The Picture Of Dorian Gray Novels & Stories

Elara called from the living room. "In a minute, baby." Cassia stretched on her toes, swiping at the top of the frame. Her fingers bumped something wedged behind it. She tugged it free. A photograph. Old, judging by the yellowed edges and the stiff cardboard backing. She climbed down and held it up to the light. It was a family portrait. Formal. Stiff poses in front of a fireplace she recognized, the one in Dorian's father's study, before he'd remodeled.

His ginger-colored hair framed his face perfectly which gave him an aura of authority and a presence that naturally demanded attention. Dorian, on the other hand, was dressed in black shorts and a black T-shirt. His dark hair was neatly tied into a ponytail. Just like the last time Aurora had seen him, she could still tell from a single glance into his brown eyes that he wasn't someone to be underestimated despite the friendly warmth he often displayed.

He was leaning casually against the door now, a crooked grin on his face. “Does your own smell bother you?” he asked flatly. “If I were you, I wouldn’t drink anything that destroys my dignity.” “Cut the crap, Dorian.” He crossed his arms over his chest and simply stood there, calm and observant like a statue carved to perfection. His silver hair gleamed under the light, and those dark violet eyes scanned me slowly. “Well, well… looks like our ‘Golden Prince’ has finally run out of options,” Dorian murmured. His voice was smooth, but there was a faint note of victory in it. “You must be pretty desperate right now.”

“My God, you look horrible.” “Thank you,” I tried to smile, but what came out was a grimace, my lips refusing to form anything other than a frown of sadness. We entered the living room. Eloise immediately looked around, her perceptive eyes catching every detail. The coffee table still had the magazine Dorian had been leafing through. His favorite armchair, by the window, was empty. The picture frames, once scattered across the shelves, still displayed the same photos of us both—a collage of a life that no longer existed.

It was a long, shaky, laughing sound, and he put his forehead down against the edge of the bed, and Sera put her hand on his hair, and the little sound of the heartbeat went on filling the room. They were given a picture. It was a small square of glossy paper, gray and black and shadowed, and in the middle of it, very faint and perfect, was the curled comma of a person, with one hand raised. Damon held it in both palms all the way out to the car, as though a gust of wind might take it. He held it in the car, too, on his knee, and every few moments he looked down at it again, as if to be sure it had not gone away.

A mist begins to fall over Dorian and me. Dorian holds his breath, trying to move away from the mist, but it continues to fall over him. I try to avoid the mist, but there’s nowhere to go. His eyes begin to look around wildly. He starts sniffing the air. Then he stiffens and closes his eyes. It looks like he is trying to control himself. A strange scent begins to permeate through the air. My manacles fall to the floor. Suddenly, my vision begins to blur, and my chest begins to rise erratically. My body heat thrums, and my breasts begin to feel heavy as wetness collect in my panties. I shuffle my feet uncomfortably, which makes things worse. Dorian’s head snaps at the sound of my shuffling. H

Then I looked up, and Dorian was standing by the marble fireplace. Charcoal suit cut to every line of his body. Hair styled back, jaw clean-shaven, shoulders filling out the jacket in a way the boy I'd known in school never could have. He was talking to the host's father, nodding at something the old man said, and every line of him was polished and deliberate and expensive. A group of she-wolves near the champagne table were whispering. “Moon Goddess, look at him. He’s even better looking in person.I couldn’t help envying Colette for getting engaged to someone like him.”

“You wanted another way.” The doorway widened. “Now you will see what happens when the boundary has no keeper.” Elias reached for Dorian’s hand. This time, he felt something grasp his wrist from the other side. A cold, unfamiliar hand. He looked down. A second figure stood behind Dorian, hidden in the darkness. It wore Dorian’s face. But unlike the real Dorian, this figure had no silver lines beneath its skin. Its eyes were completely black. And it was smiling. Dorian looked at Elias in horror.

Then I saw an image of a younger Dorian, with his sharp jawline and fierce eyes, was intimidating, and I couldn't help but feel grateful that I had only met the kinder side of him. But it was the portrait of Lady Maurie that really caught my attention. The painting seemed to come alive, and the woman's twisted smile sent chills down my spine. Her piercing gaze seemed to follow me as I walked down the hall, and I couldn't shake off the feeling that I was still being watched.

I was human once. Three years ago, Count Dorian Draven turned me into a vampire and took me as his wife. Back then, I believed he truly loved me. But he would often get lost staring at an oil painting that hung in the tower. I knew it was a portrait of Lenore Blackwell, his dead lover. Then, one night at midnight, I saw it with my own eyes. Dorian's soul slipped into the painting, where he wrapped his arms around a completely naked Lenore. Dorian's voice was lazy and husky. "By tomorrow, you'll be fully alive again. Then you'll take Alyona's place as Countess." Lenore laughed softly. "Dorian, I knew there was no vampire more powerful than you. To think you actually found a way to use necroma