Page 34 of Burn for Her

Dorian remembered well. “And you told the Houses to fuck off with that price tag.”

“Do you know why? Because I saw in you the same thing the pack that took you in did. You aren’t a broken monster, Dorian. You’re just… different. And thank fuck for that.”

Different or deranged? Dorian didn’t bother asking, he knew the truth.

The more accurate answer was the execution order was dropped after a stiff interrogation happened between King Malachi and Dorian when he was younger. Dorian didn’t utter one single lie to the king that day. He told him everything his father did and what he forced Dorian to do.

Any questions the king asked about Dorian’s mother or anyone else was harder to answer because Dorian honestly didn’t know much about her, and he knew nothing, at the time, of any other vampires. Back then, he only had intimate knowledge of the monster who raised him and the innocents they killed.

It turned out his father murdered more humans than the vampire community had been made aware of. Unbeknownst to Dorian at the time, the search for his father had been going on for decades. They suspected the bastard had an accomplice but since Dorian was never allowed off his father’s property, there was essentially no trace of him to pick up on. Dorian was a dirty secret, a caged animal for his father to abuse behind closed doors.

During the massive Q and A he had with the king, Dorian worried he’d be accused of being a rat for spilling all his dead father’s secrets, but he didn’t tell the king everything to gain favor. He did it because when Malachi offered solace under the House of Death’s roof, among others of his kind, Dorian didn’t want to accept it without everyone knowing exactly who, and what, they were inviting into their House. It earned him respect.

And constant judgement.

“I’m a monster, Lucian.”

“Even monsters deserve love.”

“Monsters don’t even know the meaning of the word.” It had certainly been a foreign concept for his father.

“I’m tired of this conversation,” Lucian ran a hand down his face. “If you’re going to die, let’s party hard until you burn.”

Fuck that. Partying was the last thing he should be doing, regardless of whether Lucian wanted to make some last-minute memories with him. “I’d rather spend the last of my days serving the House of Death.” He stood and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’ve got to talk with Malachi before I lose any more of my senses.” They kept going in and out—his hearing, vision, energy—he was constantly teetering, and it sucked.

Lucian glared up at him for a moment then blew a puff of air out. “Fine.”

He knew Lucian would never see it his way because they came from very different upbringings. Lucian was an aristocrat who literally had servants brush his fucking fangs when he was younger. Meanwhile, Dorian was glad he still had all his teeth by the time he was a teenager.

Lucian took on being a guard for the House of Death as his big rebellious move against his parents—they were from the House of Blood and were furious he chose the savage House instead of the sophisticated one. Lucian took on protecting the House of Death like it was his only purpose for drawing breath and became the youngest guard when he pledged fealty here. He climbed the ranks so fast it made vampire’s heads spin and corroded their arteries with jealousy.

Meanwhile, Dorian came from nothing and stayed that way. He lived because others took pity on his mentally warped ass. They used him so their hands stayed clean and his remained bloody. He killed for pleasure and for business. He did it to protect his kind. He did it because he wanted to eliminate those who threatened the House of Death, as well as all the vampires affiliated with the House of Bone and House of Blood. Otherwise, he might as well have stayed the weak little boy under his father’s blade and never tried to be anything better than a feral animal.

But years of being a hunter and executioner did unkind things to his morals. Though he never killed an innocent, somewhere along the way Dorian lost his ability to feel remorse for any of his actions. Good people felt bad when they killed. Dorian felt nothing when he took a life.

“Oh good, you’re back.” Victoria said from Lucian’s bedroom doorway. “The King wants to see you.”

“Thanks.” Lucian speared a hand through his thick wavy, blond hair and blew out an exasperated breath. “Damnit, Dorian, how the hell are you going to be able to do anything if you can’t see, hear, or move right anymore?”

“I’m better,” he half-lied.

“You’re stable. That’s not better. Jesus, how are you going to function as executioner?”

Dorian clutched his jaw and didn’t answer. “I refuse to lay around and wait to die.”

“I can’t stand this.” Lucian grabbed Dorian’s arm to help him get to the damn door.

Silently, they made it into Malachi’s chamber.

“My lord,” Dorian’s tone was exhausted and gravelly.

“Leave us, Lucian.” The king never broke his gaze from the mirror. “Come over here, Reaper.”

Dorian swayed as he obeyed the king’s orders and slammed down on his knees before his king. “I wish to spend the last of my time on this earth serving you.”

“And how best do you think you can do that? You can’t even stand.”

There was no callousness in his tone. Only sympathy. And that made Dorian feel like he was a child found by the wolves again. At a loss, he relinquished his pride, “Shut me in a room and throw Savag-Ri in with me.” He’d gladly burn with the blood of his enemies coating his body. It was a fitting way for him to leave this world.

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