Dark Seduction (Vampire Royals of New York #2) - Sarah Piper Page 0,75

and captured her in his strong embrace, no longer content not to touch her. “That,” he said, nipping playfully at her neck, “was a one-time deal.”

Charley giggled in his arms, light and carefree, a few of her old ghosts floating away.

“We’ll see, vampire king. We’ll see.”

When they arrived at Ravenswood, the circular drive was full of fancy cars, with even more vehicles parked on the grounds. In a clearing next to the manor, a black helicopter loomed like a war machine.

Aiden was waiting for Dorian out front, the urgency clear in his eyes.

“What the hell is going on?” Dorian was out of the limo before they’d even come to a full stop, Charlotte close on his heels.

“If you’d check your phone once in a while,” Aiden said, “you might have your answers.”

“I was busy!”

Aiden took in their appearance—Dorian, his shirt untucked, his hair tousled. Charley, definitely rocking the freshly-fucked-in-a-car look. She wore it well, but still.

Dead giveaway.

“Malcolm has called a… meeting,” Aiden said carefully. “A business… council… meeting.”

Dorian seethed, every muscle in his body instantly rigid. In a low, menacing voice, he said, “You’re telling me my manor is filled with a dozen ancient bloodsuckers?”

“More like three dozen, and they’re not all ancient. He’s invited some new blood as well, no pun intended.”

A quiet rage rippled through Dorian’s body. “I need you to escort Charlotte upstairs at once. Where are Gabriel and Colin?”

“Gabriel is on his way back from the city. Colin is still… working on his research. He asked not to be disturbed.”

Dorian nodded, then turned to Charlotte, his eyes softening.

“I don’t want you to worry, love,” he said, cupping her face. “But it seems my brother has invited some unsavory guests into our home. I need you to go with Aiden and stay in the bedroom. I’ll join you as soon as I can rid us of these… intruders.”

Charley nodded. Aiden and Dorian’s brothers were intimidating enough; she had zero interest in meeting three dozen so-called ancient bloodsuckers.

“Your bedroom?” she asked, just to be sure.

Dorian smiled. “I wouldn’t have you stay anywhere else, Ms. D’Amico.”

Charley couldn’t hide her grin. After last weekend’s banishment to the guest bedroom, the invitation felt like an extension of trust—a trust she wouldn’t take for granted again.

“I’ll be with you shortly,” he said.

“Are you sure? It sounds like you’ve got a lot going on.”

“I do. And none of it is as important as you.” He leaned in and brushed a sweet, sexy kiss to her lips. “Will you wait for me tonight, love?”

Charley nodded, her chest filling with a different kind of warmth—one that had nothing to do with his sexy kisses and masterful touch. “I will always wait for you, vampire king.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

It was worse than Dorian had imagined.

Crammed into the dining room he despised, some camped around the table, others standing shoulder to shoulder behind them, three dozen vampires bickered and speculated and otherwise fouled up all the air in the room.

Dorian’s air.

House Connelly, House Pritchard, House Dade. Thompson and Blackburn, Morris, Deegan, Silvestri. A good lot of them Dorian didn’t recognize at all—clueless upstarts, doubtlessly eager to make a name for themselves.

Malcolm sat at the head of the table, a smug and self-important host.

When they finally noticed Dorian looming in the doorway, the room fell silent.

Malcolm glanced up at him, his eyes full of challenge and conceit. “Well! Good evening, brother. I’m so glad you could take time out of your busy schedule to join us.”

Dorian glared at their guests, each one shrinking beneath his scrutiny with nothing more than a few grumblings of “Good evening, King Redthorne,” and “lovely to see you, your excellency.”

Bloody cowards. And these were the vampires Malcolm had recruited to help usher in his new world order?

Dorian hated all of it. Hated all of them. Hated his brother most of all.

But oh, his evening was about to get so much worse than that.

A wet, scuffling sound drew his attention behind Malcolm’s chair, where two vampires from House Connelly stood before the fireplace. They parted before his impatient glare, and there, chained inside a metal dog crate behind them, was a sight that turned Dorian’s blood to liquid fire.

A gray.

They’d captured a fucking gray. And they’d put it inside a crate meant for an animal the size of a German Shepherd.

The wretched beast slumped in the corner, rocking back and forth, blood leaking from a wound in its side. Every few seconds, it bashed its head against the bars and opened its mouth as if to