House of Kings (House of Royals Book 3) Read online

  He takes half a step forward, and his hand rises up to touch my cheek. “I told you that vampirism brings out our true selves. It’s not a lie. Embrace who you truly are, Alivia. Let yourself discover your truth. Don’t fight it.”

  The breath catches in my throat. I want that. I want to be able to just accept who I am. Every step I’ve taken for so long seems to toe the line between right and wrong. I want to accept that most everything in my life is gray now.

  “Don’t fight it,” Raheem breathes. He’s so close. My heart is hammering. I want to break out of this terrified shell I’ve found myself inside of. I want to breathe. To fly. To just be me. “Don’t fight it.”

  Without thought, my right hand wraps behind Raheem’s neck and I pull his lips to mine. And they don’t hesitate. They don’t fight me. His lips mold to mine. They work in sync with me, giving and taking. They breathe life and acceptance back into me, making every inch of my being hum with vibrancy once more.

  His hands wrap around my waist, pulling me closer. My free hand runs up his chest, feeling the hardened muscles beneath his tunic. One of his hands slides up my back, his fingers splayed wide, running over my spine and my shoulder blades.

  Air. It’s what I’ve craved for so long. I’ve needed to breathe again. To let all my insecurities and fears go. And just accept. To embrace.

  And here, with a spy and a man who’s far from black and white, I’ve found my air again.

  “I don’t care,” Raheem breathes into my mouth. “I’m going to get myself killed, but what does it matter when every second away is death already.”

  The tears bite at the back of my eyes. Because it’s such an honest confession. I feel how much he means it, every word.

  But.

  But I am not ready. I am not there. I don’t feel the same way.

  Yet.

  Not so soon after my heart has been broken and I’ve only just now finally taken my first breath again.

  “Don’t go,” I sigh instead, because it is true. The thought of Raheem going away leaves an abandoned hollow cavern in my chest once again. I say it, even though I know it can never happen.

  “I promise, I will return quickly,” he says as our lips finally part. He takes both my hands in his, and he holds them tightly between our two heaving chests. Our eyes meet and his are so bright and alive, and…hopeful. “Finding new House members will not be a problem.”

  A surprising laugh bubbles up from my chest. “I’m sure it won’t.”

  He smiles back, and I think it’s the first I’ve ever seen upon his lips. It’s a beautiful thing. Hesitant. Unsure. As if he truly hasn’t done it in centuries.

  “But while I am gone, you need to be careful,” he says, the seriousness of our situation returning. “The King will treat you well, have no doubt about that. But I do not believe your friend just wandered off.”

  And my hopeful, lightened mood instantly dies. “Do you know something about Cameron?”

  “Just because a King has arrived does not mean your previous wars are over,” he says as his eyes grow darker. “I told you that you had a problem in your backyard and there is no reason to believe it has gone away.”

  The truth sinks into me like a thousand of Elle’s toxin needles. “Jasmine.”

  “Possibly,” Raheem says. “I cannot be sure. But I have been in this world for a long time. There’s a reason we do not dominate the planet. We have a way of turning on each other.”

  Fear takes me over. Jasmine has been building a back-up House of Bitten over the past few weeks with the people of this town as her victims with a new Debt. In the frivolity of last night, it would have been easy for them to nab Cameron with little attention.

  “We have to go get him,” I say, taking one of Raheem’s hands in mine and tugging him in the direction of the mayor’s house.

  But Raheem stands grounded, pulling me back to him.

  “Now is not the time,” he says when I look back at him with frustrated and confused eyes. “Everyone is supposed to be departing in a few minutes. That must be dealt with first. And you must be careful with the King while you and him are alone. But do not doubt his distaste for the race of the Bitten.”

  An idea begins to form as I search Raheem’s face.

  “I understand,” I say, that familiar calm spreading back into me.

  He places a hand on my cheek once again and leans in for one more kiss. “I had to have one last. I may never get another chance.”

  “We make our own chances and fate,” I say, pressing my lips to his once again, as well. Conviction burns in my chest.

  I feel myself returning.

  My old self.

  My true self.

  Whichever it is, I need it.

  I feel the clock running out. I know everyone must be wondering where we are. So regretfully, we return to the House. Raheem circles around and enters the property from the North side, careful not to trigger the solar alarm as I enter through the main gate.

  On my way up to the House, I scoop up a handful of snow and scrub my face clean, wiping away the blood Antonia transferred to me, as well as any traces of Raheem and what we’re forbidden from doing.

  When I walk back into the House, it’s chaos. Bags piled everywhere, vampires running here and there frantically, packing for departure. My return is hardly noticed.

  And I realize how strange it’s going to be, once again living in this house with only one other person. I miss Rath.

  I wish nothing more than for his return. But I cannot guarantee I will not hurt him yet.

  Even now, I feel the burn spreading from my throat to my chest, just thinking about having a human around.

  “Two minutes!” I hear Cyrus yell from the kitchen. I follow the sound of his voice and find him munching on a bowl of nuts.

  “Since the body and blood obviously bothered you, and your help is nowhere to be found, I asked Sebastian to take care of the mess, in exchange for not killing him for his insubordination.” Cyrus says it like he’s just done the kindest thing he can think of.

  “Thank you,” I say without conviction. I grab a few nuts from the bowl. I am surprised to find my appetite for food has not changed since my resurrection. “Is everyone nearly ready?”

  He shrugs, an indifferent look on his face. “They’ll depart whether or not they are prepared.”

  I am finally remembering this man’s two faces. The reason why everyone fears him. He’s cold and selfish.

  I turn and leave the kitchen, only to have Cyrus follow me. He stops beneath the Conrath chandelier. “Ten!” he yells. “Nine. Eight.”

  I hear people scramble to finish their last seconds of preparation. And feet thunder down the hall and down the stairs.

  “Three! Two! One!” Cyrus bellows just as the last of the Court members scramble into the foyer. They wear coats and bear suitcases. They look completely out of sorts, and I wonder how long it’s been since they’ve had to fend for themselves. Apparently, Court life is quite cushioned.

  I meet Raheem’s eyes for just a moment and force myself not to smile like I am so tempted to do. His poker face is much better than mine.

  “You all know the first task,” Cyrus says as he wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Track down any Born you can find. Convince them of the benefit of joining a House and bring them back here, ready to pledge allegiance to Lady Conrath. You have two weeks. If you fail to bring a new recruit, do not bother returning. This goes for current House members, as well as Court.”

  He looks his own people in the eye, daring them to speak out against him. But no one says a word.

  I observe my House members. Anna. Nial. Samuel, Lillian, Markov. I will miss them over the next two weeks. I’ve grown to consider them family. I can’t bear the thought of them not returning.

  I hope they all know that I will accept them back, no matter what. As soon as the King leaves Silent Bend.

  “Go.” Cyrus says it with a dismissive wave of his hands.

  And one by
one, they all file out into the big, wide world.

  I ROLL THE CHICKEN IN the cornflakes and set them in the pan. The oven beeps, letting me know it’s preheated. Putting the finishing touches on our main dish, I grab it from the island, place it in the oven, and set the timer.

  A King sits at the island on a stool with a block of wood and a knife in his hands. He’s watching me—with great interest.

  “I will confess, your ability to cook does concern me,” Cyrus finally says after so long in silence. “Sevan never was much good when it came to food.”

  “She wasn’t skilled in the kitchen?” I ask, trying very hard to make easy conversation. The reality of being alone with the King is far more uncomfortable and intense than I expected.

  “Not that what we had was much of a kitchen before…everything,” he says. And he attempts to smile, but there’s sadness in it. “Just a chimney and a fiery opening. Somehow, she managed to burn most everything.”

  “Can’t really blame her without much to work with,” I say, trying to keep things light when we’re approaching such a black cliff of this weighted topic. “I mean, it’s so easy now, these days. I think just about anyone could become a master if they had a desire.” I look around the beautiful, huge, immaculate kitchen that I have the run of.

  “The world certainly has come a long way,” he observes quietly.

  I return to my work, preparing a pasta salad. I set water to boil on the stove and collect my ingredients from the pantry.

  “Tell me about your mother,” Cyrus says, changing the subject. “I did not know Henry well, he always did keep to himself. But I’d like to know about the woman who raised you.”

  I look over my shoulder at him, surprised at his normal request. It’s…friendly. This man is whiplash darkness and sincerity. “She…she was a good woman. She was far from perfect, but she tried really hard and made do with what she had.”

  “How did she meet your father?”

  I add some salt to the water before turning to lean against the counter. “She was here in Silent Bend for the summer, working. Just before she was going to leave for college in Colorado, she went to a party. I can’t imagine Henry going to a party, but I guess that’s how they met. It was a one night thing.”

  “That’s all it takes,” Cyrus says with a tiny little smile. “Though your conception is little short of a miracle. Pregnancies do not often take with our kind.”

  The strong pull of curiosity grabs me hard. “Please, don’t take this harder than it is meant, I’m genuinely curious,” I begin. I have to step carefully, every moment of every night. “But did you ever create any other children? Besides your son?”

  Cyrus’ eyes darken and harden for a moment, and I do fear that I have offended him indeed. But the moment only lasts a short while. “No,” he says. His eyes fall to his hands. He’s got a block of wood in one hand, a small knife in the other. Wood shavings litter the granite beneath the block. It’s difficult to tell what he’s carving yet. “I have only ever been with my wife. Sevan is the love of my very long life. I have had no desire for another. After I…turned her, she lost her ability to conceive more children. Though I will admit, after the disaster that our son was, I no longer desired more.”

  “What was his name?” I ask quietly. “I’ve never heard.”

  “That is because he is dead and dead to our kind,” Cyrus says in a low growl. “His name erased from our history as if he never existed.”

  “I understand,” I say quickly as I turn away to keep myself busy with pouring the dry pasta into the boiling water. “You’ve suffered an immeasurable amount of pain in your life.”

  “Pain makes us strong,” he says quietly. His head is bowed, the knife carving through the wood again. “It also has a way of making us crazy over time.”

  I glance over my shoulder at Cyrus. His expression is dark, tortured. Serious and reflective.

  Cyrus is an immortal, never to die.

  This here, it’s my future. A long life filled with pain and crazy.

  If I live long enough.

  Maybe Ian was right. Maybe I was too hasty in accepting my inevitable future. Maybe I should have taken advantage of my mortal life while I could, because I could.

  But no. That’s a lie.

  I had no choice.

  No extended timeframe.

  Cyrus lets me finish making dinner in silence. He continues carving. And when he’s done, I see that it is a beautiful raven.

  I finish the food. It’s strange after all this time for there to just be two of us eating, but everyone is gone. It’s so quiet and empty.

  “Thank you for the lovely meal,” Cyrus says as we sit at the small dining table in the kitchen.

  “Of course,” I say. He pours me a glass of wine and then pours his own.

  “How has your thirst been?” he asks as he takes his fork and knife and cuts his chicken. “Not too unbearable, I hope.”

  Suddenly with the thought, my throat flares in pain. A gasp of hot breath whooshes up from my chest as everything in my brain goes wild and fuzzy. “It’s been worse than I hoped for.”

  He looks up at me in concern. “You must not be feeding often enough. We’ll go out before the sun rises.”

  And the thought of soft flesh under my fangs spreads the burn throughout my body. I want warm liquid to put out the fire in my throat, to ease the intense pain. My fingers grip the edge of the table, just in attempt to keep myself grounded in this moment.

  “Oh dear,” Cyrus says as he observes the damage I’m doing to the table. “This can’t wait, my love. Come. Dinner will keep for a few minutes.”

  The burn. It rushes up my throat and wakens the hunter inside of me. I feel my fangs lengthen and my toxins pool. My blood rushes hot like acid.

  And instantly, I’m out the door, my nose searching the air for the scent of blood.

  I catch a whiff, out toward the swamps and the southern Conrath Estate.

  Snow billows out around me, creating a cloud in my wake. I do not feel the cold as I breathe it in and out with no effort, despite my speed. I don’t even notice the change in terrain as I sail over snow covered objects. All of the beautiful and crystal clear details fade away.

  My throat burns and my goal is singular.

  Only one set of tracks leads up to Jasmine’s abandoned House. The front door is open slightly. I burst into the foyer, so very like my own. My sense of smell drives me and the copper-rust smell is enough to drive me mad.

  Anna told me there was blood all over the house when she searched for Jasmine, Micah, and Trinity. But she did not adequately prepare me for how much of it there is.

  The floor is stained dark and crusted. Splatters line the walls. A few drops line the ceiling.

  I huff, hard and deep. The scent is everywhere. I’m so thirsty. I need a drink. Now.

  And my instincts know there’s a body in the great room.

  The details blur away and whoever it is doesn’t get a second to scream before my fangs sink into a soft neck. They go numb and I grab them tightly to keep them from collapsing to the dirty, cold floor.

  “You are a most excellent hunter,” Cyrus observes. “In that, you are indeed like Sevan.”

  But his words are background noise. I pull. One long drink after another.

  “And you certainly have picked a beautiful specimen,” he says approvingly. He walks around the two of us. And as my belly fills with the blood of this person, the heady fog fades from my brain. I feel my animalistic side begin to ebb. The predator is satisfied. The humanity in me returns once more.

  My fangs instantly retract. The individual I’m holding onto collapses to the ground as I let go and take five horrified steps away.

  It’s a woman. She’s young, probably no more than a year or two older than myself. Her eyes are closed, blood running down her neck from the two puncture wounds. Her face is beautiful, yet intimidating. Harsh cheekbones, a square, sharp jawline. Long brunette hair, lighter than my own, falls aroun
d her in soft waves.

  “You need not feel ashamed, my dear,” Cyrus says as he crosses to me and pulls me into his arms. “This is what our kind does. It is our instinct and without following it, we experience something worse than death. Do not be regretful for what you are.”

  But my eyes stay staring at the woman, wide and horrified. This is my third victim, the second I’ve killed. And I can’t seem to help it. My thirst takes over and I kill.

  I kill innocent people.

  I watch as all the color leaves the woman’s face, she grows white and her lips look blue.

  “Come,” Cyrus says. He releases me, but holds onto my hand and pulls me toward the door once more. “Let us finish the delicious meal you prepared for us and think of this no more.”

  And perhaps it’s a survival instinct that makes me follow Cyrus. Leaving behind a body. Leaving behind an innocent victim.

  I do not remember the journey home. I do not remember eating the dinner I made. It’s all a blur, done in automatic motions.

  “My dear,” Cyrus says as we put our dishes in the dishwasher together. “You must move on from this. This is your life and it isn’t going to go away.”

  His tone is firm and borderline harsh. I look up at him with anger and surprise. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten because you’ve been what we are for so long,” I say. My voice shakes. “But these are people we are feeding on. These are mothers and daughters, husbands and grandfathers we kill when we drain. They are people. And we are responsible for their death because we drink their blood. You’ll have to forgive me if I feel despair over that.”

  Without another word, I turn and leave the kitchen. I cross the ballroom. I force the door to the veranda open, pushing aside the mountain of snow building up outside. I make my way through the two-foot deep snow to the tiny graveyard down by the river’s edge.

  Here my tiny family lies. My uncle, killed by the people of Silent Bend more than a hundred and forty years ago. Staked through the heart and then hung up in a tree for all to see.

  My mother, killed in such a human way after living such a human life. She had no idea what she was doing when she got involved with my father for one night.