Dark Deception (Vampire Royals of New York #1) - Sarah Piper Page 0,2
you, brother.”
They’d all come to America together, but unlike Dorian, Malcolm preferred the languid pace of the South to the rapid-fire beat of New York.
Yet news of Father’s demise had brought him home, as Dorian knew it would.
Malcolm returned the smile and stepped closer, but the brothers didn’t embrace. Too much time had passed; too many old wounds lingered for either to allow such easy affections.
“You needn’t have made the trip,” Dorian said. “Father’s attorneys will ensure the assets are transferred equitably.”
“So it’s true. He’s dead.”
It wasn’t a question, and the minuscule twitch of an eyelid—an old tell—was all the emotion Malcolm revealed.
“I’d prefer to keep Ravenswood,” Dorian continued, sparing them both the trouble of sorting out their feelings. “I’m prepared to buy it outright. But if you’ve got your heart set on any of Father’s artwork or antiques, we can discuss—”
“An alliance.”
Dorian raised an eyebrow. Straight to the point, then.
“Now that Father’s gone,” Malcolm continued, “the covens will expect us to consolidate power with one of the other greater vampire families. Have you considered our options?”
Our options?
Dorian nearly laughed. Malcolm hadn’t set foot in this city in fifty years. Hadn’t spoken with him or their father in just as long. But here he was, picking up the endless game of political maneuvering as if he’d never left Ravenswood.
Rather than dig that dead horse out of the ground for another beating, Dorian said simply, “I’ve got everything under control.”
“Yes, I can see that.” Malcolm toed the twitching blond body sprawled on the ground between them. “How long until these sods are back on their feet, looking to set your cock on fire?”
“Fifteen minutes, maybe twenty.” Dorian scanned the alley again, hoping the human had truly fled. “Though it’s not my cock I’m worried about.”
Hellfire was one of the few methods guaranteed to kill vampires, and demons were especially fond of burning them alive from the inside out. It was a brutal way to go, no respite from the flames as they consumed every ounce of flesh, blood, and bone inside. Without a witch to perform a banishment, a vampire’s only advantage against a demon was speed. Most low-level demons couldn’t conjure the fire fast enough to outpace a charging vampire.
But some could.
And those odds, however minuscule, were enough to earn demons the title of immortal enemy.
Malcolm crouched down to inspect the bodies, tugging down their shirt collars to reveal the tell-tale brands on their sternums—marks that bonded all demons to a particular crew.
“Cortelli?” Dorian guessed, trying to recall the names of the lesser demon crime families, most of whom occupied territory in Brooklyn and Queens. “Adamson? Surely Denton’s underlings know better than to test a vampire king so soon after a family tragedy.”
The unmitigated string of curses that escaped Malcolm’s lips sent a bolt of ice to Dorian’s gut. None of his guesses had been right. Which left only one option.
The worst one.
They weren’t low-level demons looking to make a name for themselves. These pricks swore allegiance to Nikolai Chernikov, the most powerful, most ruthless demon in the city. One whose organization had been growing like a cancer, kept in check only by a mysterious, centuries-old agreement with a vampire who—as of this morning—was no more than a pile of dust and memory.
Augustus Redthorne. Their father.
Malcolm stood, brushing the filth from his hands. “Remind me again how you’ve got things under control?”
“I spared a human soul from eternal damnation. I got a hot meal out of the arrangement. And no one had to die.” Forcing a smile, Dorian kicked Metalhead’s boot, unleashing a watery moan. “I’m calling that a win.”
“There are other ways, brother.” Malcolm reached over to swipe an errant streak of blood from Dorian’s cheek. “Legal, consensual ways that don’t involve provoking enemies.” He licked the blood from his thumb, then grimaced. “Ways that don’t taste like utter shite.”
Dorian turned away from the unwanted touch as well as the unwanted lecture. “Not for me, there aren’t.”
It may have taken him a few centuries and more nightmares than he could count to learn the lesson, but now it was as firmly embedded in his psyche as his own name.
He didn’t feed on fresh humans for the same reason he didn’t fall in love—dalliances with both had made him weak and stupid. Mistakes he wouldn’t make again. Foul as it was, fresh demon blood offered the same nourishment as its human counterpart without the nasty side effects: arousal, euphoria, complete and utter obsession…