Dominic Wild stepped out of the limousine onto Central Park West and buttoned his suit jacket, cursing his father from here to hell.
The wretched cunt could not have chosen a less convenient time to die.
"I am so sorry, Mr. Wild." His driver, who'd remained silent behind the privacy window the entire two- hour trip, shut the car door and lowered his head. "For your… For the loss."
The loss.
Dominic glanced at his watch. Ash clung to his jacket sleeve, a stark smudge against the fine black wool. He stared at it, unblinking, figuring he ought to feel some way about it, the ash, the condolences, the fact that he'd spent the last two days presiding over the interment of a man who'd dominated his life for two and a half centuries.
But when he prodded his heart, he found only an iron gate, eternally locked.
No, the death of his father was not a loss.
It was a fucking complication. One Dominic and his brothers had just inherited, along with a sizable estate and a list of adversaries that stretched 'round the globe, every last one of them doubtlessly celebrating the demise of the Wild vampire king.
Among the cursed and the damned, good news always traveled fast.
He erased the ash with his thumb. "Thank you, Jameson. I will call you after the auction."
With a curt nod, Jameson returned to his post in the driver's seat, leaving Dominic in the company of thoughts so black they threatened to swallow the setting sun.
It was the city itself that saved him, soothing him with its autumn heartbeat as he walked alongside the park. Two sleek, chocolate-brown horses trotted by, pulling carriages full of gaping tourists, and Dominic gave them a wide berth.
Unlike humans, horses instinctively distrusted vampires, which was unfortunate. He'd always loved the creatures as a boy, and he missed riding them. Now, their sharp, pungent odor mingled with the sweet smell of honey-roasted peanuts from a nearby cart, reminding him of simpler times.
But as much as the English countryside remained in his blood, New York had been his home for more than two hundred years. And now, with his father gone, the city was his to rule, his to command.
It should have thrilled him. But the feeling burning through his veins was not power or freedom.
It was dread.
Crossing Central Park West, he made his way toward the Silverblade, the exclusive apartments where tonight's auction would take place. He'd just reached Seventy-Third when the hairs on his arms lifted, the air around him thickening. He scented it immediately, a putrid mix of sweat, sulfur, and desperation that could only mean one thing.
Sodding fucking demons.
Dominic's hands tightened into fists. A hundred miles north in Hudson, smoldering in the crypts beneath Darkwood Manor, the remnants of his father's corpse had just begun to cool. Yet here in the city, the immortal enemies of House Wild were already pressing their advantage.
His gut rolled once more at the stench, a final warning before a pair of lesser demons slithered out from a bus idling several paces ahead. Their presence in Manhattan was a direct violation of the Black Accords, but the demons were about to commit a crime even more egregious than trespassing.
A human male trailed them like a puppy.
Again, Dominic checked his watch. If he arrived at the auction after the bidding began, they had refused him entry. But he could not let demons poach a human soul in his father's territory, his territory. Not unless he wanted the whole of New York's supernatural underworld staging a coup.
The demons were so drunk on their impending victory they paid Dominic no mind as he followed them down Seventy-Fourth and into a dark, narrow alley wedged between a parking garage and an abandoned construction zone.
"Where are we going?" the human asked his new friends. Poor bastard could not have been more than twenty, fresh- faced in his dark purple NYU T-shirt, all too eager for whatever the demons were offering. Dominic pegged his accent as American Midwest. Indiana, perhaps. Briefly, he wondered if there were parents back home. A girlfriend waiting for a goodnight text.
One of the demons, a guy with a face full of metal hoops, grinned "Down here."
"Will… will it hurt?" the human asked.
No, selling your soul is a real pleasure. Bloody idiot.
Most humans did not know about the supernatural races that walked among them, and the few that did either made peace with it and kept their heads down, tried to hunt them to extinction, or convinced themselves they could use a supernatural being's power to short-cut their way to riches and glory.
In Dominic's experience, the latter camp never read the fine print.
"Hurt?" The other demon laughed, his long, white-blond hair floating over his shoulders like a ghost. He tossed an arm around the human as if they were best mates. "Not for a good ten years."
Blondie led the guy deeper into the alley, leaving Bolt to stand guard near the construction site's dumpster.
Dominic waited for cover from the sound of a passing ambulance, then approached Bolt with a friendly smile.
"Pardon me, could I trouble you for a…" He slammed his fist into the demon's jaw, then hauled him close, sinking his fangs into his neck before the bastard could conjure his deadly demonic hellfire.
Demon blood slid down his throat, saccharine and terrible, like burned sugar poured over hot rubbish. The rancid taste made Dominic's eyes water, everything in him begging him to retreat, but his hunger made it impossible.
Like a living, breathing entity, it took over, stripping Dominic of all humanity, of memory, of understanding. In these brief but bloody seconds, he was nothing but a predator devouring his meal, the demon twitching helplessly in his arms.
The only thing that prevented Dominic from killing him outright, from killing any demon, was the threat of possession. Demonic entities could be banished to hell, but only by a skilled witch.
If a demon's physical body died, the entity itself would slide into the closest available human host, a fate to which Dominic would not condemn his worst human enemy, let alone an innocent moron in an NYU shirt.
When Dominic sensed the demon's heartbeat slow to an acceptably near-death rhythm, he unlatched from the artery and turned the limp body around, holding it face-out like a shield as he moved down the alley.
Tucked away in the shadows, Blondie muttered his ancient incantations, ready to slice the human's hand and finalize the blood deal. The smell of brimstone hung heavy in the air. The ritual was nearly complete.
"I believe you dropped something," Dominic announced, then shoved Bolt into the surprised arms of his mate. In a blur of speed no demon could match, he rushed forward and slammed them both against the bricks, biting into Blondie's artery and draining him with an efficiency born of centuries of practice.
Thoroughly weakened and teetering on the precipice of death, the demons slid to the ground in a quivering, moaning heap.
The quick pattering of another heartbeat caught Dominic's attention, and he turned to find the human gaping at him, pale and shocked. In the frenzy of the feed, he had almost forgotten about the little twat.
"Well? Anything to say for yourself?" Dominic wiped the blood from his lips, scowling at the taste.
"I… I needed tuition money, and…" He swallowed hard, fingers trembling as he fished out his wallet and handed it over. "Take it. Just don't hurt me."
If Dominic had not just fed, his predatory instincts would have kicked in, and this sniveling man-child would be an easy dinner, much more flavorful than the demons. As it was, he looked about thirty seconds from pissing himself.
"Oh, for fuck sake!" Dominic snatched the wallet, sparing a brief glance at the driver's license inside. Jonathan Bradford of Tipton, Indiana. He had just turned eighteen.
Old enough to consent, young enough to give up his best years as a slave of Hell.
Dominic retrieved his platinum money clip and stuffed it into the wallet, handing it back to the kid with a deadly glare "Return home, Johnny," he said smoothly, the kid's pupils dilating as the vampire compulsion took hold. "Forget this happened. Whatever darkness led you to bargain with demons, that path is closed. You have got a new lease on life."
Dominic dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "Run along."
Still shaking, the guy turned and vomited, narrowly missing Dominic's shoes. Then he took off, stumbling into the sunlit street and out of sight.
"You are welcome," Dominic grumbled.
"Dumpster diving, brother?" a voice taunted from behind, achingly familiar, supremely irritating. "What will the neighbors think?"
Julian.
Dominic cursed under his breath. "How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough to hear the speech. Nice touch, that bit about a new lease on life."
"I have been working on the pitch." Dominic tried to hold fast to his annoyance, but his heart betrayed him, and a genuine smile spread across his face as he turned to take stock of the man before him, a man he had not seen in five decades, who now stood tall and confident, with piercing golden eyes and smooth, tanned skin that made him look even younger than Dominic remembered. "New Orleans favors you, brother."
They had all come to America together, but unlike Dominic, Julian 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 Dominic knew it would.
Julian returned the smile and stepped closer, but the brothers did not embrace. Too much time had passed, too many old wounds lingered for either, to allow such easy affections.
"There was no need for you to make this trip," Dominic said. "Father's attorneys will ensure the assets are transferred equitably."
"So, it is true. He is dead."