Dark Deception (Vampire Royals of New York #1) - Sarah Piper Page 0,80

he do but shoulder it?

“We cannot afford a war, Dorian,” Malcolm said now, pacing the study. “We’re still unallied, and after tonight’s disastrous turn, what are the chances Isabelle Armitage will join us?”

Malcolm gave voice to Dorian’s exact thoughts, but that didn’t mean Dorian would accept them.

“Renault Duchanes’ sired dung beetles attacked my companion at my own manor,” he said. “You expect me to let such an infraction go unpunished?”

“Unpunished, no. But a war? Over a woman whose last name you didn’t even know until this very evening? We should at least wait until we hear Renault’s version of events.”

“I would love to, but… Oh, that’s right. Your new mate has mysteriously fled the scene of the crime.” Dorian shook his head, disgust souring his drink. “Why are you so eager to take his side?”

“You’re bloody mad, Dorian.” Malcolm folded his arms across his chest, looking down his nose at Dorian in a manner he’d spent centuries perfecting. “The only side I’m on is House Redthorne’s. Forgive me if I don’t wish to send my brothers to the slaughter because you couldn’t keep your cock out of some human woman’s hot little—”

Dorian was out of his chair in a flash, slamming Malcolm into the wall beside the fireplace with a fist around his throat and a hand against his heart. “Do not finish that sentence unless you wish to receive the same treatment as our Duchanes guests.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Aiden rolled his eyes. “You lot have been repressing your emotions since you were humans bickering at the dinner table. Why stop a good thing now?”

A log toppled from the fire, shooting a rain of sparks from the fireplace.

Malcolm continued to glare, but finally raised his hands in surrender, and Dorian backed off.

“That’s better,” Aiden said. “Now, allow me to offer a perspective from someone who isn’t part of this house of complete dysfunction.” He jerked the fire poker from the wall, where it’d remained like an arrow since Dorian had chucked it there, and pushed the fallen log back into place. “I don’t believe the attack was about Ms. D’Amico specifically—she was just an easy target. My feeling is, whoever’s behind this wanted to make House Redthorne look weak—to sow discontent about the royal family’s ability to protect its own and lead the supernatural communities into a peaceful future.”

The brothers considered Aiden’s theory. With the recent demise of their father, there was bound to be some upheaval—minor skirmishes, like Dorian’s encounter with the demons in Manhattan, or some grumbling among the greater vampire covens who saw themselves as better leaders. But an attack on the royal family’s home turf?

“It makes sense that Duchanes would test us,” Malcolm said, “considering the refusal of the alliance.”

“You think House Duchanes is the only house that wants to see our heads on pikes?” This, from Gabriel, who was unapologetically working his way through Dorian’s collection of scotch. “Sure, he’s the most likely suspect, but he’s also got a few bats in the belfry. Something tells me the order came from someone higher on the pay scale.”

“I thought so as well,” Dorian admitted, returning to his chair.

“And if that’s true,” Gabriel continued, “tonight is just the start of what awaits us.”

“Agreed,” Malcolm said. “We have no idea who else is coming for us, what dangers lurk around every corner. We’re going to need security, as well as—”

“We’re the fucking royal family!” Dorian hurled his drink into the fire. It exploded in a burst of glass and flame, but quickly petered out, just like his ire.

For all the fury, his words were empty.

Long ago, House Kendrick was the royal family. Then Augustus Redthorne slaughtered them in the night, stealing the crown and everything that came with it.

What was to stop another ambitious house or supernatural faction from doing the same to the Redthornes? Especially now, when they were at their most vulnerable? His father had been a formidable force—a vampire whose methods of torture and brutality put warmongering generals and lone serial killers alike to shame. But Dorian?

He was as wet behind the ears as a newborn. He’d spent the better part of his immortal life trying to stay ahead of his father’s long shadow, only to wake up one day and realize he’d been chasing it all along.

And now, that shadow belonged to him; too dark and vast to wrangle, too cold to embrace, but his nevertheless.

Augustus Redthorne had only been dead a week, yet his house was nearly as powerless as if he’d