Dark Deception (Vampire Royals of New York #1) - Sarah Piper Page 0,4
of her heart pulling him into a deep trance.
As she walked across the lobby to the elevators, ignoring the now-docile doorman, their gazes met and locked for a beat… two… three…
Dorian inhaled sharply. Behind her coppery eyes, beneath the sunshine and light, darkness gathered like a storm on the horizon, stirring a terrible, ancient longing inside him.
Mine.
After what felt like an eternity, the woman averted her eyes and headed into the waiting elevator, tapping the button for her floor. But not before granting him the faintest, rose-colored smile and a shiver she tried desperately—unsuccessfully—to suppress.
Dorian’s lips curved in response, his mouth watering, predatory instincts flaring as thoughts of the woman’s soft skin invaded his consciousness. The taste of demon blood lingered in his throat, but perhaps he’d get to sample some of that sure-fire remedy tonight after all.
His cock stirred at the thought.
He took a step toward her, but a solid grip on his shoulder stopped him in his tracks, and the elevator doors closed, ferrying her away.
Dorian wheeled on his brother, fully intending to hit him with the same right hook he’d given the overly-pierced demon. But the look in Malcolm’s eyes stayed his hand, and he lowered it to his side, letting out a deep sigh instead.
“Bloody hell, Mac,” he said. “You show up after fifty years… What did you think would happen? We’d pop over to the nearest pub, grab a few pints, and reminisce about the good times?”
Malcolm’s face reddened. “I’m here to see to Father’s affairs. To ensure our longevity.”
“That is not your responsibility.”
“Whose, then? Yours?” He practically sneered. “We’re alone, Dorian. Father is dead. Without him, the few allies who remained loyal to House Redthorne will turn, if they haven’t already. Our power is waning. How long until we can no longer walk in the daylight? Until we can no longer pass as human? Without a witch or an alliance…” Malcolm shook his head, frustration and disappointment warring in his eyes. “If you see an alternate ending to this fairytale, I’m all ears.”
“What I see is a washed-up vampire prince attempting to manipulate his eldest brother with guilt and melodrama. I assure you, I’m moved by neither.” The elevator returned, and he stepped inside, hitting the button for the penthouse.
“Dorian. This isn’t—”
“Don’t wait up,” he said, smiling at his brother as the elevator doors began to close.
“Colin and Gabriel,” Malcolm blurted out. “They’ve already arrived at Ravenswood. They’re expecting us to return together.”
Dorian held his smile despite the fresh pit opening up in his stomach. “Tell them not to wait up either.”
“Your family needs you, Dorian.”
Silence.
It wasn’t until the elevator doors closed and the lift began its silent ascent that Dorian dropped his grin.
Reality hit him then, a wrecking ball straight to the chest.
It wasn’t the hush of his father’s final breaths. It wasn’t the scrape of the match against the flint, the blaze of the fire as it consumed the corpse, the fetid stench of it all. It wasn’t preparing paperwork for the attorney, or receiving the condolences from his driver, or wiping his father’s ashes from the sleeve of his bespoke Italian suit.
It was this moment, right now, when Dorian finally understood. This moment, when the brother he’d taught to read and write and shoe a horse looked into his eyes with the pain of a thousand regrets and spoke the words that had plagued Dorian’s nightmares for centuries.
Your family needs you…
Malcolm. Colin. Gabriel. All that remained of his once expansive family. Bound to him first by blood, second by love, and lastly by the brutal legacy none of them—no matter how far they’d scattered, no matter how many years had passed—could ever outrun.
The king is dead, long live the king.
The vampire royals of New York have returned.
Dorian’s chest squeezed tight, forcing out a ragged breath and a single utterance that encapsulated the entirety of his thoughts.
“Well, fuck.”
Chapter Two
Get in. Get the intel. Get out. And above all, don’t get noticed.
Repeating the mantra in her head, Charley D’Amico sipped her Sapphire and tonic, steeling her nerves for tonight’s assignment.
Thirteen years on the job, and she’d never broken the rules. Never left a shred of evidence behind. That was her thing—no trace. The whole reason she handled the public-facing gigs. She was, as her father had declared after her first big win all those years ago, a phantom.
So how the hell did a phantom manage to screw up before she’d even stepped into the elevator?