Dark Deception (Vampire Royals of New York #1) - Sarah Piper Page 0,100

boys are ready to stop measuring your dicks and start making a real plan. Until then, have a fan-fucking-tastic weekend!”

Chapter Forty-One

What a fucking nightmare.

By the following Wednesday, Dorian was little more than a caged animal on display, pacing his office while Aiden ushered out the corporate investigators they’d spent the morning trying to appease.

Lucien Armitage’s sons had sent them. In the wake of the attack on Charlotte at the fundraiser, they had new concerns about Dorian’s ability to, quote, “manage his competing priorities.”

And—rubbing a bit more salt in the wound—Lucien was still considering Renault Duchanes’ bid for Armitage Holdings. On the advice of his sons, the offer wouldn’t be dismissed unless Duchanes was found guilty of ordering the attack.

So Dorian had endured the investigations—two in as many days, with more lined up tomorrow—wasting precious time discussing his corporate and personal financials, his plans for integrating Armitage Holdings into FierceConnect’s existing structure, how he saw their technology fitting into his current product offerings. They’d asked about his beta testing procedures, how many employees had access to his proprietary development schematics, whether his home and office facilities were secure. Today, they’d gotten even more invasive, assaulting him with questions about everything from his employees’ schedules to how much unsupervised access his housekeeping staff had at Ravenswood, where they might uncover sensitive company data.

If he didn’t need the merger to help smooth the way to a partnership with Isabelle Armitage, he would’ve called the whole bloody thing off.

And worse, despite Aiden’s insistence that he play the consummate professional during these inane investigations, Dorian could hardly concentrate. His mind was utterly incapable of veering away from Charlotte for more than thirty consecutive seconds.

After trailing her and Jameson on Saturday, he knew she hadn’t gone home—Jameson had dropped her at an address on Water Street, nowhere near the Park Avenue address Dorian had spied on her driver’s license the night he’d found her purse in the gardens. Sitting in his black BMW M8 like a bloody stalker, he’d watched through the tinted windows as she entered the building. Then, no more than half an hour later, she exited and hopped into a taxi.

Again, Dorian followed her—this time, straight to Park Avenue.

Satisfied she was safely home, he took off, hoping they might catch up on the phone later that night. But in the four days since, he’d barely spoken to her. She’d ignored all of his calls, offering no more than a handful of noncommittal texts in return—empty promises about wanting to see him again, followed soon after with excuses about why she couldn’t.

Work meetings!

Homecoming BBQ at Sasha’s school!

Hair appointment!

Devil’s balls, that last one had really stung.

“I’m starting to understand why you don’t like people,” Aiden said, returning to Dorian’s office looking uncharacteristically flustered. “Sodding hell, that was torture.”

“With more fun to come tomorrow.” Dorian continued his pacing, keeping his back to the expansive windows. The sun felt overly bright today; his eyes ached as if someone had plucked them out of his skull, stomped on them, and shoved them back in.

“When was the last time you fed?” Aiden asked, tracking Dorian’s movements across the office. “You don’t look so hot.”

“I’m fine.”

He wasn’t fine. The sustaining effects of the demon blood he’d recently dined on hadn’t lasted very long, and the hospital from which he typically procured blood bags was experiencing a shortage. Dorian had been forced to purchase synthetic blood from Marlys—a last resort composed of cold extracted demon blood, animal blood, and a magic tincture so foul it had Dorian nearly wishing for death.

Dorian rubbed his eyes, trying to ease the throbbing behind them. It was maddening, but if they didn’t secure a bonded witch soon, the sunlight was going to be the least of his problems.

Day by day, Dorian was losing his ability to process the nutrients his body needed from blood. And though his brothers and Aiden hadn’t started showing the symptoms yet, he knew, deep in his gut, they would all eventually succumb to the same affliction.

“Dorian, are you certain you’re—”

“I said I’m fine, Aiden. Is there anything else?”

“Actually, yes, if you’ll allow me to share it without biting off my head.” He settled into his favorite spot in Dorian’s chair, helping himself to a sip of Dorian’s coffee, long gone cold. “I’ve received word from Kate—my contact at House Connelly. Two of her sisters reported seeing demons at Bloodbath this week.”

Dorian stopped pacing, his eyes widening. Bloodbath was an underground nightclub on St. Marks Place, owned by Duchanes and his