Page 9 of Burn for Her

He straightened his shirt and tugged the sleeves down. He despised wrinkles in his clothing and now he was covered in them.

Victoria strolled in and got a little too close for comfort. “Will she be okay?”

“I have no idea.” He rubbed the back of his neck, eager to get the fuck out of this mirrored mansion and home where he belonged.

“Will you stay the night?” Her words offered a proposal. Though she didn’t touch him, it was obvious she wanted to.

“Can’t.” He kept his gaze locked on the doorway and headed for it. Slipping past Victoria, he knew she wouldn’t dare try to stop him, and thank fuck for that. For being the loneliest sonofabitch in the world, women were drawn to him like magnets. He questioned their sanity because of it. No woman in her right mind should be drawn to a dangerous monster like Dorian. It bent reason.

However, Victoria was a willing lover for many. She craved touch the way Dorian craved violence.

Before he was delayed by anyone else, Dorian quickened his pace and headed to the east wing. In his peripheral vision, he noticed other vampires leaning against the walls and whispering to one another, along with several large paintings hung with elaborate frames, and mirrors stretched from the floor to the motherfucking ceiling.

It made him feel as though the mansion was closing in on him. Avoiding each mirror and reflective surface took tremendous navigational skill to get through the house and a focus that remained more on the floor and furniture than looking eye-level at anything. It was enough to drive him batshit crazy.

He walked faster and got halfway down the steps when someone called out to him.

“Dorian.”

He stopped on a dime. Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck.

There was only one vampire with such a commanding tone. Dorian slowed his roll on the stairs. His brain checked out as he went into an autopilot state-of-mind. It wasn’t compulsion, it was conditioning that made him so obedient. Once his feet hit the first floor, he swiftly crossed the vestibule and entered the only room this particularly powerful vampire dwelled in. “Yes, sire?”

“What news have you?”

Dorian wasn’t sure how to answer. Was the Mad King asking about the Savag-Ri he’d executed, Emily’s appearance, or Stryx’s disappearance?

“All is well, my lord.” Dorian came closer to the master of the House of Death. There was a reason this place was also dubbed the Mad House, but Dorian would never make light of the king’s ailment.

“Approach.”

Rolling his shoulders back, Dorian slapped on his cold-hearted gaze and came towards the king. All he could see from this position was the back of Malachi’s head. His long, thick, tangled hair was like a nest of unrefined waves. His broad shoulders made the enormous chair he sat in look almost dainty.

Malachi didn’t budge from his seat, nor blink to break his stare from the gold-gilded floor-length mirror set before him, even when Dorian stood between him and the silvered glass. Dorian made sure to give the mirror his back when he addressed his master. “My lord, what do you need from me?”

“Marius means to usurp me,” Malachi said in a deep, rough tone. “Do not allow it.”

“Never.”

“Do not play into his hand, Reaper. Give him nothing to use against you.”

“I won’t.”

“Maybe you already have.” Malachi’s stare remained fixated on the mirror behind Dorian. The king’s color was so pale, even with the constant string of veins he fed upon night after night.

Yet Malachi’s power was undeniable.

And mentally crushing.

Dorian needed to get the hell out of here. “I gave Marius exactly what he paid for. Nothing more and nothing less.”

The Mad King’s lips quirked upwards into a half-smile. “Be sure it stays that way, Reaper, or I’ll tear your throat out with my teeth and feed you to that wolf you’re so hellbent on coddling.”

Dorian’s hiss ripped from between his teeth before he could stop it.

Malachi was on him in an instant. The power, speed, and force with which he spun Dorian around and slammed his face against the mirror was mind-blowing. And even then, that crazy son-of-a-bitch didn’t break his stare from the mirror.

That’s why Malachi, even in his maddened state, was still king after all this time. It was also why Dorian chose this House to serve. This king was too strong to take down and gave zero fucks. Though Malachi’s gaze remained locked on the mirror and his mind was in constant unrest, he still ran the House of Death with a viciousness unmatched by any other of their kind.

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