Dark Seduction (Vampire Royals of New York #2) - Sarah Piper Page 0,78

our enemies by any means necessary?” Dorian asked, turning to the cage behind him.

Still, no one spoke.

In a blur, he smashed through the cage and hauled the gray out by its throat, lifting it to its feet. Then, with everyone watching in abject horror, he buried the stake in the creature’s chest.

It should’ve killed it—should’ve killed any vampire—but of course, it didn’t.

Gabriel released his hold on Malcolm, and the vampires in the vicinity skittered backward, shocked and confused by the ineffectiveness of the stake.

“What about you, brother?” Dorian asked, turning the gray toward Malcolm. “Since you’re so keen to lead us into that big, bright future, perhaps you’ve already got a plan for dealing with this?”

“Dorian,” Gabriel warned. “Perhaps now is not the time for—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Dorian rolled his eyes. Keeping one hand secured around the gray’s throat, he shoved his fist through its back and tore out the heart.

Again, the gray survived.

“This.” Dorian held up the ravaged heart, blood dripping down his arm as the gray moaned and twitched in his grip, broken and bloodied but just as alive as every other vampire in that room. “This is but a preview of what Duchanes is planning. So, I ask… Who among you wishes to challenge your king for a shot at the helm?”

Silence.

“After all your talk of regime changes and peace,” he said, “is there no vampire brave enough to take the reins?”

None of them spoke. None of them even breathed. The only sound in that room was the gray’s blood splattering on the hardwood floor.

“Ours is not a democracy.” Dorian pitched the heart onto the table, where it slid and skidded to a halt in front of Lawrence Deegan. “We unite, under my rule, or we die. If any of you need a moment to consider your options, feel free to take a stroll outside to clear your minds. Though, I’d advise you to stay within shouting distance, unless you’re keen to meet another of our less civilized brethren.”

With that, as swiftly as he’d torn out the bloody heart, Dorian ripped the amulet from the gray’s neck. Seconds later, the creature—heart and body both—turned to ash.

Dorian pitched the dark amulet into the fire, where it exploded in a burst of black and purple smoke.

Shaken and unsteady, Lawrence Deegan got to his feet, slowly backing away from the pile of ash before him. “Perhaps we should reconvene when things are—”

“We will reconvene, Mr. Deegan,” Dorian said, “when I decide you can be of use to me. Until then, all of you may carry on with your lavish parties and petty squabbling, conniving and drinking and scheming and fornicating to your heart’s content. But when you go to bed each night, I want you to close your eyes, remember this moment, and remind yourself who’s allowing you to carry on. Because the minute you forget, the minute you let your guard down… Well. Perhaps your king will let his down as well. Do we understand one another now, friends?”

Dorian took the time to meet each and every gaze, waiting for their acknowledging nods.

Satisfied he’d made his point, he clasped his bloody hands together and grinned. “Excellent. Meeting adjourned.”

Almost at once, every vampire in that room rose to their feet, quickly making their way toward the exit.

The air was so thick with cowardice, Dorian nearly choked on it.

The last simpering imbecile had finally cleared out, leaving only Dorian, Aiden, Gabriel, and Malcolm. The cowardice in the air was immediately replaced with tension, crackling like a live wire.

Dorian stalked toward his pathetic excuse for a brother, looming so close to Malcom’s face he could count the man’s fucking eyelashes.

“What you’ve done is tantamount to treason,” he said, his voice dark and menacing. “I should kill you where you stand.”

Malcom glared at him in silent rebellion, anger and frustration warring in his eyes.

Dorian didn’t want to see anger and frustration.

He wanted to see regret. He wanted to see fear.

Without warning, he shoved his fist through Malcolm’s chest, surprising the hell out of them both.

Malcolm gasped, his eyes wide, his heart beating frantically in Dorian’s unrelenting grip. In his gaze, Dorian found no trace of anger. Only a sharp, debilitating fear that filled Dorian with a deep satisfaction.

Perhaps that should’ve concerned him.

But it didn’t. Not tonight.

“You’re so convinced I’ve got a soft heart, Mac, but let me tell you something.” Dorian squeezed harder, fingers digging into the wet muscle. One swift jerk, and he could end this. End him. “All hearts are