House of Kings (House of Royals Book 3)

by Keary Taylor

  “If you are to be restored to full glory, you will need a full House,” Cyrus says.

  I turn to face the room and him. I lean against the door, observing him in my space. Someone has already fixed the broken window and placed the bed back in its proper place. Cyrus stands in the middle of my bedroom. His expression is open. Observant.

  “Your reputation does precede you,” I say as I take one step toward him. Two. I’m terrified by what this night—day—might bring. But Cyrus does have a way of putting a spell over me and making me forget myself. “I have no doubt you have something more sinister up your sleeve. Parts two and three, right?”

  “You are equal measures beautiful, a leader, and intelligent, aren’t you?” he asks with that crooked smile. It makes my dead and resurrected heart do a little backflip.

  “It’s what I was born to be, right?” I say. I step forward, walking past him with a smile.

  “Correct,” he says, and he says it distractedly. I look back at him over my shoulder to see him checking my ass out with a very approving look.

  I step into the bathroom and turn to shut the double sliding doors with a devilish smile of my own.

  I strip out of my dress, leaving it in the middle of the closet. I stand naked in front of the mirror, wetting a washcloth and cleaning the blood from my chest and between my breasts, moving my father’s key out of the way from where it hangs from my neck. Once I’m clean, I toss the cloth in the trashcan.

  My eyes linger on my necklace for a long moment. The skeleton key was given to me in an envelope with my father’s only letter to me, with no explanation as to what it opens. I’ve tried every lock in the house. Every chest and wardrobe. I’ve convinced myself it does not open anything in the house or I surely would have found it by now.

  I change into a nightgown. It’s a simple black cotton number. Nothing too seductive, but nothing too dowdy, either. As I look at myself in the mirror once more before exiting, I search myself.

  What will the King expect tonight? Sex? Cuddling? Pillow talk?

  Am I really ready for any of that?

  No.

  But I’m desperate to wash Ian’s rejection away with something strong.

  I suppose that reveals something about myself that I never knew before. I’m a rebounder. Replace the hurt with something that will make me numb.

  It’s wrong. But I’m desperate.

  And I have no choice either way in this situation.

  I turn back to the doors and open them. There I find Cyrus. He’s facing away from me. His jacket lies across a chair, and he finishes unbuttoning the last two buttons of his shirt. I know he knows I’m here as he pulls the shirt off. Its absence reveals toned back muscles. Defined shoulders. A narrow waist.

  Cyrus is not an overly large man. He’s not huge and ripped. But he is cut. There’s not an ounce of fat to his body. And it is a beautiful body indeed.

  He looks over his shoulder at me, and that seductive smile grows once again on his face. “Do you like what you see?”

  I realize how much I’m staring. And I still can’t take my eyes away when he calls me out. “It’s certainly nothing to complain about.”

  He turns around and walks slowly toward me, giving me time to appreciate his chest, his defined abs. The captivating face. He closes the distance between us and places his hands on my hips. He studies my eyes for a moment, and I can see he’s holding a lot back.

  Finally, he presses a kiss to my forehead, and it leaves me feeling frustrated and defeated. He walks away into the bathroom.

  I join him, and we brush our teeth side by side. He keeps looking over at me and I look over at him. It’s too natural. Too…cute, and couple-ish for what this situation is in reality.

  Yet, I’m finding it hard to care.

  From the small wardrobe of his that’s been inserted into my closet, Cyrus produces a set of silk, black pants. I leave the space to give him a moment to change. A minute later, he walks back out.

  “It will be difficult to sleep for a while,” he says as he walks to stand before the fireplace, which bears rolling and licking flames. I realize for the first time: it doesn’t feel freezing anymore. It’s been impossible to keep the house warm enough the past week since the curse storm began. And while I know the temperatures have not improved, I am no longer cold. “So, I thought we could keep each other company for a while.”

  “And see if I begin remembering anything,” I say. It kills some of the confusing, lusty feelings that are building up inside of me.

  “Yes,” he agrees. “But I also like to get to know the House leaders. It gives us that opportunity, so nothing is wasted either way.”

  I smile and take a step closer to him. “So, just you and I in this House the next two weeks, huh?”

  “I’m looking forward to it,” he says with a smile. And maybe I’m imagining it, but do I sense a hint of friendship in it?

  Something dark on the floor draws my attention.

  It’s been scrubbed and cleaned, but I still smell it, and it’s disturbing the scent of my own blood makes my throat burn. I laid here five days ago as a human and bled as someone drained me dry.

  “Who was it that ended my life?” I ask. Because it’s a question I’ve avoided asking. There have been many of them since I Resurrected. “I was fading fast, but I know there were a few bodies in the room with me. Who was it?”

  “Does it matter?”

  My eyes rise to meet his. “It matters a great deal to me.”

  He contemplates the answer for a good long moment, and I have to wonder if he will lie to me. “I heard a conversation going on in your room and it escalated quickly. I ran into your room, found Mr. Ward and you—on the ground, dying. It was Raheem who also rushed in here.”

  He bites the inside of his lower lip, and I wonder if that’s his tell. I need a way to know when Cyrus is lying. And I’m almost certain he’s about to lie to me now.

  “It was me,” he says. “You were so close to death already. And the things Mr. Ward was saying to you, I could tell how much pain it was causing you. I didn’t want you to have to endure it one moment longer.”

  I swallow hard, fighting the desperate, horrible feelings that are climbing up my throat. Everything about that night went so wrong.

  “He really just left?” I ask. My voice sounds strangled. All of my internal organs have surely turned to ash. Certainly, my heart no longer exists.

  Cyrus takes a step forward and takes my hands in his. “We all have pasts. We go through experiences that make us the people we are meant to become. Do not regret your past with pain and learning. Some people were only meant to briefly be a part of our lives. Look to the future, Alivia.”

  He brings both my hands up and together, pressing a kiss to both my first knuckles at the same time.

  The blackness I once felt taking over my soul creeps a little larger. Because there’s no going back. No small glimmer of hope.

  “I think I’m ready to try to sleep now,” I say. And I am indeed tired. I’m exhausted. From everything.

  “Of course, my dear,” Cyrus says as he leads me to the huge bed in the middle of the room. He slides in and opens an arm for me. And since nothing else feels right in the world, I climb in beside him, and tuck myself into his side, resting my head on his bare chest.

  And as I let my eyes slide closed, I let Ian Ward go. Because I have to in order to survive. I have no choice but to carry on. It’s become clear, over and over, that we’re done.

  Forever.

  IT DOES INDEED TAKE A very long time to fall asleep. I hear the sounds every person in this house makes. Nial leaving for work at the hospital. Lillian and Anna talking about what to pack. Markov, drinking on and off. The Court members arguing about the King’s apparently unreasonable expectation of them to help me.

  I don’t say a word, though. And, neither does Cyrus.

  We lie there. Together. Tucked in tight.

  And finally, I do sleep.

  When I
wake, Cyrus is gone. And it tells me truth when I am relieved. I’m learning all sorts of things about myself as of late.

  Cyrus may hold me enchanted when he is with me. When he is searching for something I wish for him to have. But when he’s gone, the spell is broken.

  I climb out of bed and dress in leather pants and a flowing red shirt. I twist my hair up in an elegant, yet messy twist. I find my crown on the counter in the bathroom—the message is clear and obvious—I’m expected to wear it. I have mixed feelings when I place it upon my head.

  I glance at the clock before I head out the door. It’s six pm, I’ve only slept five hours, yet I feel well-rested and ready to go for days.

  Goodbye to ever sleeping normally again.

  As I walk down the hall, I listen to the sounds behind the doors. X is not in her room. Three court members still slumber in theirs. Anna is not in hers.

  I walk down the stairs and hear voices in the dining room.

  But who am I kidding. I hear every sound in this entire house now. I know exactly where everyone is.

  Seated at the head of the table is Cyrus. Anna pours him a cup of coffee, and it’s such a ridiculous sight, it actually offends me. She must sense it, because she looks up at me sharply and shakes her head. Her eyes are serious and dark. I gaze at her for a long time and hope she gets that I think her acting as house help is ridiculous when she is my General.

  “Good morning, my dear,” Cyrus says. I look back at him and find the pleasant smile on his face. “I hope you rested well?”

  “Well enough,” I reply as I sink into the seat beside him when he indicates it. “Are you up early or is this normal for you?”

  “In truth, I only sleep maybe once a week anymore,” he says as he forks a strawberry and pops it into his mouth. I once again wonder how we are still receiving food when that storm has made the roads impossible and there is no help in the house. “I did indeed sleep the first night we arrived, but not since, and possibly not again until my visit here is over.”

  “And how long do you expect that to be?” I ask, attempting to sound as innocent as possible. One of the Court members sets a plate of food before me and the action is done very grudgingly.

  “As long as it takes,” Cyrus says. He reaches over and takes my left hand in his. Always so tender and terrifying. “A few days if you begin remembering, a few weeks if not, just to be sure.”

  A few weeks can turn into a month, and month into two. How long can we keep the people of Silent Bend away?

  Instead of showing the fear I feel over that, I smile instead.

  “I expect everyone at this table in the next sixty seconds!” Cyrus suddenly bellows. I would have jumped hard, totally taken off guard, just a week ago as a human. But I heard his quick intake of breath as warning.

  Several blurs race into the room and Lillian and Nial take a seat, followed immediately by X and two other court members. Over the next few seconds, more and more bodies fill in around the table. And within exactly forty-two seconds, every single vampire has arrived—except Cameron.

  “I do believe your ‘tight’ friend is missing,” Cyrus says as he leans in my direction.

  “There’s no one else in the House,” I say as my brows furrow. I search the crowd around us, waiting for his face to appear. “Have you see him?” I ask it in Lillian and Anna’s direction.

  “Not since last night,” Lillian says. The concern grows on her face.

  “Not since you danced with him,” Anna confirms. I can see the gears turning in her head, fast and hard. She’s head of security. It’s her job to know where everyone is.

  “Anyone?” I ask, searching the faces of those around us. I’m met with only shaken heads.

  “I’m sure he just got a little overly excited with the drinking last night and wandered off for more,” Cyrus says, brushing my anxiety off. “It happens. He’ll show back up.”

  “Can we please talk about this ridiculous situation at hand?”

  Every eye turns down the table to the young man who spoke.

  He only looks about sixteen, maybe seventeen. Marble white skin that appears almost translucent, eyes a light gray that’s washed out in color. His black as night hair is styled up and high, in almost the shape of a rhino’s horn. A black jacket with many buckles and a high collar hugs his frail-looking frame.

  He’s at once beautiful and horrific.

  “Ridiculous is the word you choose to use in the presence of your King, Sebastian?” Cyrus asks as he stands. His eyes flash red and he places his fingertips on the table and leans forward, toward the young man.

  “I am a member of the Court,” he says, very little fear in his voice for the way Cyrus is glowering at him. “I am not some scavenger dog to an infant of a Born who’s too ignorant to know how to do her own dirty work.”

  Cyrus disappears in a flash and suddenly, Sebastian’s head forms a new hole in the wall as the King pins him with a hand around the throat. “You will watch your tongue,” Cyrus whispers in a low, controlled voice, half an inch from Sebastian’s face.

  “Let the boy be,” a woman from the table says. I turn in her direction. She’s a large woman, at least six feet tall, with dark, long hair and severe cheekbones. And a constant look of disdain upon her face. “He’s only voicing the thoughts of every person at this table.”

  Cyrus holds her eyes with that heated glow and releases his grip on Sebastian. Slowly, with the control and silence of a jaguar, he walks around the table, never once looking away from her.

  “These are the thoughts of the entire Court?” Cyrus says. “That my request is ridiculous that you aid in the building of our kingdom? That after everything I have done for you, that I ask you a favor in return? This. This is ridiculous.”

  “We have helped you rule for centuries, millennium, and you ask us to track down exiled Born,” she says, defiance burning in her eyes.

  The hairs on the back of my neck prickle as the silence around the table grows. I swear pressure is building in the room and with the first breath exhaled, everything will explode.

  “And how many others have a problem with what I have asked?” Cyrus says as he suddenly looks away from the woman. “You, Judith? Godrick?” They shake their heads vigorously. “X?”

  “Of course not, your majesty,” she says, bowing her head, even though her eyes betray her.

  “So, it appears it’s just you, Antonia,” Cyrus says. “Let me save you the pain of humiliating yourself by doing what your King has asked.”

  In a blur of motion, Cyrus is across the room. Blood sprays across the table, hitting those beside her. His fangs have sank into Antonia’s neck, and he pulls back in a quick, sharp jerk, taking with him a huge chunk of her throat.

  He flings his face to the side, spitting out flesh and blood, where it hits the wall and slides to the floor in a bloody slick. Antonia collapses forward onto the table, a river of blood leaking out onto the polished wooden surface. Gasping, wet sounds erupt from the hole in her throat. Her body spasms, and her eyes flash open and closed.

  “Does anyone else have a problem with my request?” Cyrus demands.

  He stands there, a river of blood cascading down from his lips, over his chin, down his chest, staining his white shirt. His fangs are fully extended, his eyes glowing.

  “No, your majesty,” echoes as those around the table reply in fear.

  “I didn’t think so.” He whips out his blade once again and buries it deep into Antonia’s back, through to her heart. She stops moving and instantly grows ashen gray.

  This. This is the King of the vampires.

  “Pack your supplies,” Cyrus instructs as he wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “You all leave in thirty minutes.”

  It takes less than one second for the room to clear.

  “Sometimes as a leader, you have to do bad things for the greater good.” I turn to see Cyrus studying Antonia’s body. His eyes are glazed over, empty. His words may be deep and meaningful, but it’s e
asy to see he doesn’t really feel them.

  He killed this woman because she questioned his authority. He hasn’t been the only leader of a very powerful race for thousands of years without doing some very dark things.

  Without saying a word, I walk over to Antonia. I heft her up and over my shoulder with no effort at all.

  “What are you doing?” Cyrus asks in disgust.

  “This is still my home and I don’t approve of bodies lying around,” I say as I look back at him with cold eyes. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Without waiting for him to answer me, I leave the room in a blur.

  It only takes me two minutes to move across town, to the edges, toward the swamps. To where Ian planned to feed me to the alligators once. I hear them hiss and snap the moment I get to the boggy water.

  “Eat up,” I say as I fling Antonia’s body toward the shallow water. She snaps the sheets of ice. A set of huge teeth clamp down on one of her arms, and she’s drug down into the icy depths.

  Covered in someone else’s blood, I head back to the House.

  When I get back to Main Street, I slow to a walk.

  The church by the river that once housed the few remaining townspeople is now empty. The front doors hang open. Snow blows inside, piling inward. The Hanging Tree is coated in snow, its dead and barren branches buried five inches deep. The shops have boards over the windows. Garbage pokes out from the snow. Frost clings hard to the windows at Fred’s.

  It’s a ghost town.

  “Do you still believe this storm is for you?”

  I look up to see Raheem standing in the middle of the road just twenty yards away.

  “I don’t know,” I answer honestly as I continue walking toward him. “I feel like I don’t know much of anything anymore.”

  “You’ve been reborn into an entirely new life,” he tells me as he slowly walks toward me. “It’s okay if you feel as if you need to relearn yourself.”

  “I’m not who I thought I was,” I breathe as we stop just two feet away from each other. “I’m not as strong. Not as sure about right and wrong. Not as founded with my values. Not as innocent.”