Dark Deception (Vampire Royals of New York #1) - Sarah Piper Page 0,56
Dorian had never seen them before. Unsurprising, considering how quickly most of the other families sired new vampires to do their endless bidding. House Redthorne was unique in that Dorian’s brothers were related by blood, but that was a rare occurrence that required an entire family be turned at the same time.
Outside his own unfortunate gene pool, Dorian didn’t know any parents who’d subject their children to such torture. Still, Dorian’s family was full of enough dysfunction to keep a hundred therapists busy for a thousand years, but he wouldn’t trade them. There was something about blood and shared history that had made them loyal to one another in ways that sired vampires—despite their vows and the adoption of their sires’ names—were not.
In addition to the vampires, Duchanes had also extended the invitation to their bonded witch, whom he now introduced.
“Jacinda Colburn,” he said proudly, as if she were a prized steer.
The woman extended a hand glittering with rings, offering a mysterious smile.
Dorian shook her hand. It was cold to the touch. “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Colburn.”
Glancing around to ensure they had at least a small audience, Duchanes cleared his throat, and Dorian braced himself for the inevitable performance.
“As a gesture of goodwill and friendship between our two great houses,” Duchanes announced, “for this evening, House Duchanes offers the services of our bonded witch to the brothers of House Redthorne.”
For fuck’s sake.
“Very generous of you, Renault, but that won’t be necessary.”
“Oh, but it’s no trouble. Jacinda would be honored to assist you in any way.”
Turning to the witch, Dorian put on his most dazzling smile, trying to recall what he knew of the Duchanes witch. “You’re an earth witch, Ms. Colburn, are you not?”
She lit up at the question, her own smile broadening. “I am.”
“It’s not my area of expertise,” he continued, “but I’m told the gardens at Ravenswood are home to over four dozen species of medicinal herbs and flowers. You’re welcome to take clippings of anything you’d like for your practice.”
“Really?” Her blue eyes sparkled, making her appear much younger than she probably was. “Thank you, Mr. Redthorne.”
“Please. Call me Dorian.”
“Dorian,” she said with a smile. “Thank you.”
Beside her, Duchanes seethed. Dorian’s refusal of his offer was an insult, but everyone standing there knew Duchanes’ kindness was artificial at best.
What are you after tonight, bloodsucker?
“Very well,” Duchanes said. “We shall share a drink instead.” He snapped his fingers, and two women stepped forward from his group.
Human women—a blonde and a redhead, both wearing short cocktail dresses entirely inappropriate for the autumn night. They couldn’t have been more than twenty years of age, with pale skin, glossy eyes, and deep hollows beneath their cheek and collarbones.
Dorian’s gut churned, his vision swimming with red. They were obviously unhealthy and not well cared for. But unless he had clear evidence of coercion or compulsion, there was nothing he could do; the women were of consenting age.
“Gentleman’s choice.” Duchanes gestured for Dorian to take his pick.
He took a swig of his scotch, letting it linger in his mouth a moment before smiling at the women. “I’ve no need to partake this evening, but I appreciate the offer.”
“Your house is amazing, Mr. Redthorne,” the redhead said. “Like something out of a magazine!”
“Thank you.”
“That painting in the foyer, is that a Chantuille?” the blonde asked.
“Chanteaux,” he said. “Blackbirds in Flight.”
The blonde woman placed her hand on Dorian’s forearm, slinking further away from Duchanes to give Dorian what she probably thought was a furtive look, but he couldn’t help but notice the tremor in her hand. “Maybe you could show me around? I’d love to see the other pieces in your collection.”
“Ah, another time, perhaps,” Dorian said, grateful to see Aiden approaching. “Lovely to meet you all. The garden paths are extensive—feel free to explore.”
“You’re not coming with us?” she asked.
“I’m sorry. If you’ll excuse me, it seems another matter requires my attention.”
Pulling away from her touch as well as her disappointed gaze, Dorian walked past the whole group, making a beeline for his friend.
Without waiting for Aiden to speak, Dorian grabbed his arm and dragged him through a side door that led into the massive garage.
The scent of car wax, motor oil, and tires calmed his nerves, the stately presence of his cars a familiar comfort. Thankfully, he and Aiden were alone.
“How soon before these dreadful beasts leave my home?” he asked.
“Don’t be daft. We haven’t even served the second course of appetizers.”
Dorian sighed into his drink, then tipped the glass, finishing it