Dark Seduction (Vampire Royals of New York #2) - Sarah Piper Page 0,5
cell buzzed, cutting him off.
Aiden.
Keeping his eyes locked on Cole’s irritating, know-it-all smirk, he took the call, hoping his friend had some good news about Charlotte’s sister Sasha.
“Where the bloody hell are you?” Aiden demanded. “For fuck’s sake, Dori. Your brothers said you took off without even—”
“I’m upstate. Have you found the girl?”
“What are you doing up—”
“Sasha,” Dorian said. “Is she with you?”
“Not yet. I’ve been to every club and coffee shop and dreadful hipster bar in Brooklyn too—no trace.”
“Keep looking. She’s not safe with Duchanes on the loose.”
“And what of Charlotte?”
Across the table, Cole snickered.
“Charlotte,” Dorian bit out, tossing one of the broken fangs at Cole, “is a grown woman. She can look after herself—believe me.”
“Against an unhinged vampire like Duchanes? And a band of merry demon dickheads we’ve got no idea how to track? Have you gone bloody mad?”
“Yes, Aiden. As a matter of fact, I have gone bloody mad. So, unless you’re hungry for a taste of my wrath, I suggest you… you simply… fuck.” Dorian’s words tangled, the marijuana slowing his thoughts, turning his tongue heavy and thick. He let out a deep sigh, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I’m… sorry. You’re right. The situation is… less than ideal.”
It was a long moment before Aiden spoke again.
“What happened?” he finally asked Dorian. “Why did you leave Manhattan? I thought she was under your protection.”
“She… is,” Dorian said, realizing it was still true.
Fucking hell, woman. What have you done to me?
“Has there been any change in her condition?” Dorian asked softly.
“According to Colin, she’s resting comfortably, on the road to a full recovery. They sent Marlys home.”
Dorian let out a breath of relief, but the feeling didn’t last long.
In all his personal suffering over Charlotte, he’d almost forgotten about the damn demons. He had no idea which clan Duchanes’ minion belonged to, nor the rabble he’d scented en route before he leaped out of that window with Charlotte.
He imagined his Tribeca penthouse had been thoroughly trashed.
Fresh worry tightened his chest, cutting through the numbing haze of the marijuana. Had tonight’s attack truly been an attempted payback for the slights against House Duchanes? Or were the overly ambitious vampire and his demon minions searching for something else?
And why the fuck had the mention of Rogozin’s name sent Charlotte into such a cold, impenetrable state of fear?
The sting of her betrayal tore through him anew, but Cole was right—it wasn’t about the artwork or the silver. Dorian didn’t know what she was really after, but something told him it went far beyond his collection.
Artwork could be bought and sold, stolen, auctioned off to the highest bidder. But so could secrets.
In Dorian’s experience, secrets were far more valuable.
There were secrets lurking in the crypts of Ravenswood—secrets that could destroy not just the Redthorne line, but every member of every supernatural race in existence.
There were secrets Dorian’s father had shared with Nikolai Chernikov—secrets the demon lord had not-so-subtly wielded as threats.
There were secrets Charlotte had locked away—secrets Dorian suspected tied back to his enemies, whether Charlotte herself realized it or not.
Dorian closed his eyes, trying to slow the progression of his thoughts.
It didn’t matter that he never wanted to see her treacherous, beautiful face again.
She was a loose end—one the vampire king could not risk unraveling.
“Keep looking for the girl,” Dorian finally said. “I want Colin back at Ravenswood. I’ll have Malcolm and Gabriel keep an eye on Charlotte’s building.”
“And the demons?”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Are you certain?”
“Not in the slightest.”
Aiden sighed, his concern weighing heavy on Dorian’s conscience. “You’re exhausted, Dori. You need to rest.”
“And I will. In my next life.”
With a promise to return to Ravenswood and rest, he disconnected from Aiden, then met Cole’s gaze again. Outside, the mournful call of a lone wolf echoed across the forest, raising the hairs on Dorian’s arms. In perfect succession, the other wolves joined in.
They’d found something.
An eerie quiet settled into the kitchen—the calm before the storm.
“We’re in some shit now, ain’t we,” Cole said softly. It wasn’t a question.
“It’s not your fight.”
“No, I reckon it ain’t.” He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair, a smile breaking across his face. “But it is my woods, my cabin, my hooch, and my weed. What’s one more IOU between friends?”
Dorian gave a slight bow of his head, more grateful to the wolf shifter than he could ever express. Thumbing through the contacts on his phone, he said, “There’s an idiom in the human sandbox, Cole. Something