by Keary Taylor
Silent tears work their way down Elle’s face. She leans her head on my shoulder and I hold her as she silently weeps.
Neither of us speaks a single word through the entire service. It’s short. And cold. Just like Ian’s end was.
I go back to Lula’s house. I want to be with Elle. She needs a sister or a mother in this situation, and since she has neither, I want to be a stand in. But I only last thirty minutes before Lula cusses me out of the house.
I wander slowly across the backyard that leads to the cabin. The stairs creek loudly as I walk up them. It starts to rain lightly when my fingers touch the doorknob. For a moment, I rest my forehead on the door, close my eyes, and pretend.
Ian is on the other side of that door. He’s sitting on the couch, sharpening a knife as he watches some old school action movie. When I walk through the door, he’ll look at me. That lopsided smile will pull on one side of his mouth. His eyes will unabashedly run me up and down. I settle down into his lap and he’ll kiss me and make promises he has no intention of keeping.
I take a deep breath, and twist the doorknob.
The cabin is cold. The fireplace in the corner is dark. There’s a few dirty dishes in the sink. Ian’s bed is unmade. There’s a bag on the table that’s full of weapons. The remote sits innocently on the couch.
It’s like the cabin is just waiting for him to walk back through the doors.
And that’s not going to happen.
The floor creaks under my feet as I cross through the kitchen and into Ian’s bedroom. Springs push back at me when I lie on the bed. And Ian’s scent envelops me as I rest my head on his pillow.
Anger is what keeps my heart from breaking into a thousand sharp shards as I stare up at the ceiling.
THE RAIN HASN’T LET UP as I stare down at the freshly turned dirt. My jacket has long since soaked through. Rath knew better than to offer the umbrella he holds in his hand. He stands back at a distance.
Even when footsteps come up from the side. I don’t turn when someone stops beside me and observes the grave as well.
Jasmine doesn’t say anything for a long time. The mix of emotions roll off of her like a tangible cloud. I wonder if she really was bi-polar in her human life. I’m not sure if she’s more extreme now or if she was completely out of control before.
“I know you’re angry with me now,” she finally says. “But eventually you’ll realize that I did us all a favor. You’ll return to the House. And we’ll finish what we started.”
My jaw clenches hard. Hard enough to threaten to crack my teeth.
“You may not be ready by your birthday anymore,” Jasmine says. “But it won’t be long.”
And the tone of her voice tells me that she will make me ready whether I am or not.
“You have a fatal flaw,” I say evenly.
“Enlighten me,” she challenges.
“You believe that people will do what you say, simply because you place yourself upon a throne.” My fingers ball into a fist. Air flows into my lungs in deep pulls. The anger and the hatred that has been building up inside of me for so long now comes out in eerily calm confidence. “That they will remain loyal to you because you tell them they should.”
“I’ve made sacrifices for the House,” Jasmine says, her voice dipping. The desperation surfaces in her tone. “I have kept it running for a decade and a half because your father chose to abandon us.”
A smile forms on my lips. I let my eyes slide closed and shake my head. She truly doesn’t get it.
I take another deep breath. Give myself two seconds to collect. When I open my eyes, I turn to face her. I take two steps toward her, so we are only a foot apart.
“You’ve taken and taken,” I say, completely calm and collected. “And now, I promise that I will take from you what you love most.”
There’s a moment of reflection as Jasmine tries to figure out what she loves most, which tells me that she is incapable of the true meaning of the word.
“You’ll never take Micah from me,” she scoffs from behind her dark sunglasses. “He hates you far more than I do. He’ll kill you before you get within fifty feet of him.”
Again, the smile pulls on the corners of my lips. “Keep your man toy. I vow to take what you love most, and that, Jasmine Veltora, is the House. I will disassemble it right from under your feet and watch you fall. Alone. The Conrath family hasn’t claimed the House for two hundred years, but that’s about to change. The House is mine. And I’m taking it.”
Jasmine’s eyes slowly grow wide, her mouth falling just slightly open.
Without a breath from her, I turn, and walk back to the car.
WHEN YOU TAKE AWAY HOPE, free spirit, the possibility of new love, and all the things that make life bright and worth living, all you’re left with is revenge and anger.
I pace in front of the chalkboard in my father’s office. On it, I’ve written the names of each member of the house.
I’m pretty sure I’ve already won Lillian. I haven’t seen her since the night of my party, but I imagine she’s keeping herself safe. Lying in wait until I make a move. There’s nothing she can do for now.
I think I can win Anna over. She doesn’t seem particularly loyal to anyone in the house. It’s companionship she craves. And a strong backbone. She doesn’t seem to dislike me by any means. I will figure out how to sway her to my side.
The Kask brothers. I’m not sure how they will play out. Samuel flirts endlessly, but flirtation means nothing. Christian is always known to smile at anything with breasts. But Christian told me that story of his father and how he was the leader before Jasmine. I think I can use that information to my advantage.
I will never want Micah in my house. He had a line drawn through his name the second I wrote it up there.
I doubt that I will be able to gain the allegiance of Trinity, either. I don’t know why she doesn’t like me, but somehow I feel that isn’t going to change.
Cameron will be easy, I think. Be his friend, give him a smile when he cracks a joke, provide him with plenty of salty snacks, and he’ll be anyone’s best friend.
It comes down to Markov. If I can gain him, I know I can do this. With his support, the others won’t question me. He has that kind of power, which makes me wonder why he isn’t the leader instead of Jasmine. Then again, he is driven by his lust for blood. It’s hard to lead when you’re constantly thinking about your next kill.
He will be the most complicated one to win over.
“Revenge is a dangerous game.”
I turn to see Rath standing in my doorway. Hands clasped behind his back. Expression calm and even.
“This isn’t just a game of revenge,” I say as I face my board again. “It’s a game of power.”
“And that was the downfall of many royals throughout all history,” he says.
I take a deep breath, feeling it rattle my core. I’ve grieved. I still grieve. I’ve lost Ian. He was killed because of me. And that could destroy me. Could rip my soul to pieces. Could render me useless in my bed for months to come. But instead I choose to channel it. “I can’t just do nothing. Someone has to change this madness.”
“And that I understand.” I hear Rath’s boots cross into the room. I look back to see him place something on the desk.
It’s a crown. Golden and ornate. It holds but a single red jewel in its center, right above the relief of a crow, it’s wings widespread, stretching along the length of it.
“But I beg you to play carefully.”
I set the stick of chalk down on the tray and cross to the desk. Cautiously, hesitantly, my fingers trace over the cold metal. I pick it up and study it’s intricacies.
A vampire crown for a vampire royal. The word has always felt like an unreal thing. Something that’s said, but holds no real meaning.
But seeing this crown, touching it, feeling it’s solid weight, the meaning behind that word begins to take reality.
I am a royal. A Born vampire princess. I am the de
scendent of a literal King.
“The crown has been in your family line for over eight hundred years, since the inception of the Conrath name. The House of Ravens. Honor the name well as you play this dangerous game.”
Both our eyes jump to the door when there’s a single heavy knock from the front door. It’s followed by just one more.
My mind races through all the possibilities of who it could be. Elle. Lillian. Jasmine. It’s dark outside. So really, it could be any of the House.
Rath takes a step toward the door, but I hold a hand out. “No,” I say. He looks back at me with uncertainty. “I’ll go.”
His eyes argue with me.
I shake my head as I set the crown back on the desk. “I’m done being afraid. A ruler isn’t afraid. And it’s time to rise.”
Rath takes a step back, clearing the doorway for me, and bows his head in consent.
I walk past him, but feel his presence not far behind. My bare feet pad over the cold, polished marble floor. The chandelier hangs above me, like a floating crown to mark this ancient and grand house.
Anticipation makes my palms slick. My fingers close around the knob. I take one deep breath, readying myself for whoever might be behind the door. My other hand wraps around a stake.
The door doesn’t even creak when I pull it open.
Black veins sprout from around glowing, tired, yet wild red eyes. He leans with one hand on the doorframe, the other pushing absentmindedly against the door. His mouth hangs open slightly, as if in a daze. Extended fangs gleam in the light.
“Ian.” The word escapes me in a whisper that won’t return to my chest.
“Liv,” he breathes, rough and wild. “I’m so damn thirsty.”
This book was written because my fans have continued to support me for the last five years. Five years! You’ve stuck with me and you still like to read my crazy stories. Thank you, so much for still being there by my side!
Thank you to my beta readers: Jenni, Janett, Brittany, and Lauren! Thank you so my editor Sarah. It really takes a team to make a book worthy of going out in public.
Thank you to my family. You’re always there for me, cheering my crazy side on. And thank you to my Father above.
Keary Taylor grew up along the foothills of the Rocky Mountains where she started creating imaginary worlds and daring characters who always fell in love. She now splits her time between a tiny island in the Pacific Northwest and Utah, dragging along her husband and their two young children. She continues to have an overactive imagination that frequently keeps her up at night.
To learn more about Keary and her writing process, please visit www.KearyTaylor.com.
