by Sarah Piper
Dorian squeezed his eyes shut, desperate to drown out the voice, to focus on the craving, the hunger, the deep haze of desire buzzing through his nervous system…
“Dorian,” Charlotte whispered again.
city streets run red with blood…
“Dorian, please.”
crimson city devil strikes again…
“I can’t fight you,” she said. “I’m not… strong enough.”
no closure on unsolved murders…
“Dorian, stop!”
Dorian opened his eyes.
The reality of his situation slammed into his chest, bringing everything into sharp, undiluted focus.
He yanked her wrist from his mouth and shot to his feet.
Charlotte collapsed.
“No. No! Charlotte!” He dropped to his knees and gathered her in his arms. He’d taken too much blood; her lips were nearly blue, her skin pale and clammy, her pulse thready.
He needed to heal her. Fast.
Fucking hell, he was ready to carve open his chest and give her every last drop of blood he’d taken from her, but he couldn’t. Dorian knew death when he saw it, and she was hovering right on the doorstep. If her heart stopped while his blood was in her system, it wouldn’t heal her.
It would turn her into a monster.
“What have I done?” he breathed.
“Dorian,” she whispered, her body twitching in his arms. “It’s… it’s okay.”
“No, it really isn’t.” His throat tightened, his heart cracking in half. How could he have been so foolish? So selfish? “I won’t let you die. Do hear me, Charlotte D’Amico? I won’t let you die.”
She lifted a trembling hand, pressing it to his cheek. “You… you’ve made me feel more alive than—”
“Shh. Save your strength, love.”
He scanned the bedroom, frantic. The demon she’d blasted was still unconscious, but that wouldn’t last much longer. Dorian knew more demons were already on the way—the scent of brimstone grew stronger with every breath. And while the shove through Dorian’s penthouse window may have temporarily stunned Duchanes, there was no way it’d killed him; vampires could jump great distances and still land on their feet.
Bloody hell, he didn’t want to move her, but he had no choice. The demons were closing in. There was no telling if Duchanes would return. They couldn’t stay here another minute.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her eyes glazing with tears. “For… everything.”
“You’ve nothing to apologize for.”
“If you find… Forgive me… I didn’t…” Her eyelids fluttered, then closed, her body going limp in his arms.
“Hold on, Charlotte. Just hold on.” Dorian carried her to the bed and wrapped her in the sheet.
On the other side of the penthouse, the front door splintered, the demons rushing in like cockroaches.
Brushing the hair from her eyes, he pressed one last, desperate kiss to her mouth.
Then, lifting her into his arms and drawing her close, Dorian stepped to the window ledge, took a deep breath, and jumped.
Chapter Forty-Eight
The taste of blood lingered in Dorian’s throat, conspiring with the overwhelming scent of all those damn roses in Charlotte’s Park Avenue penthouse to make him dizzy. He paced the living room, a wild, frenetic energy chewing through his veins while Marlys tended to Charlotte in the bedroom.
Dorian had no idea what was happening—whether she was conscious, whether she’d survive the transfusion of blood and magic Marlys had planned. The witch had answered his desperate call, but the moment she’d arrived, she took one look at Charlotte, shook her head, then promptly booted Dorian from the bedroom with a spell he couldn’t break.
An hour later, when Dorian was about ready to set those roses on fire, his brothers arrived. Colin had known something was wrong when Dorian abruptly dropped their earlier call; he and the others had left Ravenswood that instant, bound for Manhattan.
Colin had been granted access to Charlotte’s room, offering his medical assistance while Marlys worked her magic.
Now, Gabriel and Malcolm watched Dorian with alternating looks of judgment, scorn, and pity.
Dorian wasn’t interested in any of it.
“I want this building monitored round the clock,” he said, shoving a hand through his hair. At this rate, he’d tear it all out by daybreak. “Charlotte and her sister must be kept safe.”
“I don’t have time for this,” Gabriel snapped.
Dorian stopped pacing long enough to glare at his brother. “Yes, you made that abundantly clear when you ignored my orders to keep an eye on her.”
“Children,” Malcolm warned. “Let’s not start this again, shall we?” He grabbed a bottle of bourbon from the mini bar set up in the corner, helping himself to a glass. “Your incessant backbiting is driving me to drink.”
Gabriel ignored him, determined to say his ridiculous piece.
“Let me remind you, highness, she was attacked on your watch. In your bedroom. And who’s responsible for nearly exsanguinating her? Oh, right!” He jabbed a finger into Dorian’s chest, an inferno blazing behind his typically cold eyes. “You did this, Dorian. So forgive me, brother, but my priority is protecting my family from our enemies, not babysitting your human pet.”
“Your priority,” Dorian warned, one insult away from giving his brother the same window treatment he’d given Duchanes, “is what I command it to be. I’m still your king. If that is too difficult a concept for you to grasp, remove yourself from my city.”
A low rumble vibrated in the back of Gabriel’s throat, but Malcolm stepped between them before the argument could escalate.
“Bloody hell, the two of you make me want to tear my own heart out.” He tossed back his bourbon, shaking his head. “Yes, we need to find Duchanes. Yes, we need to figure out whose demons have gone rogue. Yes, we need to eliminate the threats to our family. But Ms. D’Amico—despite her wretched choice in lovers—is an innocent human. We can’t stand by and let Duchanes use her as bait.”
Dorian and Gabriel continued to glare daggers at each other, but eventually, Dorian nodded, and Gabriel backed off.
“Any word from Aiden?” Malcolm asked.
“He’s still looking for Sasha,” Dorian said, pouring himself a scotch from the bar. He’d sent Aiden to track her down with little information to go on but what Charlotte had mentioned earlier—she was staying with a friend called Darcy in the Williamsburg neighborhood of Brooklyn—prime Chernikov territory. Dorian had no idea how he’d convince the girl to return with him, but he trusted Aiden to see it through.
He’d likely have to compel her.
Charlotte would kill Dorian for it later, but he couldn’t worry about that now. Sasha needed to be here with her sister, where both of them could be kept safe. He’d deal with explanations and cover stories later.
“Dorian,” Gabriel said, his tone losing some of its earlier bite, “are you certain you can’t remember anything about the demon who attacked you?”
Dorian shook his head. “Dark hair, average build, average dress—nothing particularly memorable.”
“And you didn’t see his mark?”
“There was no time. But if we’re placing bets, my money is on Chernikov.” Dorian could barely get the man’s name out before the rage ignited inside him again. “Just like the demons Kate Connelly saw at Bloodbath—no one has been able to identify them, but my gut says all roads lead back to the Russian.”
“We can’t start a war with the most powerful demon in the city based solely on your gut,” Gabriel said.
“My war is with Duchanes. As for Chernikov…” Dorian sighed. “You’re right. We need more information.”
“Which we can’t get sitting around here, waiting for—”
“Dorian.” Colin emerged from the hallway, Marlys following behind.
All thoughts of Chernikov and Duchanes vanished.
“How is she?” Dorian abandoned his dri
nk, his heart lodged in his throat.
“She’s going to be okay,” Colin said, and relief swept over Dorian in a rush. “She needs to rest for a few days, drink plenty of fluids, and avoid anything strenuous.”
Dorian was already heading down the hallway toward the bedroom.
Marlys grabbed his arm. “Where are you going?”
“I need to see her, Marlys.”
“She’s still in and out of consciousness.”
“I don’t care.”
Marlys tightened her grip, her eyes blazing with a darkness Dorian had never before seen from his freelance witch. “You’ve done enough, Dorian Redthorne. I suggest you let her regain her strength.”
“Dorian,” Colin warned, “Marlys is right. We just got her back. We can’t risk you—”
“I’m not going to hurt her again,” he said softly. “That is a promise.”
Most of Dorian’s promises might’ve been worthless in their eyes—hell, a good portion of them were worthless in his own eyes. But not hurting Charlotte? Not drinking from her again? Those were promises he could now make without hesitation.
He’d always known her blood would drive him over the edge. Tonight, he’d gotten a glimpse of just how terrifying that edge could be, and he never wanted to go anywhere near it again.
Not even if his life depended on it.
Colin and Marlys must’ve seen the determination in his eyes, because they finally nodded and stepped aside, letting him pass.
Charlotte’s bedroom was luxuriously furnished but surprisingly plain, with no personal touches except for a few framed photos of a young blond woman Dorian assumed was Sasha and one of an older man that was probably Charlotte’s father.
Now, he stood at the side of her bed, looking down upon her sleeping form, a potent mix of relief and shame flooding his heart.
Her soft, dark lashes brushed her cheeks, her hair hanging limp around her face. The color had returned to her skin, her lips rosy and full, her breathing deep and even.
Her strong, steady heartbeat was music to his ears.
Dorian fell to his knees, taking her hand and stroking her silky-soft skin. The sight of her bandaged wrist—a wrist Duchanes had wounded, a wrist Dorian had fed from—filled him with anguish.
They’d only known each other a short time, but in those precious weeks, she’d ignited something inside him that could never be put back in its cage.
Something he thought he’d never know, never feel again.
Holding her hand, gazing at her angelic face, Dorian couldn’t imagine facing another tomorrow without her.
“Please come back to me, love,” he said. Tears burned behind his eyes, but he refused to let them fall—refused to let himself believe he had any more reason to worry. Instead, he pressed his lips to her hand, drawing her scent into his lungs, whispering his deepest confession into the darkness.
“I’ve bloody well fallen in love with you, Charlotte D’Amico. Now come back to me so I can prove it to you.”
Saying the words, even at a whisper, made them real in a way Dorian hadn’t expected, breaking through the iron gates inside him and pushing his heart to damn near bursting.
Love had always done its damnedest to ruin him. First, as a mortal man, when love blinded him to the darkness unfolding in his very home. That blindness led to the worst night of his life—his very last as a mortal man.
Then, a century and a half later, love blinded him again—a costly mistake that haunted him still, the ghost of the Crimson City Devil forever howling in his mind.
For Dorian, love and betrayal went hand-in-hand, a devastating marriage that could only end in pain and death.
But this time was different. Charlotte wasn’t some traitor from his past. She was his future. She was his right now. She was his everything.
Heeding Colin and Marlys’s warnings, Dorian released her hand. She needed to rest. Everything would look better in the morning.
With a soft, grateful smile, he leaned forward and kissed her cheek, lingering for a moment.
“I’ll be waiting for you,” he said. “Perhaps I’ll even cook breakfast.”
He was about to rise from the floor when he’s knees brushed against something under the bed. He glanced down, spotting a notebook and what looked like floor plans.
His floor plans, he realized with a start.
He grabbed the pile of paperwork for a closer look.
The documents were from Ravenswood, marked up with red Xs and notes about the artwork displayed in each room. The list was meticulous, matching a similar list in the notebook, with additional notes about the security systems in his home.
Then, scrawled across the top of the second page, underlined three times, was his alarm code.
759462.
Dorian’s head spun, a searing pain slicing through his chest as the pieces clicked into place.
Charlotte wasn’t an art consultant.
She was an art thief.
And she was planning to take Ravenswood for everything it was worth.
The breath rushed from his lungs, his heartbeat thudding in his ears, the damn walls closing in on him.
All of it had been a bloody lie. Her kiss, her touch, the fierce desire in her eyes… There hadn’t been a single honest thing about her.
He closed his eyes, unable to look at her, unable to bare another moment of the sharp pain tearing through him. Instead, he forced it back into the darkness, letting the flames of his fury forge it into another cold, impenetrable gate.
He was a fool to let anyone in.
He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
Not for the rest of his immortal life.
Without sparing Charlotte another glance, Dorian gathered up the evidence, rose from the floor, and marched out of her room.
“Dorian?” Colin asked, alarm filling his eyes. “Is everything all right?”
Malcolm rose from the couch. “Where are you going?”
Dorian didn’t have an answer to either question. At the moment, he could only spare one word, his voice trembling with fury.
“Away.”
And then, he left. Down the penthouse elevator, past the doorman he’d compelled earlier, and out into the oily gray Manhattan night.
With a stone heart rattling in his chest and a taste for vengeance smoldering in his mouth, Dorian blurred into the rhythmic rush of Park Avenue, leaving his beautiful, devastating traitor behind.
Colin and Marlys may have saved her life tonight, but as far as Dorian was concerned?
Charlotte D’Amico was dead.
A supernatural war is brewing in New York City. As dark secrets come to light and deadly enemies emerge from the shadows, can Charley and Dorian find their way back into each other’s hearts? Find out what happens next in Dark Seduction, book two of the Vampire Royals of New York series!
Vampire lovers! If you loved reading this story as much as I loved writing it, please help a girl out and leave a review on Amazon! Even a quick sentence or two about your favorite part can help other readers discover the book, and that makes me super happy!
If you really, really loved it, come hang out at our Facebook group, Sarah Piper’s Sassy Witches. I’d love to see you there.
XOXO
Sarah
About Sarah Piper
Sarah Piper is a Kindle All-Star winning urban fantasy and paranormal romance author. Through her signature brew of dark magic, heart-pounding suspense, and steamy romance, Sarah promises a sexy, supernatural escape into a world where the magic is real, the monsters are sinfully hot, and the witches always get their magically-ever-afters.
Her works include the newly released Vampire Royals of New York series, the Tarot Academy series, and The Witch's Rebels, a fan-favorite reverse harem urban fantasy series readers have dubbed "super sexy," "imaginative and original," "off-the-walls good," and "delightfully wicked in the best ways," a quote Sarah hopes will appear on her tombstone.
Originally from New York, Sarah now makes
her home in northern Colorado with her husband (though that changes frequently) (the location, not the husband), where she spends her days sleeping like a vampire and her nights writing books, casting spells, gazing at the moon, playing with her ever-expanding collection of Tarot cards, binge-watching Supernatural (Team Dean!), and obsessing over the best way to brew a cup of tea.
You can find her online at SarahPiperBooks.com and in her Facebook readers group, Sarah Piper's Sassy Witches! If you're sassy, or if you need a little more sass in your life, or if you need more Dean Winchester gifs in your life (who doesn't?), come hang out!