House of Judges (House of Royals Book 4) Page 2

  I’m about to ask him what he means, but the door suddenly opens, and my eyes meet Raheem’s beautiful ones.

  “Thank you, Mads,” Raheem says as he takes the chains from the guard, who also offers a key. “We’ll be quick.”

  My mouth hangs open, speechless as I shuffle inside. Raheem closes the door behind us and makes quick work of removing my chains.

  “I am sorry for these,” he says as the shackles on my wrists fall to the floor and he sets to work removing the ones on my ankles. “We had to be careful in case you were seen. You are a prisoner, and I didn’t want this looking suspicious.”

  The bands fall from my ankles, and Raheem rises to his full height, his dark eyes studying me.

  And the openness there, the worry and the underlying anger, they cause the very fragile wall I’ve built around myself in protection to crumble and fall.

  My arms fly to Raheem’s neck, wrapping myself against him. My body molds to his as his arms come around me, clinging hard and tight.

  “I’m here, my nofret,” he breathes into my neck.

  “What happened?” I ask as tears pool in my eyes. “After they took me away. Did they hurt you?”

  I back away just slightly so I can study him. He seems to be in one piece, no bruises, no missing limbs. He wears his usual tunic and matching pants, a black keffiyeh on his head.

  “They didn’t appreciate my final break of secrecy,” he says as a smile cracks in one corner of his mouth. He brings his hands up to either side of my face, cradling me so gently. “I’ve been banned from the presence of the King until further notice, but no, they did not do anything to me.”

  A relieved sigh escapes me, and I collapse forward into his chest, my cheek resting against him as my arms wrap around him once more. “I’ve been so terrified.”

  “You needn’t worry about me,” he whispers into the top of my head, his lips brushing there. “Have they been treating you fairly?”

  I shrug, shaking my head. “They’re just leaving me down in the prison to rot,” I mumble against the soft fabric of his shirt. “There’s been no word. Nothing for over a week.”

  He lets out a noise of displeasure. “I’m afraid they will take their time,” he says. “In the King’s long lifeline, he’s never in a hurry for anything, unless it is Sevan.” He lets me go and crosses the room to the kitchen area. He opens a fridge and takes something out. “Here,” he says, extending it toward me. “You need this.”

  The moment I realize it’s a blood bag, I’m across the room in a single heartbeat, my fangs dripping. I tear into it, the cold liquid cascading down my parched throat. When I finish it in less than ten seconds, Raheem hands me another.

  “It’s one of their favorite tactics,” he says as he hands me a third. “Dehydration. You get thirsty enough and you’ll confess to anything for five drops of blood.”

  “So they will try to convict me, even if I am innocent?” I ask as I drag the back of my hand over my mouth, wiping away the remaining drops.

  “You mustn’t underestimate the King’s brutality,” Raheem says, his brows furrowing. “He’s an addict. Even if it isn’t logical, even if the truth is staring him in the face, if he needs a fix, he will get it.”

  The weight of that sends me back a step. My foot catches something, and I sink down into a chair. I know this. I’ve been witness to it. Antonia. Micah. Jasmine. Over a dozen Bitten.

  I’ve toyed with the King. I made him believe I was his queen, finally returned to him after 271 years. His thirst for my blood will be strong.

  “I’m not ready to die,” I breathe to myself.

  Raheem comes to crouch in front of me. He brings a hand to my cheek, forcing me to look him in the eye. “You are innocent. Of this, I know. And of this, your House knows.”

  “No,” I counter, shaking my head. “They don’t. They think I did this.”

  “Not all of them,” he says. “I’ve been in contact this entire time with Dr. Jarvis. They are working tirelessly to gather evidence in your favor.”

  My lower lip quivers as the tears that have been pooling in my eyes break free. “They are?”

  He nods. “You haven’t lost them all, Alivia.”

  I sniff, looking away from him as I wipe the tears from my face. I don’t want to be this crying, terrified girl. But everything has been taken away. I am stripped to the bare bones. And I am left with very, very little.

  “Why don’t you go take a shower?” Raheem says as he stands. “Eat something. We don’t have long before someone might come looking for you, but we do have a few minutes.”

  I nod, letting the numb fog take me over once again at the thought of returning to the prison. I climb to my feet and head for the door Raheem points to across the room. Behind it, I find a massive bathroom.

  Black walls stretch high and grand. Two chandeliers hang from the ceiling. Red accents are splashed here and there, highlighted by gold. Absentmindedly, I peel my disgusting clothes off, taking in the grandness of it all.

  Movement to my left catches my eye, and I turn to find a mirror. Huge in size, floor to ceiling, rimmed in intricate gold patterns. But it’s myself I can’t look away from.

  Already, my body looks thinner. My arms spindlier. The gap between my thighs growing wider. My cheekbones more prominent. The change would probably be unnoticeable to human eyes, but to my enhanced vampire ones, it’s certainly there.

  But it’s the veins that draw my attention first. Black, inflamed veins spread around my eyes, tracing down my cheeks, stretching toward my neck. Before just a few minutes ago, it had been over a week since I’d last had blood. I’m still practically a newborn vampire. I have to feed. Or I begin to waste away.

  As I study myself, though, I see the blackness begin to dissipate, easing back. My body has been fed, sated for the moment.

  I take one last look at my disgusting, dirty, naked body before I turn for the shower.

  Hot water cascades down my frame, washing away dirt and grime and blood. I haven’t had the luxury of a shower since I was back at the House of Conrath. And, oh, how I have missed being clean.

  When I exit the shower, I find clean clothes folded on the counter. Black slacks and a dark blue sweater. I smile in appreciation at Raheem’s thoughtfulness and pull everything on.

  Using just my fingers, I comb through my hair and let it hang loose.

  “Are you hungry?” A crack in the bathroom door opens and Raheem’s face appears.

  A little smile pulls on my lips, and I nod.

  A simple spread waits for us on the kitchen table when I walk out. Exotic cheeses and flat bread. Dehydrated fruits and nuts. Two plates and two glasses of water.

  “Thank you,” I say sincerely as I sit on one side when Raheem pulls my chair out for me. “For everything.”

  “You are a Royal,” he says as he pushes the serving plate in my direction. “Some of us at the castle haven’t forgotten that.”

  I shake my head as I gather food onto my plate. “It isn’t just that. You always offer exactly everything that I need. I don’t know how you always manage it, but you do.”

  And I look up just as I finish speaking, just in time to catch the flicker of pain that darts across his face.

  Need.

  Not long ago Raheem and I kissed, very passionately, and then had a discussion about what we were. He had pinned us exactly. Just need. Not love.

  Need.

  A fissure opens up in my chest, running right down the center of me.

  I have to tell him.

  I have to be honest.

  But I want to throw up just thinking about it.

  “I have to tell you something,” I say. And it comes out as barely more than a whisper. My eyes have difficulty rising to meet his. And when they do, he’s hardly paying attention, taking a bite out of his dinner. He has no idea what is coming.

  “Cyrus lied to me,” I say, suddenly not hungry in the least. And this does bring Raheem’s eyes to mine. “He told me that the
night I died, that Ian had left me. For good.”

  And a thought comes to me then. Raheem was in the room that night, as well. He saw everything that happened.

  “Did you know?” I ask in a quiet voice.

  A mix of emotions rolls over his face and his eyes drop away from mine.

  “Please,” I beg. “Tell me the truth.”

  He takes a sip of his water, stalling in answering. One beat. Two.

  “You died, and Mr. Ward went ballistic,” he finally says. “Two court members rushed into the room and started dragging him away. The entire time, Ian was yelling ‘she did this because of you.’ They took him away. The next day, when Cyrus was telling your House members that Ian had left, this time for good, I did not question it.”

  Something bites at the back of my eyes and I shake my head. For the first time ever, I feel betrayed by Raheem. And it makes my stomach roll.

  “Well, he didn’t leave. And you certainly failed to tell me that it was him that bit me and ended my life. He’s here,” I say as I stand. I walk back toward the door. “He’s down in the prison with me.”

  I open the door to reveal the guard who brought me here. “I’m ready to go back to my cell,” I tell him.

  “Alivia, I—”

  “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me,” I say through a thick throat as the guard begins chaining me back up. “I understand why you did what you did.”

  “Alivia, don’t,” he says as he takes a step toward me, but I walk out the door, dragging the guard behind me.

  I get down five steps before I turn back to where Raheem stands in the doorway. “I forgive you,” I say as my heart breaks just a little more. “Truly. I don’t hold this against you.”

  I study his eyes and see in them that he doesn’t believe me. Which is okay because I’m trying to decide if I really believe myself. I want to. But I’ve been manipulated and betrayed so many times.

  So I turn around and continue walking down the stairs, chained like the prisoner that I am.

  THE SUN TRIES TO BLAZE behind the dark gray clouds. Fat raindrops missile into the cell and splash to the floor, creating an enormous puddle on the stone. The pain is less severe than most days, but still I wish to claw my eyes from my skull just to end the burning and searing.

  But slowly, the sun sets. Slowly, I am able to unwrap the sweater from around my eyes. Slowly, I take deep pulls once again, breathing in the moist and cold air. The sun fades away, but the rain does not cease.

  I let out a sigh of relief as darkness engulfs me. Resting my back against a steel wall, I open my eyes and study the one opposite me.

  For just a moment, I listen to the prisoners that surround me. Down four cells, the German man rustles for just a moment and then not thirty seconds later, begins snoring loudly. The Spanish man paces in his cell. The unknown silent one huffs as if they are doing pushups.

  And Ian. I hear him breathe. Just on the other side of this wall. Slow. Thoughtful.

  My heart aches.

  I don’t think my heart has stopped aching in years.

  “Why does everyone lie, Ian?” I ask through the dark.

  He doesn’t answer me right away, but I hear his breathing change and know he’s heard me.

  “I feel like everyone has lied to me my entire life,” I say as the weight on my chest grows heavier. “My mother lied by omission. By never telling me who my father was. Rath would never tell me anything about Henry. Cyrus said he was the one who killed me. Raheem let me believe you really did leave.”

  I let my head fall back against the wall with a dull thunk. “Maybe they don’t so much as lie all the time, as they keep secrets.”

  “People just want to protect themselves,” Ian finally responds. This voice is thick, muffled, as if he didn’t really intend to speak out loud.

  As I think back on every scenario, I find he’s right. My mother was protecting herself. Rath was protecting his own heart from more pain at having lost his brother. Cyrus was protecting his small chance at winning my heart, and Raheem the exact same.

  Who am I to judge? I’ve kept my own secrets. I still keep my secrets. And it is to protect myself.

  “At some point, we’re all going to be hurt by the lies and secrets that those we love keep from us,” he says quietly. I hear him rub a hand over his face and then through his hair.

  “Do you think you’ll ever find out who your biological father is?” I ask.

  He lets out a small sound of disgust. “Highly doubtful. The only way would be to ask my mom, and she’s been dead for fifteen years.”

  “Would you ever want to know?” I ask as my brows furrow.

  Ian doesn’t respond right away. I can practically hear the gears turning in his head. Mulling it over, considering the consequences. “I honestly don’t know,” he finally says. “I loved my dad, the man who raised me. He and my mom were fire and ice, always bound to extinguish one another. They were no good together. And when I first found out, all I wanted to do was hunt down and kill the vampire who impregnated my mom.”

  He pauses for a long time, his breathing growing deeper, more ragged. “But now…”

  Ian can’t continue. And I understand it. Finally. He’s come to see that not all vampires are what they seem by their name. The longer he is one, the more he’s connecting the crooked and gray dots. The more he sees that he is a part of this picture.

  “It’s okay to be curious,” I say as a sad little tug pulls at my heart.

  Two more weeks. Fourteen days of sun. Fourteen days of burning. Days of starvation and dehydration. Sleepless days and nights.

  I feel like death. And I have no doubt I look like it, too.

  The German man is dragged away one day and doesn’t return. Two women are brought into the prison. One cries almost constantly. The other doesn’t say a word.

  The rain continues to fall, and soon, the entire floor of my cell is covered in water. My skin is constantly pruned. My lungs vie for dry air to breathe, so I simply stop breathing more than once every few minutes.

  Ian coughs from the next cell over, the first sound anyone has made in at least twelve hours.

  “You okay?” I ask as I huddle on my flat, hard platform of a bed.

  “Fine,” he says. I hear him shuffle, turning on his own bed. I imagine him lying flat on his back, his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling.

  I tuck my knees into my chest, my back pressed against the hard stone. My old human instincts tell me to shiver, that it’s cold and wet, and I should be freezing. But this vampire body of mine doesn’t feel anything.

  “Can you tell me something, Liv?” Ian asks.

  “What?”

  He takes a few deep breaths, taking his time in deciding how to ask his question. “Were you happy? Having the House and everything that came with it?”

  I pick at a piece of fuzz on the hem of my sleeve. “I don’t know if happy is the right word,” I respond. “It’s hard to be happy when the King is always looming over your head. When Jasmine was making constant attacks on me. She and Micah are dead, by the way.”

  Ian makes a surprised grunt, but doesn’t say anything.

  “It’s kind of hard to be happy when your heart is broken,” I add quietly. But I need more truth. More honesty. Because I’m so, so tired of lies and secrets. “But in a way, I felt…completed, I guess. Running the House. I had a purpose. Before I moved to Silent Bend and found out about…everything, I just kind of, got by. I went through the motions of being a responsible adult, but I never did anything of worth. I just was.”

  He’s quiet for a while, taking in what I’ve said.

  “I never had a purpose until I found the House. I know you hate everything this system is and everything it stands for, but I did some great things while I ruled, Ian,” I say. “We were helping the town. We were protecting Silent Bend from this Snake army. I even got Markov to stop feeding on anyone in the borders.”

  “That is quite the accomplishment,” I
an says with a little bit of a smile in his voice.

  I feel one pull at my own mouth.

  “Being dragged away from it was a lot harder than I expected,” I continue. “I know you hate them, but those vampires, they’re my family. They’re all I have.”

  Another long pause. “Most of them have been a part of Jasmine’s broken House for a long time, and they followed the Kask’s father before that. And I grew up hating them, because they were the same as what killed my mom and dad. So, I think when you accepted your birthright, it felt like you were welcoming their killer into your home. I couldn’t separate the actions of one from the masses.”

  “That makes sense,” I say with a nod. “And they’re all far from perfect. They make mistakes. But so do humans. No one is perfect. Ever.”

  “No one is perfect,” he whispers in an echo.

  And as he says the words, I feel something in him change.

  That hard edge softens.

  FOR ANOTHER WEEK, WE ROT in prison. Another prisoner is brought down, an older sounding man who I swear sleeps all the time. Even if he is a vampire.

  A letter is slipped under my cell door. I open it up to reveal handwriting that is difficult to read, as if English is not the first language they learned to write in.

  I’m so sorry, my nofret. R

  It’s no question, R for Raheem.

  I don’t know what to respond back. Not that I could respond. My feelings toward him are so incredibly complicated and twisted at the moment.

  And time keeps passing.

  So to pass the time, I catch Ian up on everything that has happened since he removed himself from my life. The tearing down of Jasmine’s house. The arrival of the King. The games. The way we massively expanded. My descent into darkness. Rath’s departure from the House of Conrath.

  The plot to frame me.

  Everything.

  I leave out no small detail, because I have to get all of the secrets and lies out of me.

  Including my involvement with Raheem.

  “Do you love him?” Ian asks quietly. We’ve struck this weird balance of re-building friendship and keeping our past emotions and feelings removed. We’re repairing and not laying out judgment.