But Charlotte wasn’t going to let this drop.
“A skilled vampire can compel humans to forget recent events or conversations,” he said. “He can manipulate memories to make you believe you saw something other than the truth. He can order you to perform certain acts, or say certain words, or even take your own life. But he cannot compel a woman to want him.” He stepped closer, trapping her against the column, glaring down at her with those intense eyes. Then, brushing his fingertips across her collarbone and taking a deep draw of breath, “He cannot compel her body to respond to his touch, nor to create the unmistakable scent of her darkest desires.”
Charlotte closed her eyes, the shiver finally breaking through, rattling her from head to toe.
It would’ve been so easy to give in. To push aside everything she’d seen tonight—to bury it with her guilt and shame and all the other dark things she kept locked in a box—and fall into his eager embrace.
But she wouldn’t. Not this time.
She looked up at him again and shook her head. “I’m not sleeping with you tonight, Dorian. Forget it.”
Dorian sighed and took a step back, breaking their connection. “I didn’t bring you here for sex, Charlotte.”
“So we’re gonna sit around and play Scrabble, then?” She shoved against the column behind her, but it was as immovable as solid stone. “God, this thing was probably made in the middle ages.”
“Renaissance, actually.” He glared at her, broody as ever.
“Seriously? Fine. I’ve got a better game. Twenty questions. Me first.” She popped her hands on her hips and glared right back at him. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me you’re a… a bloodsucking vampire king?”
“And when, pray tell, would I have done that?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe before you—”
He rushed at her again, wrapping her in another impossible embrace, pinning her arms at her sides. His mouth was so close, she thought he might bite.
Images of their insane kiss in the basement flashed through her mind, the coppery tang of blood lingering in her mouth.
“Before I what?” his whispered. New fire raged in his eyes, a hot mix of lust and anger, and beneath his firm hold, Charlotte felt the unmistakable power coursing through his veins. It wasn’t just his superstrength, his speed, his commanding tone. It was something that ran much deeper, pulsing from the very core of his being.
A two-and-a-half-centuries-old vampire king…
Charley swallowed the knot of fear in her throat, trying to remain absolutely still. She didn’t think there was a right answer to his question, and even if there was, she didn’t trust herself to keep her voice steady.
But rather than press her for a response, Dorian simply released her, turned his back, and headed for the door. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll return as soon as I can.”
“Wait. That’s it?” She followed after him, mind reeling from the whiplash he’d caused. “You dropped the biggest bomb in history on me, and now you’re leaving?”
“You’ve made it quite clear you’re not looking for company tonight.”
“Company, no. Answers, yes.”
Keeping his back turned, he lowered his head and said, “I’ll answer your questions, but first I need to discuss some things with my brothers.”
“Brothers, right. You mean your vampire coven? House? Whatever?”
“In this case, I mean both.”
The words felt heavy and cold, and they hung in the air between them, setting Charley’s mind spinning again.
The men he’d introduced as his brothers were also his vampire house. So that meant… They were also literally his brothers?
How was that possible, unless…
Oh, God. Dorian, Malcolm, Gabriel, Colin… they’d been turned into vampires at the same time. Maybe even Aiden too.
A tiny arrow of sympathy pinged her heart, cracking the hard wall she’d tried so hard to plaster over it.
She drew a breath to ask another question—a million other questions—but Dorian was already shutting down, his shoulders bunching with tension, the air thickening between them.
“As I said, I’ll return as soon as I can,” he said. “In the meantime—”
“Wait! My driver!” Charley blurted out, suddenly realizing she’d lost her purse in the mayhem. She hadn’t texted Travis about her plans to stay. “I must’ve dropped my phone in the gardens. If he doesn’t hear from me, he’ll come looking—”
“He already has.” Dorian turned and glared at her, a flash of triumph shining in his eyes. “I told him you wouldn’t be requiring his services, as you’re staying the weekend.”
Charley folded her arms across her chest again, biting back a smile. She really wanted to be pissed right now, but the idea of Travis slithering his way out of an argument with Dorian made her damn near giddy. “And he accepted that?”
“Not… at first.”
Her eyes widened, but Dorian shook his head.
“I compelled him to accept it. And then I compelled him to hand over your belongings and return to the dank hole from which he slithered forth.”
At that, a small laugh escaped. “Sometimes, I call him the Snake.”
Dorian offered a thin smile in return, but the momentary levity wasn’t enough to erase everything that’d happened.
Charley let out a heavy sigh. Her own guilt and deceptions collided in her mind with Dorian’s, all the secrets and lies exploding into an epic headache. But right now, she couldn’t give in to the pain, couldn’t share any more laughs with Dorian Redthorne.
She needed to hold onto her righteous anger.
Yeah, she was a thief and a con and a total fucking fraud, and she was most likely going to hell.
But he was an immortal monster. And from the looks of things, she was about ten seconds from becoming that monster’s captive.
“You can’t keep me here,” she said anyway, as if the words alone would make it true.
“I can, and I will.”
“So I’m your prisoner?”
“You’re my responsibility.” Dorian sighed, his shoulders sagging under some new weight. “What those vampires did to you tonight was an act of war, and my brother and I responded in kind. By killing members of another greater vampire house on our property, House Redthorne has drawn a line in the sand that cannot be undrawn. You are as much a target as we are now, and there’s no telling how and when House Duchanes will attack again—only that they will. So when I tell you to stay put, Charlotte, trust that I have my reasons.”
“But I—”
“And trust that it’s not a request.”
“Dorian, wait—”
He left in another one of those annoying blurs, no more than a smudge in her periphery, slamming and bolting the door behind him.
Charley ran to it and yanked on the ornate handle, but it was no use.
He’d locked her in.
Trapped.
Caged.
Imprisoned.
Adrenaline flooded her insides.
“Fuck this bullshit right now.” She darted over to a window, shoving aside the massive tapestries and pushing up the sash. Cool night air slid over her skin, bringing with it some of the calm rationality she’d abandoned the moment she’d seen Dorian in a tux tonight.