House of Judges (House of Royals Book 4)

by Keary Taylor

  My mother was buried toward the back of the cemetery. There are cemeteries closer to town, but this was the only one I could afford as a nineteen year old on a shoestring budget.

  My heart pounds as we walk closer to where I laid her to rest.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Ian asks as he takes my hand. He can hear my heart racing, smell the sweat that breaks out on my skin.

  I nod, biting my lower lip. “I think I need the closure. Maybe then I can fully forgive what Jasmine did.”

  Ian never lets go of my hand as we cross the cemetery, but I don’t feel his strong fingers holding mine. The numbness is starting to take over.

  My eyes find the spot before we arrive. The ground is uneven. The grass has not yet begun to grow again. Spring has only just begun, there hasn’t been time.

  We stop just at the edge of my mother’s former grave.

  There’s a hole, as if the ground has sunken in. Which it has, because her coffin is no longer down in the ground. Raw dirt is mixed with the rain water, creating a puddle. It’s a sad sight.

  “I wonder who got the new headstone,” I mutter. Because when Jasmine dug up my mom and had her delivered to my front steps, her headstone was also there. But sitting at the top of the grave is a new one. It’s simple. In loving memory of Marlane Ryan, it reads. Beside it is a bundle of wilted flowers.

  “It sounds like there are a lot of people in this town who care about your mother,” Ian says.

  “I’m a little surprised no one called me when the vandalism was found,” I say as I let go of Ian’s hand and walk to the headstone. I crouch down and trace my fingers over the headstone. It could have been Rhonda, probably was. Or anyone from the diner. Or our old apartment building. I can think of at least half a dozen people who would have helped pitch in.

  “She’s been gone for what, four years?” Ian asks. “It might have been a while before anyone found it.”

  I nod. It’s true. “Wow,” I whisper. “I can’t believe it’s been four years. I swear it was just last month that I got a call from the medical examiner’s office to come identify her.”

  “One more thing we have in common, I guess.” Ian’s voice is low, quiet and slow. “Both our moms met violent, early ends. No kid should ever have to go through that.”

  “Our dads, too,” I lament. “He may not have been your biological father, but he raised you, and that counts for everything when it comes to a dad. They were both taken too early. Well, I guess Henry had already lived several lifetimes, but still, taken before I got the chance to meet him.”

  “It’s one extreme or the other in our world, I guess,” he says. “Life is either way too short, or way too long.”

  I nod. It’s all too true.

  I settle back, sitting on the grass in front of the empty grave. Ian walks around to sit beside me. “Tell me about your life before you came to Mississippi,” he says without looking at me. “What you were like as a kid. What you did in high school. You had this incredibly normal life when you were younger. I’d like to hear what that was like.”

  I look over at him, and he looks back at me. That desire burns deep in his eyes. While I never felt like my life was totally normal growing up, living in poverty, never knowing who my father was, I guess it’s the story of many kids’ lives.

  And so, I tell him. Starting from as early as I can remember. My days in kindergarten. How I struggled with math. How summer breaks were so hard for my mom because she had to figure out what to do with me while she was at work. One summer, she surprised me with a trip to Disneyland; she’d saved up for over a year to pay for everything.

  I recount my struggles to fit in in middle school. How awkward and quiet I was. How I finally found some good friends at the beginning of school, only to have both of them move away.

  I tell it all to Ian. Exposing all the details. Every story I can think of, talking all through the night.

  Except one story. Because I’m just not quite ready.

  LIGHT BEGINS TO TICKLE THE horizon. We have at least an hour before dawn breaks over the trees. I lie with my head in Ian’s lap. We don’t say anything, I’ve run out of words and the past. So has he. He asked me to talk, and I did, but in the end, he told me all of his memories, too.

  We’re emptied out. Poured our souls out to lie barren on the floor.

  In the middle of it all, I had to tell Ian how I killed Danielle.

  I expected wrath. Anger. For him to storm off and leave me once more.

  But he only offered a sad smile and squeezed my hand.

  So now, with ninety-nine percent of everything laid out, Ian rises and extends a hand out to me. I take it, and once more, hand in hand, we walk back to the car.

  I direct him back into town. Down one street, turning at another. And finally, we park along the road.

  “We don’t have much time,” Ian says, his eyes turning to the horizon. Once again, we are pressed for darkness and minutes.

  “I won’t be long,” I say.

  Together, we walk into The Daily Fluff.

  It smells heavenly as we walk inside. Of doughnuts and cinnamon rolls. Scones, coffee. It awakens so many memories and suddenly, my hands are aching for some flour on them.

  “Morning!” a cheery girl I don’t recognize says. “What can I get for you two?”

  And I realize just how long it’s been since I’ve fed. Eight days. Because suddenly all I can smell is the lovely blood under her skin.

  “Uh,” I stutter. I have to fight my instincts, to not let my fangs lengthen. Toxins pool in my mouth. Ian places a hand on my shoulder. He squeezes firmly. “I’ll have a cinnamon roll and a latte. Does Jen still work here?”

  The words come out in a rush, a mumbled, forced mess. Because my brain is tripping over itself, trying not to think about the warmth that could be cascading down my throat, but that’s exactly what I’m focusing on.

  “Oh, uh, yeah,” the girl says. “She’s in the back. Do you want me to go get her?”

  The burn intensifies and I grip the counter to ground myself.

  The girl gives me a wary look.

  I’ve seen myself snap. I’ve gone out of control. I’ve drained people, gone too far.

  “No, that’s okay,” I breathe out. “I just…wondered. Ian, would you like anything?”

  “Just a coffee,” he says, eying me, and I see it there, he’s prepared to haul me out of here if he has to. “Black. To go.”

  “You got it,” the girl says. “We’ll have that in just a minute.”

  “Great, thanks,” Ian says as he takes my credit card from me and pays the girl. “Wait in the car, I’ll be out in a second.” He breathes the words into my ear, quiet enough only I can hear.

  I take off through the shop, stumbling into a chair in my haste to get out of here as fast as I can. I crash through the door with a little too much force, I hear the glass pop. My throat is on fire, and it’s quickly spreading to my lungs, my belly. My arms are burning and my toes feel dehydrated as I yank the car door open and then lock myself inside.

  I close my eyes and tuck my knees up into my chest. I securely fold my arms around them, locking my muscles tight, determined that I will not allow myself to move.

  It feels like an eternity before Ian knocks on the window for me to unlock the doors. He climbs inside and hands me my drink and food.

  “That hit fast,” he says as he sets his drink in the holder and puts the keys in the ignition.

  “It gets bad sometimes,” I say. My insides are quivering. My muscles are tensing, preparing for a chase, to hunt down some prey and drink. “Ian…” Desperation claws its way up my throat, and I’m sure I’m going to explode at any moment.

  “Is there a medical center anywhere in town?” he says, action creeping into his voice. “Pretty much all those places keep a small supply of donor blood on hand.”

  I nod frantically. “Head north.”

  I direct him, feeling my thirst double, feeling the sun rise on the hori
zon. “Left here. It’s there, see the sign out front?”

  Ian nods and we pull into the parking lot. “Wait here,” he says. There’s fear and sympathy in his eyes, but I’m too thirsty to care. He climbs out of the car and takes off at a quick click to the back of the building.

  I close my eyes once again, taking a sip of my scalding hot drink. It does nothing to quench my thirst. I take slow, infrequent breaths. The air on my throat only makes it burn hotter.

  “They’re humans, people, just like you used to be,” I chant to myself. “They have families. Lives. You are not an animal.”

  I chant the words, over and over. My words grow harsher as my thirst takes over, driving my mind mad.

  “You are not an animal,” I growl. And suddenly, the driver’s side door opens. My eyes fly open to see Ian climb inside.

  And my Born side takes over as I rip the first blood bag from his hands. My fangs sink into the plastic and I take long, deep, frantic draws.

  “It gets better about the three month mark,” Ian says. He bites into his own bag and drinks. “It was pretty bad for the first two weeks, but it got controllable about three months in. You’ll be okay in a few weeks.”

  But I hardly process the words. Greedily, I grab for another bag and down it.

  Sensing the sun about to come up, Ian puts the car into drive, and we make our way back to the hotel.

  I’ve just finished my third bag when we pull into the parking spot. Quickly, I check myself in the mirror. There’s a drip of blood falling down my lip. My teeth are coated in red.

  I take two seconds to clean myself up. The sun is just about to break over the horizon when we walk through the hotel doors.

  Shame creeps up my throat as we cross the lobby to the elevators. Up until this point, at least Ian had never seen me succumb to my uncontrollable thirst. I’ve done so many other things to shame myself in front of him. I had hoped that I could at least avoid that one.

  But now he’s seen it all. All of my darkness.

  The elevator closes behind us, and I let my hair hang in front of my face so that I don’t have to look at him.

  “Hey,” Ian of course says immediately. “I am not going to judge you for being thirsty. We can’t help it.”

  “You seem to be able to,” I say, turning my face away from Ian.

  “But don’t go and think it’s easy for me,” Ian says, desperation rising in his voice. The elevator dings, and I immediately walk out and to our room. I slide the key card into our door and push it open. “Those first few weeks when I went back home, I made Elle watch me constantly. If I tried sneaking out to go feed, and I tried it eight times, I told her to shoot me with her toxins. Eight times I ended up lying in bed, in so much pain, just so I wouldn’t go and kill someone.”

  “Why didn’t I think about that?” I say to myself. I could have done that. Elle gave me some of her toxins, but the thought never once crossed my mind.

  “Liv, the point is that I would have killed people if my sister hadn’t stopped me,” Ian says. He grabs my wrist as he sits on the edge of the bed, pulling me to stand in front of him. “The first few months of Resurrection are hell. Any one of the Born will say it. We just have to…survive, and hope the carnage we cause isn’t too widespread.”

  I bite my lower lip, still not able to look at him. I sniff, fighting back all the emotions rushing through me. I feel too raw, too close to the surface. Being back home, being here with Ian…it’s too intense.

  “You say all these things like you’ve accepted them,” I say quietly. “But I’ve seen the look in your eye. I’ve heard the things you say. Don’t think I think you’re just suddenly changing your opinions, Ian.”

  “Liv, look at me.” His command is harsh, firm. It snaps my eyes to his immediately. “I’ve hated the vampires for my entire life because of what they did to my parents. They ended my childhood. But I’ve been blind to half my DNA for more than two decades. I had to deal with my mother’s affair. I had to deal with the fact that my father wasn’t my father. The fact that this world, these politics and curses, are a part of me.”

  I study his eyes, desperately searching for the truth. And I see it there in his gaze. In the depth of what he’s saying.

  “It took me a while, Liv, to accept what changed,” he says. His voice is broken. Quiet. Sad. “And it’s still going to take time, every day. But spending two months in prison, it gave me a lot of time to think.”

  Emotion makes his voice thick. His head bows for a moment. He squeezes my hands with his. And he sits like that for a long few minutes. I can feel the emotions, the weight of everything he’s gone through. It chokes me, too.

  Finally, he takes a hard sniff and looks back up at me. His eyes have reddened with emotion, his lips hard and tight. “And it made me realize what an ignorant ass I’ve been.” Emotion bites at the back of my own eyes, but a tiny bubble of a laugh creeps up my throat, but thankfully, it stays trapped in my mouth.

  “You were just dealing with what you had no choice but to deal with,” he continues. “You were doing incredible things with your fate. And I just chose to be angry about it all, because I couldn’t deal with my own shit. And the further I pushed you away, the worse I felt, every moment. I let it all eat me alive, fueling my anger and my resentment.”

  Tears break out onto my cheeks. Ian’s voice grows thicker, strangled.

  “And for the first few weeks, all I could think about was those few minutes when I came to you at your house, the night you died,” he says. “How much it must have hurt you, when I asked you to leave with me and have a few good years.” He drops his head down again, shaking it at himself in anger. “I can’t imagine how that must have made you feel.”

  How it made me feel? Like my heart had just been ripped out, again. Then stomped on with cleats and kicked into a steel wall. It was worse than the death I would suffer just moments later.

  “But when the King and Raheem rushed into the room just a few seconds later, I guess I had a moment of clarity,” he says. Finally, he looks back up at me. His eyes are welled heavy, but there’s simplicity in his gaze. “That you and I will never, ever be perfect. We will probably always have problems, and we’ll probably always fight over stupid stuff. But I’d rather be with you, no matter how mortal or immortal you are, than not have you in my life.”

  My heart races and there are so many emotions rushing through my body, surely I will be swept away with the tidal wave, never to know which way is up or down again.

  “Because,” Ian whispers, “I love you, Liv.”

  I am a slave to my emotions and my heart.

  My hands pull away from his and tangle into his hair as my lips take possession of his. Air is breathed back into my lungs for the first time in months as I press Ian back onto the bed and my body molds to every surface of his. His lips part and a hungry sigh slips between them. His tongue searches out mine, demanding and hopeful.

  Ian’s hands come to my back, running under my shirt, and surely the skin to skin contact will send me straight from this earth to a new, heavenly state of being. His fingers run over my depleted muscles from the last month and a half of imprisonment and deprivation. The bones of my spine send his hands up and down along the ridges.

  Ian slides back on the bed, letting me ride on top of him as he does. Our mouths never separate as we move, and he rolls, so that we are side to side. His hand comes up to my cheek, carefully caressing it. His knee parts my own and rests on my upper, inner thigh.

  Sparks ignite in my lower belly. A thousand tidal waves crash through my heart, a constant rush of rightness. My eyes roll back as his mouth moves from mine, down to my jaw line, and then to my throat.

  “I’ve missed this, Ian,” I moan. My back arches, aching to get closer, even though there is no space left between us. “Us.”

  He kisses his way down my throat, across my collarbone. His hands come back to the hemline of my shirt and he lifts, moving his kisses to my stomach. I reach with my own hands
and pull his shirt, sliding it up and finally, over his head.

  He slides his way back up over my body, his skin brushing mine. He presses his lips to the hollow behind my ear, his tongue tracing over the skin as his hand lies flat on my bare stomach.

  “You once told me that we’d been handed a miracle,” he says as he pulls back to look me in the eye. “I was dead. You watched me die. And then, I wasn’t. You and me, we are a miracle, Liv. Once we had an expiration date, and then forever. That’s what I want, Liv. If you’re willing to give me a second chance, I’ll prove it to you that we’re worth it.”

  Tears roll down my face; my emotions cannot be contained. I nod, unable to speak, as I guide his lips back to mine.

  I thought this was over. I thought we’d burned too many connections, had too much anger, and made too many horrible mistakes. That there was no way we could ever find our way back to each other.

  But here we are.

  And all I can do is pray that it is for good. Because I can’t survive another separation. Another broken heart.

  He once again kisses his way down to my stomach, pulling my shirt off. The sun peaks over the trees in the distance, and the crack in the blackout curtains bathes us in dim light.

  Ian slows as he kisses my skin, and I feel the mood instantly grow heavier.

  “What…” he says in horror. “How did you get these scars? What did the King do to you?”

  And my blood, which has been rushing through my body so hot, instantly grows cold.

  “Liv?” he whispers. His eyes turn to mine, wide and horrified. “Did Cyrus-”

  “No,” I cut him off. Bile works its way up my throat and terror saturates my veins. I bite my lower lip and slide out from underneath him. I sit on the bed for a moment and take three deep, slow breaths.

  “Liv, what is it?”

  And his tone. It’s so understanding and caring. So open for whatever I might say.

  I’m terrified. I’m so scared of his judgment, again. But if we’re going to make this work, if we’re going to be open and honest with each other, I have to tell him my last, greatest secret.