Dark Obsession (Vampire Royals of New York #3) - Sarah Piper Page 0,87
of the royal family and the Shadow Accords, Bloodbath is now property of House Redthorne,” Gabriel announced, although the Duchanes vampires who most needed to hear it were no more than ash beneath their shoes.
Charley knew it was probably just a formality, but she figured she ought to pay attention anyway.
She’d have to learn the ropes sooner or later.
She was one of them now. A Redthorne vampire.
The thought still filled her with awe.
Even the Rogozin demons were showing respect, heads bowed, hands clasped before them.
They’d kept their word and come through for Dorian, and now, thanks in large part to them, the battle was over.
They’d won.
Sasha was safe.
And her friends had survived.
Standing beside his brother, Dorian caught her gaze, giving her a quick, reassuring wink that filled her with warmth.
Soon, they’d be home, and all of this would be a memory.
Soon, Sasha would be in the sunroom with Aiden, learning how to play chess.
Soon, Charlotte would be in the arms of her vampire king.
She couldn’t help but smile.
“All assets formerly belonging to Renault Duchanes have been seized,” Gabriel continued, “including the witches who now stand accused of treason. They will be interviewed and taken prisoner for further questioning at the behest of the king.”
A slow clap started at the back of the room, and all heads turned toward the sound.
There, from the darkest shadows of the deepest corner, a figure emerged, his clothes covered in blood and ash, his eyes wild with malice.
“Malcolm,” Dorian warned, but before he could utter another word, Charley felt the heat of Malcolm’s cruel glare and knew exactly who his target was.
Her.
She saw the blur of him.
Felt the rush of air on her skin.
Scented the foulness of his presence.
After that, there was only pain.
His vicious fingers, shoved deep into her back.
Her heart wrapped in his fist, beating only because he allowed it.
And across the space of the club, the man she loved let out a roar that rattled the windows, and she knew, in that moment, it was over.
Her brief immortal life had come to its end.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Dorian’s heart fucking shattered.
It was all he could do to stand upright, to give voice to the words inside.
“Back off,” he called out across the club. “All of you.”
At once, the demons and allies surrounding him retreated, leaving him to face the monster alone.
Between them, the woman who owned his heart gasped for breath, her eyes never leaving his, even as the tears fell down her cheeks.
Dorian could hear the faint beat of her heart, struggling in his brother’s grip.
“Malcolm,” Dorian said, his voice a broken whisper, his own tears spilling freely. “If you do this… You can not come back from this, brother.”
“Brother? Wait, are you speaking to me?” Malcolm made a show of glancing around the room, as if Dorian’s plea might’ve been directed at anyone else. “As I recall, brother, you banished me from House Redthorne. I’m a free agent now. Just… Malcolm. Nice ring, don’t you think?”
“Malcolm, please… I was wrong. The title is yours. My title is yours. The crown. The manor. The cars, the artwork, the money. All of it. Just… release her!”
He shifted slightly behind her, and Charlotte gasped, her eyes wide with fear. She was utterly paralyzed. One wrong move, and it would end her.
“You would give up all that power just for this human?” Malcolm asked.
“You know I would.”
“I do. Yet you would not give your own brother—your blood—the simplest courtesy or respect?”
Dorian held up his hands and took a step closer. “Malcolm, you—”
“Don’t!” he roared. “Don’t you fucking move.”
Dorian stilled, catching Charlotte’s gaze once more.
A smile graced her lips, and a thin, watery voice, she said, “One percent, right?”
Dorian instantly recalled their conversation from the night of the battle at Estas’ place.
“I took a risk… You can call it reckless or a death wish or batshit crazy if you want to, but that won’t change how I feel. It won’t change the fact that I’d do it a hundred times over if it gave me even a one percent shot at keeping you safe.”
“Those are impossible odds.”
“One percent is still a chance, Dorian. One I’ll take over the alternative every damn night of the week.”
“What’s that, brother?” Malcolm asked. His eyes were crazed. Gone. The eyes of a feral beast who no longer remembered he’d ever had a soul.
There would be no talking to Malcolm. No convincing him to do the right thing—the humane thing.