Dark Deception (Vampire Royals of New York #1) - Sarah Piper Page 0,31
a terrifying reputation Dorian preferred not to think about.
Now, his baby brother looked upon him with eyes as cold and calculating as their father’s. It chilled Dorian to the marrow.
“Witches aren’t hard to come by in New Orleans,” Malcolm said, breaking the tense silence. He placed another log on the fire, the flames popping. “I’d assumed that was the case here as well, but it seems you’ve let yourself go a bit, brother.”
He’d meant it as a joke, but only Colin laughed.
Dorian’s very veins itched. “I’ve managed.”
“And Father?” Gabriel asked, his voice like a steel sword. “He managed as well?”
Ignoring the dig, Dorian raised his glass and grinned. “Until the very end.”
Without further encouragement, his brothers made themselves at home in the study, occupying the leather chairs around the fireplace, pouring another round of bourbon from the bottle Colin brought.
“To Father,” Colin said, raising his glass.
“May his eternal rest be as terrible as the torments he inflicted upon us,” Malcolm said.
Now that was something Dorian could drink to. He nodded and took another swig.
Gabriel remained silent, seething in the farthest chair, but he lifted his glass to his lips anyway.
None of them asked how Father had died, which was just as well. Dorian had started the rumor of a foreign demon attack—an old enemy come to repay an old slight—but that was simply to assuage the supernatural grapevine. He wasn’t prepared to discuss the true cause—not until he figured out how to prevent it from happening to the rest of them.
Not until he figured out how it’d even happened in the first place.
The warmth of the fire lulled them into silence, each lost in his own thoughts. It was a long while before anyone spoke again.
“Dorian,” Malcolm finally said, his tone careful, “we’ve all discussed this, and we’re in agreement. Perhaps I could’ve handled our earlier conversation with a bit more diplomacy, but I stand by my position. Given the circumstances, an alliance is our best option.” He sipped his bourbon, then shrugged. “House Duchanes is prepared to make an offer. I think we should take them up on it.”
“Yes,” Dorian said, keeping his anger on simmer. “I ran into your friend Renault at the auction tonight.”
“So he approached you, then.”
“Oh, he more than approached me. He made quite a show of assuring me you’d already agreed.” Dorian glared at him, waiting for him to deny it. Hoping, against the odds, that he would.
But Malcolm’s silence spoke volumes.
“Renault Duchanes?” Dorian slammed his glass on the end table. “You can’t possibly be serious, Mac.”
“Alliances are rarely perfect,” Malcolm said. “Simply a means to an end.”
“What you’re proposing is a means to our end—one Duchanes would gladly usher in.”
“His is the only greater house willing to work with us.”
“And why do you suppose that is? Because they’ve taken pity on us in our time of need? Because Renault is just an all-around decent fellow?”
“Father’s legacy—”
“You’re so concerned about father’s legacy, you’re willing to destroy what’s left of it by playing high-stakes Monopoly with blood slavers and sex traffickers?” Dorian rose from his chair and turned toward the hearth, wishing he could dive right into the flames, let them consume him as readily as hellfire. “If that’s all we’ve got to offer, maybe it’s time to let our legacy die.”
“And do what?” Malcolm snapped. “Crawl into the crypt with Father? Is that what you wish?”
Dorian ran his fingers along the mahogany mantle, remembering all the times he and his brothers had stolen into Father’s study in West Sussex, giggling as they snuck forbidden glimpses at his illustrated anatomy books. “Perhaps it’s where we belong.”
Colin, ever the peacemaker, stood and placed a hand on Dorian’s shoulder. Dorian forced himself not to recoil, despite the burn of shame in his gut.
“Don’t speak of such things, brother,” Colin said. “We’ll find the answers.”
He closed his eyes, wishing he already had the answers.
More than anything, he wanted to make this right for them, whether they planned to return to New York permanently, or they walked out of his life tomorrow without a backward glance.
But how could he?
Since the turning, Dorian had been taught to believe vampires held all the power. They were at the top of the supernatural food chain, stronger and deadlier than the other races, their blood coveted for its magical and healing properties by witches and lesser beings alike. They outnumbered demons and shifters by threefold and could much more easily grow their ranks—with or without human consent.