and annoyance. “Just talking, remember?”
“Forgive me.” Dorian gave a slight bow. “I was… overcome.”
“Don’t let it happen again.” She found a flat spot on the ridge and took a seat, patting the space next to her for Dorian to join her. When he did, she said, “Okay, enough about shifters. I need Vampire 101, lightning round. Ready?”
“What’s a lightning—”
“Garlic. Myth or fact?”
He laughed, understanding her meaning. “Myth. Like any good gourmet, I adore garlic.”
“Holy water?”
“Mostly myth, although witches can enchant water with certain spells that vampires find… uncomfortable.”
“Witches? As in, broomstick riding, spell-casting, fortune-telling—”
“Wait, is this still the lightning round? Because witches are a topic all their own.”
Charlotte blinked rapidly, then sighed. “Okay, we’ll save witches for later. What about walking in daylight?”
“A feat made possible by… witches.”
“Seriously?”
“Witches and vampires have a long, complicated, and mostly symbiotic history which I’ll tell you more about after the lightning round.”
“When you go to someone’s apartment or house, do you have to be invited in?”
“We haven’t for a good seventy or eighty years now.”
She cocked her head and smirked. “Witches?”
“You’re an excellent student,” he said with a wink. “That spell was born of necessity in modern times. As cities became more crowded, with a high percentage of renters and property turnover, tracking down owners to ask for permission to enter became more challenging. So, for the vampire who can afford it, there’s an easy fix.”
“Sounds like witches do a lot of favors for you guys.”
“For which they’re extremely well-paid, I assure you.” Dorian sighed, still bristling about Marlys’s exploitative prices.
“What about stakes?”
“Deadly. But only when they’re made of wood, and only if you manage to pierce the heart, like I told you last night. Otherwise, you’ll just piss us off.”
“Can vampires be killed by anything else?”
“Several things,” he said with a wry laugh. “Forgive me if I don’t readily disclose them.”
She peppered him with a few of the other popular myths—sleeping in coffins, turning into bats, no reflection in the mirror—which Dorian quickly dispelled. But soon they reached the end of the lightning round, and in the heavy pause that followed, he knew whatever came next was going to alter her reality forever.
She knew it too. Her face had changed, the playfulness dimming from her eyes. More than anything, Dorian wanted to hit the proverbial pause button, take her into his arms again, and kiss her until she’d forgotten that he was a vampire, forgotten she’d ever wanted to know about the dark world that existed alongside hers.
But it was too late for that.
“Dorian,” she said somberly, “how do you get your… blood supply?”
“Vampires are not required to feed from live humans,” he said, hoping to put her at ease.
“But some do anyway, right?”
“Yes—usually through a consensual arrangement with a human donor. Of course, the system is imperfect, and the balance of power isn’t exactly even, but we have laws that forbid the killing of humans. For the most part, they’re honored.”
“Do you? Drink from live humans, I mean?”
“Not in… many decades.” Sensing this wouldn’t be enough to satisfy her, he added, “Vampires only need to feed about once per week. I have an arrangement with a local hospital for blood bags, and short of that, I occasionally consume the blood of demons.”
“Demons?”
“They’re entities
of hell, bound to human vessels but void of human souls. Since the vessel itself is human, their blood still contains the same basic nutrients, though it’s not winning any points for taste.”
“Holy shit.” She shook her head, her voice dropping to a shocked whisper. “Everything you tell me is crazier than the last. All of it.”
“It isn’t a simple conversation, Charlotte. There is so much you don’t know. You claim you want answers, but perhaps it’s not—”
“Last night,” she said suddenly. “You told me I wouldn’t turn into a vampire, even though you bit me. How is that possible?”
“Vampires are made by vampire blood—it has nothing to do with being bitten. It just happens the two activities often go hand-in-hand.”
“How so?” she asked. When he hesitated, she folded her arms across her chest and said, “A deal is a deal, Dorian. If you don’t want to talk about this, then we’re done here.”
Dorian nodded, turning to look out across the vista. He didn’t want to see the look of fear and disgust in her eyes when he shared the rest.
Last night, she’d called him a monster. She had no idea how right she actually was.
Bloody hell, it felt like he was opening up a vein. But she was right—a deal was a deal, and he owed her an explanation.
Even if the truth sent her running out of his life for good.
“In order to become a vampire,” he began, “a human must be very close to death, and then they must ingest vampire blood—usually by drinking or injecting it. Some humans willingly turn, often through a mutually beneficial arrangement with their vampire sire.”
“And the ones who aren’t willing?”
From the corner of his eye, he caught Charlotte pulling her shirt collar close around her throat, an unconscious gesture she probably didn’t even realize she’d done, but one Dorian couldn’t unsee.