Page 36 of Burn for Her

Dorian sealed his mouth over the king’s wound and pulled. The blood burned down Dorian’s throat and shot adrenaline through his veins. His eyes peeled wide as he guzzled faster and faster. His hunger had ridden him hard lately. This wasn’t a feeding. It was a feast. Tightening his grip on Malachi’s arm, Dorian groaned and swallowed even more.

He knew it was risky. Knew it was wrong. Knew it was dangerous. But his survival instincts kicked in and the instant royal blood hit his tongue, Dorian could no longer deny what he needed. He was too far gone in bloodlust. His body hardened. Fangs throbbed. Tightening his grip on Malachi’s arm, he drew hard enough to solicit a hiss from his majesty’s mouth.

“Enough.”

Dorian forced himself to unlatch. Rocking back on his heels, he gasped for breath and fell on his ass. Shit, his heart pounded like a wild stallion kicking and bucking in its stall. His lungs froze with his next inhale. Thousands of invisible bugs bit him all at once. Then a burst of energy ripped down his spine and Dorian doubled over, gasping.

“Rise,” Malachi ordered.

Panting and still hungry, Dorian rose to his feet without swaying.

“Serve me well, Dorian.” Malachi licked his wound closed and dismissed the Reaper with a flick of his hand. “Do not waste this gift bestowed upon you.”

Chapter 13

Standing at the corner of Bourbon and Dumaine, Dorian scoured the streets looking for Savag-Ri and vampire Rogues. Until he was finally locked in the Kill Box and put out of his misery, he would hunt and kill all enemies in the French Quarter.

This felt right. To die this way, with a little bit of clarity and fucking dignity left in his dying heart.

Once he left the king’s company, Dorian found Lucian and didn’t tell him what happened. He just said he was going out hunting and left. Dorian took the opportunity to get out of the mansion and back on the streets.

Lucian could yell at him later for it.

The rush of strength pulsing through Dorian’s veins made it painfully obvious that Malachi was, hands down, the strongest vampire to still draw breath. As far as Dorian knew, Malachi never offered his vein to anyone. Whatever caused the king to make such an offer, Dorian was secretly grateful. He wasn’t conceited enough to think he was special.

Though his sense of smell wasn’t completely back, it was better than it had been earlier today. Dorian scented the air, eager for a hit. Sometimes, older Savag-Ri had a strange tinge of bitterness to them, similar to moldy citrus. It was too faint for a human to detect, but for a skilled vampire like Dorian, the scent was traceable.

For a werewolf, it was an automatic trail to follow.

Dorian smiled at the memory of when he first came to his full, mature power and the pack who’d taken him in rallied together to celebrate by letting Dorian lead his first hunt. He got his first hard-on playing that deadly game of hide and seek. Fuck, he still got hard every time he became a predator in search of prey.

Monster. He was such a monster.

Biting his tongue, he let the blood well into his mouth and prowled the French Quarter. At this time of night, the place was popping with people and other creatures of the night. Savag-Ri couldn’t stay away from an open market like that. They were too righteous for their own damn good. Always trying to protect the humans from vampires and werewolves, when, in reality, they didn’t need protecting at all. Vampires policed their own kind. Lycan were the same.

The history of this centuries-long war became more muddled the longer it went on. But so long as a Savag-Ri lived to raise their guns and blades at a vampire, Dorian refused to see them as just another creature born with a curse in their blood. In fact, they were the reason vampires and Lycan were cursed to begin with.

What goes around, comes around, assholes.

Palming a small blade in his right hand, he stayed discreet and scoured the streets. The scents of puke, alcohol, cologne, cigarettes, and fried dough mingled in his nose. Leaning against a building, Dorian watched people pass by him and he tried to get a hit. He knew every vampire in town. Lycan rarely came into New Orleans because it was the House of Death’s territory, and they didn’t like crossing lines. Humans were too oblivious about what crept around them all the time, so they did their own thing without much concern. Savag-Ri, however, walked with purpose, no matter how discreet they tried to be. The one thing that marked them was their eyes. A curse was etched into their irises in the shape of a cross.

But unless they were face-to-face with you, you’d never notice. In the daylight, they could hide the mark with sunglasses. It was annoying.

Dorian remained still and observant while the world passed by. Jazz blasted out of bars. Street performers put on shows. Laughter, loudness, and life buzzed as bright as the neon lights glowing in front of shops.

There.

Dorian stiffened as he saw a Savag-Ri cross the street. He was heading into a café. A wolfish grin locked into place and Dorian made his way closer, careful to not bump into anyone as he neared his target.

A plan formed in his mind of how to lure the fucker out, kill him, and where to dump the body for another vampire to pick it up and take it to one of the House of Bone’s properties to be dusted.

He made it all the way to the café entrance before stopping dead in his tracks.

His body locked. Mind fritzed. Nostrils flared.

No.

Dorian’s knees nearly buckled when he smelled a distinct cherry scent. This… this couldn’t be real. He must be going in-fucking-sane because no way on this cruel earth would that be his mate who just dropped her empty paper coffee cup into an overflowing trash bin and slipped by him, paying no mind to the vampire with the throbbing hard-on in the middle of the doorway.

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