Dark Seduction (Vampire Royals of New York #2) - Sarah Piper Page 0,18

she said to Sasha, “Dorian invited us to visit his manor upstate. You in?”

“I finally get to meet Mr. Already Forgotten?” she asked, excitement bubbling from her voice. “And he has a manor? Seriously?”

“And an infinity pool and hot tub,” Charley said, “so you might want to pack a swimsuit.”

“On it!” Sasha disappeared into her bedroom, leaving a trail of exuberance in her wake, but Charley’s nerves were still on edge.

Holding out her hand to the vampire in her entryway, she said, “Can I borrow your phone? I left mine in Tribeca.”

“You can speak with him at Ravenswood, Ms. D’Amico. Please pack your things. We really need to get on the road.”

Charley folded her arms across her chest and arched an eyebrow. It was barely ten in the morning, and she’d already puked multiple times, lost her gorgeous roses, been threatened with an empty gun, and gotten completely manhandled by her psycho uncle. And even though Dorian wanted to keep her safe, his protective instincts—along with his feelings for her—would likely come to a spectacular, explosive end the moment she made her epic confession.

So if Gabriel wanted to stand there and have a fucking brood-off? Fine. She could do this all day.

“Do these childish antics work on my brother?” he asked with a look of supreme irritation.

But he also handed over his phone.

Charley tried not to gloat, but she knew that this little win with Gabriel would probably be the highlight of her whole day—the very last thing she had to smile about.

Because the minute she heard Dorian’s voice, she was pretty damn sure she’d fall apart.

Chapter Seven

By the time Dorian and Cole made it back to Ravenswood, the rain had soaked the grounds, making for slippery, messy work that left Dorian wet, cold, and thoroughly grouchy. It wasn’t helping his injuries either; the wolf bites still burned, his healing slowed by the damp chill.

Fortunately, the weather didn’t darken Cole’s enthusiasm, and it wasn’t long before he and Dorian were standing shoulders-deep in a soggy pit several hundred feet behind the manor, rotting planks creaking beneath their feet.

Coffins.

“Jackpot.” Cole set aside the shovel and reached for his cigarettes, tapping one out of the pack. “Now, you mind telling me who’s in there? I prefer knowing a little something about a man before getting up close and personal with his rotting corpse.”

Dorian speared a coffin lid with the tip of his shovel. The wood was soft with age and moisture, splintering easily. “Any corpses buried here are nothing but bones by now.”

“Yeah, but whose bones?”

“Father never said.” Dorian sidestepped a plume of smoke and glanced out across the vast acreage, the green grass so vivid it almost hurt to look at it. In the distance, Ravenswood Manor stood sentry, a silent, immovable witness to more secrets than Dorian could imagine. “Two hundred-odd years ago, he dragged me and my brothers out here at three in the morning, right in the middle of a blasted storm, and ordered us to dig the hole. He’d already brought the horses round—two of them drawing the cart, jumping at every crack of thunder, the poor beasts.”

“They brought the coffins?”

Dorian nodded, remembering the wet, earthy smell of the horses, the sucking sounds their hooves made in the mud. It was a wonder the cart hadn’t overturned.

“Malcolm and I helped him lower the coffins into the hole, neither of us saying a word. We’d learned decades earlier not to ask too many questions.” Dorian stiffened, suppressing a shudder. “He waited until we’d buried them, and then he stood on top of the mound, lifted his hands skyward, and said, ‘A gift befitting the lord of demons—may his eternal reign darken our doorstep only until we’re ready to see the light.’”

Cole shook his head and laughed. “Your old man was a crazy sonofabitch. You know that, right?”

“Better than most.”

At the time, Dorian hadn’t the faintest idea what his father was on about. They’d all assumed he’d simply executed some poor, helpless humans in a ritual sacrifice—a gift for the demons, as he’d said.

It wouldn’t have been the first time.

But this morning, as Dorian stalked across the Luna Del Mar parking lot after his meeting, Chernikov’s words continued to chew through his mind, finally biting into the memory of that stormy night.

The coffins.

The befitting gifts.

And Dorian began to suspect it hadn’t been a sacrifice at all… but an investment.

Tightening his grip, he jammed the shovel back into the wood, prying away the splintered pieces of one lid, then the