Dark Deception (Vampire Royals of New York #1) - Sarah Piper Page 0,73
they fight.” He released his hold and shoved her away. “Run along, little plaything. Fast as you can.”
She took off at a run down the hill, doing her best to stay upright in bare feet on the dew-slick grass. Her heart slammed against her ribs, lungs burning, feet stinging as rocks and sticks sliced through her skin, but she didn’t dare stop. Not until she was certain she’d left them far behind.
For a fleeting instant, she actually thought she’d escaped. But when she took a chance and glanced back over her shoulder to check, her forward momentum came to a crashing halt.
She’d run smack into them. Even though they’d given her a clear head start, somehow, they’d gotten out in front of her.
How the fuck…?
“You’re fast, gorgeous,” Junior said. “I’ll give you that.”
“Not fast enough.” Graybeard laughed, resting his arm on the younger man’s shoulder. They leered at her again, their eyes even hungrier than before.
The reality of the situation sank into Charley’s gut like a sharp-edged rock. Now, she was even further from civilization, trapped at the bottom of a hill in the darkness with two raving psychopaths, no weapons, no phone, nothing but crickets and moonlight.
She dropped into a crouch and fisted a nearby rock. If she was going down, she was going down fighting.
The men laughed again and took another step toward her, their smiles twisting into grimaces, those awful fangs flashing like blades.
But then, just before they descended and shredded her flesh, they fell to their knees, strangled gasps slithering from their mouths.
Dark blood spread across the front of Graybeard’s shirt like spilled ink.
Beside him, Junior was covered in even more blood—more than Charley had ever seen in her life.
His head, she realized, was gone.
And there, like something out of the worst B-movie horror flick ever made, two of the so-called Royal Redthornes towered behind them, fangs bared.
Gabriel clutched his knife, his arms and chest covered in blood, eyes wild with rage. Now, instead of an apple, he held a severed head.
Dorian’s expression mirrored his brother’s. A hunk of raw, red meat glistened in his hand, blood leaking out between his fingers.
Charley blinked.
Not meat. A heart. Graybeard’s fucking heart.
Charley blinked again, and the bodies of the men who’d ambushed her turned to ash before her eyes, scattering across the hillside.
And Charley—master thief, champion of champions, fighter to the death—dropped to her knees, puked in the grass, and promptly passed out.
Chapter Thirty-One
“Breathe, Charlotte. Just breathe.”
Dorian pressed the damp cloth to her forehead, wishing she’d say something. After she’d passed out, he’d carried her inside and cleaned her up, changing out of his own bloody garments and slowly bringing her back to consciousness, only to have her spiral into a screaming panic.
He’d had no other recourse but to compel her, and while the compulsion had silenced her shrieks of terror, the shock was still working its way through her system.
She’d been sitting in the study for well over an hour now, her eyes glassy in the firelight, her breathing shallow and erratic as Dorian knelt before her, willing her to return from the darkness.
He’d never seen anything like it before. Compelling someone to forget a traumatic event—any event—didn’t merely calm their fears or silence their reactions. It literally coerced the mind to write over those memories with new ones, as swiftly and completely as a novelist edits a scene in her story.
“You wandered out behind the property and slipped on the hillside,” Dorian said now, repeating the scenario he’d crafted for her earlier. “Gabriel and I heard you calling for help.”
What they’d actually heard were her screams; the sheer terror in her voice sent twin bolts of fear and rage through Dorian’s heart. He was already outside looking for her when it happened; Gabriel had arrived at the same moment. The brothers didn’t even speak. They simply acted, instantly eliminating the threat.
When news of the attack reached the manor, Aiden made quick work of clearing out the guests and staff under the pretense of a burst pipe. Gabriel and Malcolm had gone off to search the grounds for Duchanes, while Colin manned the crypts, just in case the vile bastard attempted to break in.
Duchanes. The name burned a fresh path through his chest, igniting something darker than hatred, more vile than loathing. The vampires who’d attacked his woman belonged to that deplorable house. They’d defied all customs and rules, entering his home under false pretenses, using his generosity against him, attacking a guest on his property. And not