House of Kings
Author: Keary Taylor
Date: 2016-03-08 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Vampires; Paranormal; Romance; Young Adult; Paranormal Romance; New Adult; Fantasy; Contemporary; Supernatural; Urban Fantasy
Description: Alivia’s father left her a letter before he died, begging her to stay away from the King and the Royals. But it was a plea made in vain. She never could have run from this life, not when she might be Cyrus’ resurrected queen. The King has arrived in Silent Bend and with him, he brought the end to Alivia’s mortal life. Uncontrollable bloodlust and an ever-shifting world rule her nights now. These twisted politics are deadly enough, but now her heart is the newest battleground. There’s no hiding from the one who hates everything she was born to, a spy who embraces everything she’s become, and a

Copyright © 2016 Keary Taylor

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system,
without the prior written permission of the author.

First Edition: March 2016

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Taylor, Keary, 1987-

House of Kings (House of Royals) :

a novel / by Keary Taylor. – 1st ed.

Formatting by Inkstain Interior Book Designing
www.inkstainformatting.com

To buy any of Keary’s books, click HERE

House of Royals

House of Pawns

House of Kings

Branded

Forsaken

Vindicated

Afterlife: the Novelette Companion to Vindicated

The Bane

The Human

The Eve

The Raid: an Eden Short Story

The Ashes: an Eden Prequel

Ever After Drake

Moments of Julian

Depths of Lake

Playing it Kale

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

About Keary

DEATH WAS TERRIFYING. EVEN THOUGH Samuel promised it would be the easy part.

I suppose he was right in some ways. All I had to do was take a pill. All I had to do was make a stir, calling in two more vampires, let one of them sink their fangs into my neck. So in a way, death was easy.

But this part. Resurrection. Coming back from the dead… This is hell.

I was dead. Every cell in me died. Slowly cooled. Slowly stopped splitting and reproducing. Slowly slipped into oblivion.

But now. Now. I feel acid slowly filling every crack of me back up, like I’m being re-inflated. Death and hell and thousand-year-old science breaking into every cell and crevice of my body—so supernatural—and entirely my reality.

It’s the only sensation for a long time. I burn in acid, unable to escape my own body. Wishing for death’s comfortable arms once again.

But then there are the sounds. Garbled. Incomprehensible. Frantic and demonic—deep, hissing, hurried—and oh so very, very loud.

Next come the smells. Of age. That is most prominent. Old house. Old furniture. Old dust. Old bodies.

And I can smell the blood. When I imagined this moment, I expected the thirst to be immediate. But even in my new, infantile state, I can tell the difference. The blood is of their…my kind. It isn’t what I crave.

My throat burns.

I burn.

Burn a thousand moments. Burn a thousand years.

I lay and wish for death.

345,600 SECONDS AFTER I TRIED to end my life with a single pill, 345,600 seconds after I collapsed to the ground and a set of fangs sank into my neck, my eyes fly open.

The dim light is blinding at first and my eyes sear in pain. A low, feral hiss rips from my chest as my hands fly to cover my eyes. I roll to the side, only to free-fall through the air for a fraction of a second—yet it feels like minutes—before a strong set of arms catches me.

“Try to go slow and easy,” a smooth voice purrs into my ear.

And all in a second, I take in every decibel of it, every smooth and calming emphasis. I take in the clarity. I hear the breath rattle through his lungs and I swear I feel the vibration of his vocal cords.

My eyes open to see King Cyrus’ face.

His hands firmly grip around my forearms as I settle awkwardly onto my feet. His glowing red eyes meet mine, and I see the search in them deepen.

But I can’t concentrate. Not when the burning in my body is so demanding.

He must see it in my eyes a fraction of a second too late.

I rip from his grasp, crashing into the bed behind me that I just rolled out of. My force sends it flying across the room and I hear wood crack. My eyes search the space in bewilderment. I’m in my bedroom. And I am surrounded by people.

Anna. Markov. Lillian, Nial, Samuel, and Cameron.

It’s too much. Too much. I’m going to burn to death in front of them all.

My breathing comes out ragged and feral as I stumble toward the door. But they’re all standing in my way.

“Alivia,” Cyrus says, closing a strong hand around my wrist.

I react without thought. My newly acquired animal instincts fly to life.

My arm twists out of his grasp and my hand closes around his throat. Before he can react, I throw him against the wall. Anna and Nial step toward me, and I can just feel my eyes glow and the veins on my face flare with anger and thirst as I hiss in their direction.

“Calm down,” Anna says, her eyes dark and serious. “You just need to feed.”

“You’ll feel much better after you drink,” Nial says. He holds up an insulated bag, a sight I’m becoming very familiar with.

“Please,” I hear Cyrus say from directly behind me. “Aliv-”

But he doesn’t get a chance to finish. I hear footsteps thundering up the staircase. It’s Cyrus’ court members, rushing to the aid of their King, whom I’ve just attacked.

My eyes flare wild, the breath coming in and out of my chest in harsh huffs. Anna takes a step forward, lunging to grab me. I sidestep her, shoving her away as she does. Nial and Cameron are about to grab me when Markov plows into them from the side, knocking them into a wall.

“Go!” he yells as he points for the window.

I don’t hesitate a millisecond longer.

In two leaping bounds, I sail toward the glass.

It shatters. And I fall and fall. But every second is like ten and I watch the ground rise up at me, position my feet, brace for impact. I hit the ground in a roll, one flip over the ground, before popping up on my feet.

It’s nearly sunrise. While it’s still pitch black outside, while somehow, I can see perfectly clear as if it were day, I can feel the sun. Beyond the horizon. Behind the trees. I have maybe an hour, likely less, until I will wish for death.

I stumble through the snow, having hesitated only a second, disoriented, overwhelmed.

But I continue to burn. And there’s a scent in the air.

My feet run.

I move at incredible speed. The ground beneath me is a blur, a constant flash of motion, but everything is clear in my path. I gauge the depth of the snow, anticipate the buried obstacles in my path as if I have ages to anticipate my arrival at them. My brain can process the speed, and the objects that whip past me with no difficulty at all.

I see the wall that surrounds the property in the distance. I feel the rough stone as I leap over it.

And I howl in pain as searing light blinds me.

I fall from the fence line and crash into the nearly two foot deep snow.

My brain has been shredded. My eyes have exploded. Shots of pain lace down my body from my eyes. I vomit nothing into the snow.

But I burn. I must…I must stop the burn.

I roll onto my hands and knees. Slowly, one second. Two. I climb to my feet, covering my eyes with my hands. And I run, relying on sound to guide me.

Fields. Snow. Eventually, the light from Anna’s fence security system fades away and I dare open my eyes.

I draw in another long pull of breath.

There’s a warm body down by the river.

And I am so very thirsty.

I’m across town, at the south end, past Jasmine’s House, down by the swamps, in less than a minute. And the scent of blood intensifies.

I’m burning. I have to end the burning. I feel it in my arms. My toes. My hair.

The figure stands along the other side of river. Ice stretches over the river in a thick sheet, but gives way in the center. He stands out on the ice, holding a fishing pole that sinks into a small hole in the ice. A small lantern sits on the shore behind him.

That animalistic growl grunts in and out of my chest.

I take one step onto the ice. Two.

It doesn’t crack.

But the Mississippi river is wide.

I’m careful. Silent. I move invisible through the dark.

In the last five feet before the ice gives way on the Mississippi side, I take a running leap, and easily land on the Louisiana ice.

The man coughs in the dark. He rubs his gloved hand over his face before blowing heat into it.

I creep behind him, breathing in his delicious scent.

I burn.

I burn so hot.

I have to put the fire out.

Fangs extend inside my mouth and I feel a new liquid sensation drip from them. I take one lunge at the man.

My fangs sink into his neck and it’s the most satisfying sensation I’ve ever experienced. Warm sweetness floods into my mouth and I take pull after pull, calming the burn, yet it’s not nearly enough.

Heat splashes down my front and it takes so long, so very, very long for the fire in my toes to begin dying out. I take another pull and the cool works it’s way up my legs. Another eight pulls.

The man does not move, and I moan in pleasure as I take another draw.

My fingers stop burning.

My arms cool.

Two more pulls.

I’ve cooled the burn in every part of my body expect for a few coals in my throat, when I take another pull, and nothing comes out.

Nothing at all.

I drop the fisherman and take five quick steps away from him. My eyes grow wide in terror.

I…

I shake my head, taking another step away.

Please wake up, I silently beg the man on the ice.

Please.

But he doesn’t move.

I hear shuffling on the other side of the river, and the next second, a dark figure emerges. Followed by three others.

“The first feeding is always a draining one,” Cyrus says gently as he approaches. “Your House thought you might feed another way at first, but I knew better.”

Beside him stand Anna, Markov, and Raheem.

I feel shame looking at Anna and Markov. I…  This…  This wasn’t me. This wasn’t Alivia Ryan. I’ve imagined my death and resurrection for months now, and I knew…I knew I would never, ever feed on anyone unwillingly. I would never kill.

But I look back at that fisherman. And it’s clear.

He’s dead.

I killed an innocent man.

Raheem grabs hold of his ankle and drags his body to the edge of the ice. He pushes it in, and it slowly floats downstream.

“This is natural,” Cyrus says as he takes a few steps, closing the distance between us. He takes my hands in his gloved ones. “This is what you were born to become. This is your natural state, Alivia. As a vampire. Being a human was only ever temporary.”

And there it’s said. Here my future has been met.

I have become everything I was Born to be. There’s no more prolonging the inevitable.

I am a vampire.

WE RETURN TO THE HOUSE. When I walk through the front doors, everyone—House and Court—is waiting inside. They look at me with expectant eyes. With excitement. With dread. With disinterest.

They’re expecting something from me.

But I just killed someone. I just ended a husband, or a brother, or a son’s life.

I can’t deal with them right now.

So I walk past every one of them. I go up the stairs. I walk down the hall. I close the door to my bedroom behind me.

But as I turn to face the room, it doesn’t feel separate enough. There’s evidence of everyone’s presence here: so many footprints, my bed displaced and ruffled, Nial’s medical cart, even a half-made dress of Lillian’s thrown across a chair.

This is no longer just my house. I cannot get away in it.

I cannot escape this.

For a moment, I consider taking refuge in the passageway behind the painting, but surely someone will come looking for me soon, and if I’m missing, I wouldn’t want them looking too hard and finding it.

I take the blankets and pillows from my bed, walk past the broken window where the frigid air blows inside, and haul them into my massive bathtub. I burry myself in them.

And I mourn the girl I will never be again.

“YES, ALIVIA?” LILLIAN ASKS HESITANTLY from the door to my bedroom.

“Please come in here,” I say quietly from the tub.

Lillian crosses the bedroom. I hear every footstep. The heels of her shoes clicking over the wooden floor. The tiny specks of dirt being crushed as she walks. Every breath in and out. The rustle of her clothing. My senses are so heightened, hearing and being aware of everything. It’s earth-shatteringly overwhelming.

The concern on Lillian’s face is immediate. Her brows furrow, her lips are downturned. She kneels next to the tub and takes one of my hands in hers. “What can I do for you, my dear?”

There’s a certain motherly element to Lillian, always has been. It makes a hard lump form in my throat. It’s been so long since I’ve had a mother figure in my life. But Lillian, she’s caring, and kind, and loving.

My eyes turn to her, and I catch a glimpse of myself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror behind us. My eyes glow bright. They haven’t stopped the entire time I’ve been in the bathroom.

“I need to know,” I say. My throat is dry. The burn has never gone away, though it hasn’t left me crazed. Yet. But my voice is rough sounding. “Where is he?”

And it horrifies me that until a few minutes ago, he never crossed my mind. My last, dying thoughts were to beg him to run. But the moment I woke up, all I could think about was myself and my burning thirst.

There’s a flash in Lillian’s expression that tells me for a moment she considers asking “who?” But she knows exactly what I’m talking about.

“There was a moment of scuffle,” she says. “But when Ian realized you were dead, he left. He said he’d been too late, that now that you were dead, the King could have you.”

Everything inside of me grows very still. It grows very quiet. And cold.

“He’s left Silent Bend, Alivia,” Lillian tells me with sadness. “He’s gone.”

He had wanted to leave town before. He had said goodbye to me twice. He never accepted me for who I was, who I would become. I should have known this was coming.

But it feels so sharp and harsh. “He left?” I whisper, broken.

I’m broken all over again.

Because he came back for me that night. The night I died. He asked me to leave with him. He wanted us to be together.

But he’d said we could have a few good years. And then, we’d be back at this again.

“How do I move past him, Lillian?” I ask in a whisper as I stare at the blankets. “This was always coming. It already happened. Twice. But it still…”

“It still hurts,” she says gently as she squeezes my hand. “Of course, it hurts.”

I take a ragged breath, fighting back the sting behind my eyes. “How do I let it go?”

Lillian adjusts her position, taking my other hand in hers so she holds them both. She draws my eyes to hers. “You look around you.” Her expression is strong, so very sure. “You see those around you who love you. And that word, it’s a monumental achievement. No one but Micah loved Jasmine. But what we do for you, us being here, even though he is here, that is love. That is loyalty and devotion. You trust in it. Because it’s here, and it’s real.”

I take a slow, deep breath as a dark stone sinks inside of me. “I almost hope I am her. The Queen. Because if I start remembering, if I can recall all these past lives Sevan and Cyrus had together, maybe it will make me forget the past few months.”

Lillian’s expression is concerned. “I understand,” she says as she tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “But the past makes us who we are. No matter how painful.”

Lillian climbs to her feet and hands me something.

A blood bag.

“The King is having a party for you tonight,” she says as she stands in the doorway. “He’s anxious for things to move forward. I told him he had to give you the day.”

“Thank you,” I say numbly.

She walks out the door, leaving me alone once again.

I SHOWER. THE FISHERMAN’S BLOOD runs down my naked body as the hot water cascades over me. It pools at my feet, runs down the drain. I close my eyes and rest my forehead against the glass for a very long time.

I have to numb myself. That is the only way I will survive.

Eventually, I climb out of the shower. I dry my hair. I pin it up into an elegant knot at the back of my head. I put on Lillian’s newest creation.

I pause at the door to my bedroom for a long time before going out.

I felt alone before. My parents are dead. I have no friends outside of this House, except maybe Daphne. This town hates and distrusts me.

But it was nothing compared to the way I feel now.

Ian is gone. This time, I feel it is for good. We’re done. Finished. Our paths will never cross again. There’s no glimmer of hope. He left me in my most desperate, vulnerable hour.

Let him go.

I’ve told myself that so many times over the past few weeks.

Let go.

I raise my chin.

I put my hand on the door.

I take a deep breath.

And I walk out as Alivia Conrath.

The house is of course beautiful. Splashes of gold have been thrown everywhere in decoration. Red accents make everything royal and bloody. As I descend the stairs, there are golden garlands wrapped around the railing, mixed with some kind of red berry. Beautiful draperies crisscross the ceiling.

And waiting down at the bottom of the stairs is everyone.

My House. The Court.

The King.

He wears a golden crown. He’s dressed in black, a tuxedo with a red shirt. He’s absolutely stunning.

The look on his face as I descend is hopeful. Prideful. Lustful. A smile will not be denied his lips as he watches me take one step after another. Closer and closer I come, and my heart flutters quickly.

I told Lillian I wished I were the Queen. And here, looking into his eyes, for a moment, I forget I am anything but her.

“You are breathtaking, my dear Alivia,” Cyrus says as I reach the landing. He takes my hand in his and bows deeply. Reverently, he kisses it.

When he stands, his eyes go to the many people who surround us. “Ladies and gentlemen, I present Alivia Ryan Conrath, the rightful leader of the House of Silent Bend.”

He takes the Raven crown X extends to him and, holding my eyes the entire time, he lowers it onto my head.

It’s the first time I’ve worn the crown, and it’s the first time that it’s felt absolutely and one hundred percent my birthright.

“The House of Conrath is an old and complicated one,” Cyrus says as he takes my hand once more and stands at my side. “I was pleased to call Elijah my friend and though I did not know Henry well, he was a royal and of our blood. This region has floundered for a very long time. You all have wandered, lost and ungoverned. Without a family. And now, with Alivia’s Resurrection, this House has been restored to glory.”

The King raises our hands high in the air and everyone breaks out into clapping and cheers.

“Tonight we celebrate,” Cyrus calls over the cacophony. “Be merry and drink, for we live forever!”

I did not notice the orchestra until they begin playing. The crowd around us naturally migrates toward the ballroom. Like the rest of the house, the massive space is decorated in golds and reds.

But standing along the walls, I see two dozen people. And with just one deep breath, I know they are human. The burn ignites in my throat tenfold. It leaps into my chest, to my toes, to my fingertips. The numbing toxin drips from my lengthened teeth.

My fangs sink into a soft neck, and I’m overcome once again with that blissful sensation—the best thing in the world.

I pull. Suck.

Three times.

Four.

Five.

“Pace yourself, my queen.”

Someone pulls me, none too gently away from what I crave more than anything I have ever wanted. An angry hiss rips from my throat, and I turn to swing at whomever it was that interrupted my meal.

But I freeze when it’s Markov. His eyes glow brilliantly red, but they stare me down, begging me to remember who I am.

Horror once again fills my face, and I turn back to my victim.

It’s an older woman, probably in her sixties. She wears a beautiful green dress, her hair styled to reflect her age. She stands there with a hand covering her neck, blood trickling down from the puncture wounds. Red splashes down over her dress.

It’s immensely disturbing that she looks back at me with a kind smile. She seems…happy about what I’ve just done.

“I…” I stumble away from her. I crash into Markov and he catches me with understanding arms. “I can’t. I’m…  How do I control it? I don’t want to hurt anyone!”

Markov rights me and turns me to face him. He’s trying to hold my attention, but I keep glancing over my shoulder, back at the woman I attacked.

“Every Born is different when they Resurrect,” Markov explains, grabbing my face and forcing me to look at him. He produces a handkerchief from his breast pocket and begins cleaning my face. It comes away with so much blood. “Some are Born with great amounts of self-control. Others cannot fight the bloodlust. But both are natural, my dear. Do not fight what you are. It will only bring you misery.”

“Markov…” I say in horror and self-disgust. “I cannot be a blood-driven, psychotic murderer. I…” I pant, trying to reign myself in. “I have to get a grip on myself. I have to learn to control it.”

Markov takes both my hands in his and looks me deep in the eyes. “You will. Eventually. But this is not the party to feel guilty over feeding.”

His eyes dart around the room, and my own follow suit.

Samuel stands in one corner, his hands on the hips of a beautiful young woman, his fangs sunk into her neck. Lillian seems to be holding a normal conversation with another woman, when the next moment, the woman raises her wrist and Lillian sinks her teeth into her flesh.

Cameron walks across the room, toward the food table, and I see him wipe a smear of blood from the corner of his mouth onto his sleeve.

I think I’ve been in denial the last few months since I created my own House. I’ve chosen to ignore their basic instincts. When I first arrived in Silent Bend, I attended a party thrown by Jasmine—and the entire purpose of it was to feed off of the townspeople. Every one of my House members, besides Nial, was at that party and fed off those people.

Now, I am one of them.

I do not know where that woman I bit is from—Silent Bend, across the river—it doesn’t matter. I am no different than any of them.

“The King had them all brought here for this very purpose,” Markov says as he lets me go and stands beside me. “We would have offended him had we not fed and accepted his gift.”

I find the King in the middle of the room. Two gorgeous but very fake-looking women cling to his side, their hands all over him. He smiles, the look in his eyes sultry, and he sinks his teeth into one of their necks.

“I understand,” I say. And I think I feel a little part of my humanity die with the words. “Enjoy the party, Markov. You do not need to babysit me. You feed as you need.”

I hear the movement as he turns to look at me. He studies me for a moment, waiting for me to take it back. He made me a promise once, that he wouldn’t feed in my town. But I’ve given permission. Finally, he takes a step forward, then two, and finds a feeder.

“You look lovely tonight.”

I turn to find Raheem behind me.

He wears a black tunic, adorned in gold stitching and beading. It’s complicated and beautiful. Black trousers and a golden turban. He looks like a Middle Eastern prince.

And that pull I have to him intensifies inside me.

“I’m a mess,” I say, the dismay obvious in my voice.

And it’s true. Markov cleaned the blood from my face, but it still clings to my neck, runs down my chest, between my breasts. It stains the gold sweetheart neckline of Lillian’s beautiful dress.

Raheem shakes his head. “Your true nature is a beautiful thing. I believe vampirism brings out the brightest of our true character. And being true to ourselves is something we should never be ashamed of.”

“I’ve exerted extreme control ever since I claimed my birthright,” I say as I take another step toward him. Raheem’s eyes flick to Cyrus. He’s nervous. We’re pushing it. But I take one more step toward him. “But since my Resurrection, I’ve killed a person without realizing what was going on. I would have killed that woman behind you had someone not stopped me. Are you saying losing control is my true nature?”

He glances once more over at Cyrus, but when he looks back at me, his eyes are dark and soulful. “I’m saying your true self is being true to your instincts. Your instincts knew how to lead. Your new instincts know how to survive. You are both your past and present selves, Alivia.”

And the way Raheem says my name, I swear it’s different than the way anyone else has ever said it.

I look over my shoulder and find Cyrus still wrapped up with his two feeders. I face Raheem once again. Testing fate and the wrath of a King, I reach up with one hand and grab the front of Raheem’s shirt. We are so close together, I can feel the warmth of his body and his breath against my face.

“Do you still wish things could be different?” I ask quietly. “Now that I have become what I was born to be?”

He takes four shallow breaths before answering me. “In a way you cannot imagine.” It’s a quiet, deadly confession. He leans in and presses a gentle kiss to my forehead.

And then he’s gone.

I hear Nial walk up and turn to see him drinking from a wine glass. I can smell the blood, though, and it’s not fresh. I have little doubt he got it from a blood bag.

“You do enjoy tempting fate, don’t you?” he says. His light blue eyes study me. There’s something about Nial that make me feel as if he sees straight through me. “It’s a dangerous thing, tempting the wrath of the man who thinks he has claim over you. It will not be met well.”

I don’t have a response for him. I feel shame. Anger. Resentment. So many emotions, and up against such a powerful foe, I don’t know what to do about them. I change the subject, instead. “Where is Rath? I haven’t seen him since I Resurrected.”

“He thought it best to give you a few days to adjust,” Nial says after he takes a sip from his glass. “I do believe he’s staying with the Sheriff. He knew that’s what you wanted.”

I nod. “I did. I asked him to leave when it happened. I suppose that means he is human, then?”

Nial shakes his head. “When it comes to Rath, I don’t think anyone knows.”

So, it wasn’t just my dull human senses that didn’t know how to classify Rath. Even my vampires don’t know what he is or what he’s fully capable of.

“How long until I normalize out, do you think?” I ask the good Dr. Jarvis.

“It took me about a week,” he says as he observes the room with me. “But I do suspect it takes others longer. I was used to being around blood all the time. I don’t crave it the same as most. I’d suspect it will take you about three weeks.”

Three weeks seems like so long.

“Do not forget you have eternity before you,” Nial says, as if he can read my mind. “Three weeks is the blink of an eye.”

“Thank you,” I say as I reach out and take his hand in mine. “You’ve always been able to put things in perspective for me.”

“Of course,” he says. He raises my hand to his lips and places a brief kiss there before re-joining the blood party.

I follow behind him, weaving in and out of Court members. I wonder how old they are. Thousands of years? Young, fresh vampires, like many in my House? Generations of vampires have been created. An entire new species.

It’s incredible, really.

And somehow, the King has kept it secret for all this time.

“The weather outside is quite frightful.” I turn to see X walking up to my side. She wears a white dress that clings to her form and reveals all too much. Her hair is styled severely and her makeup darkens her pale features. “It’s been some time since I’ve seen a curse bestowed.”

“It does make for a lovely winter wonderland, though,” I say. There’s something about X that sets me on edge. If I thought Jasmine was calculating and controlling, it’s nothing compared to the woman beside me.

“Hmm,” she says indifferently. “Best to dance carefully when dealing with curses, Lady Conrath. They have a way of stepping on your toes and cutting them off.”

It’s a grim analogy. But I suppose she’s seen plenty of evidence. She is the King’s chancellor, after all.

“I came to tell you that the King wishes to join you in your room this morning,” she says. A prickly fish instantly inflates itself in my stomach. “He’s found in the past it helps Sevan remember her past lives faster when he is around her more. You’ve been granted a bit of privacy this day, but he does grow impatient quickly when it comes to his wife.”

Without another word, she walks away, back into the crowd.

I swallow hard and feel my body go cold.

The party goes and goes. It’s a constant roll of food and blood and dancing. I waltz with Markov, jam out with Cameron, let Nial lead me in a dance I don’t have a name for, sway back and forth with Samuel.

And finally, the King catches my eye. The music shifts to something beautiful and mournful. As if sensing what is to come next, the crowd parts between us. Cyrus walks toward me, his boots tapping across the marble floor. I am drawn to him because I’m moving, too. We meet in the center of the ballroom, right over my father’s crest.

Cyrus bows deeply to me, and it only seems right that I curtsey back. “May I have this dance?” he asks as he looks up to meet my eyes.

“Of course,” I answer him. And it says something about his enchantment when a smile pulls at my lips, and it’s genuine.

Cyrus takes my right hand in his. His other hand wraps around my waist. I settle my free hand on his shoulder, feeling his strength through his jacket. When he pulls me close, I’m overwhelmed by his scent. Of cotton and sandalwood. Of the mountains and time. Cyrus even smells infinite.

The music surges and he leads me into the first step. Back and side to side. A twirl and a spin. A dip, and then he lifts me through the air.

He holds my eyes at times, searching me deep, begging for his wife to wake and return to him. Other times, he holds me close, and I feel his desperation, his reverence at my nearness.

With every step, with every touch in our dance, I almost pray that I am Sevan. That this pain Cyrus has had to endure for thousands of years will end. He’s been so alone. It’s just not fair.

“Do you feel her?” he asks quietly as the song begins to wind down. “Has she whispered to you to remember me? To remember us?”

The way he speaks, the way he whispers, I feel the words brush against my soul. They embrace my core and beg me to grant him his desire.

My eyes meet his and I bring my hand to his cheek, caressing it. “Give me some time.”

I swear his eyes will swallow my soul as he gazes at me, long and deep. Slowly, he leans forward, and I think he will kiss me. But he places his lips on my jawline instead. His hands wrap around my waist, holding me close. So intimate.

And, it’s now that my eyes turn to those around us.

Everyone is watching us, a circle formed around our dance floor. Eyes search us expectantly. Some look away in embarrassment at the King’s public display of desire. Others show excitement, hope that maybe, just maybe, after 271 years, the Queen of the vampires has returned.

The song comes to an end, and I’m almost regretful that Cyrus has to let me go. He takes just one of my hands in his, steps back, and bows to me once again. He places his lips on my hand. “Thank you for the dance,” he says quietly.

“Thank you,” I repeat, and my voice comes out sounding breathless.

He offers a smile that’s as complicated as our dance before he straightens. He does not let my hand go, however, when he turns his attention back to those that surround us.

“It is indeed a unique occasion to visit a new House,” Cyrus says, his voice commanding and booming. “While the House of Conrath has deep roots, its death occurred when Elijah was betrayed by this town. It has been reborn, and it is a grand spectacle, the circumstances under which it resurrected.”

He turns to face the other side of the room, guiding me along with him. “But rebuilding takes time. Rebuilding is difficult. And it has left our dear Alivia weak where she should be strong. This is indeed a restored House, and with it, all Royal connections are reinstated. It is time for the House of Conrath to resemble a true Royal House.”

I look over at Cyrus and see a grin slowly growing on his face. And I know.

The King’s games are about to begin.

“You knew it was coming, and I will not disappoint,” he continues, even as I hear a collective breath being taken in. “This decade’s events will take place in three parts. The last two parts will be revealed later, but I will give unto you the first now.”

I swear everyone leans in just a little closer. The breaths that were drawn in before are still and held now. I feel the fear slowly creeping into the room.

“This House is small. Tiny. It’s time for it to grow.” Cyrus’ smile grows wider as he looks around the room. “It is up to you—each and every one of you,” he looks at everyone. He’s let go of my hand and slowly walks around the room. “Both of the Conrath House and my Court, to go out into the world and find other Born to join this House.”

Not just my House members. Those he brought with him, as well.

The shock shows because shouts and arguments break out.

I see Cyrus’ eyes flash red, and suddenly, his hands are around a man’s neck and a silver blade is pressed into the base of his ribcage. “I said everyone,” he hisses. And the sound, his voice, it’s animalistic. Not human. It’s a jaguar, a lion. A bear.

Cyrus shoves the man away, and he crashes into a wall, thirty feet away.

He continues his walk around the crowd. He straightens his jacket. “You all have two weeks to complete this task. If you do not find a Born willing to swear allegiance to the House of Conrath within that timeframe, do not return.” He looks around sharply to the members of the Court. “That applies to you all.”

“Your highness,” X starts, stepping forward, confusion upon her face.

“I said you all,” he hisses quietly. He continues walking the circle. “Now, I will not expect you all to go out into the big world without a good day’s rest. Sleep, recharge today. For tomorrow night, you all will depart. Good night, and good luck.”

Cyrus once again takes my hand. He leads me through the crowd and out of the ballroom.

And just like that, the games have begun.

“THAT WAS…” I STRUGGLE FOR words as we shut the door behind us. I linger by it, just as I did a few days ago. “Unexpected.”

“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 easy 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.”

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 around 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.

And the very man. The man responsible for my being in my current state. Henry Conrath. The recluse. The man who wished to reject his state of being. The man who wrote me a letter before his death, begging me not to get involved with the King or this world.

My father may have been a great man, but he was also an ignorant man. He never could have kept me from this.

I imagine my life, if my mother never would have told Henry about my existence. I would have stayed in Colorado. I would have kept working in the bakery, making little more than minimum wage. I would have stayed in my tiny, worn-down apartment. I would have stayed poor and human for a long time.

Maybe I would have found someone to love eventually. Maybe I would have gotten married, had children. I would have taken them to school and gone to piano lessons or soccer, or any of those other things moms do. I would have had a normal life.

Until something eventually caught up to me. Some illness. Some accident. Old age. My family would have buried me, only for me to resurrect four days later.

Maybe I might have been like Jasmine. I might have searched after the ones I love most when I woke, only to be unable to control my thirst. I might have attacked my husband, too. Or worse, my child. Drained them until they died.

Maybe my mother saved me from an eternal lifetime of heartache by doing what she did. Maybe the life I’m idealizing, the one I’m currently feeling robbed of, never really existed in the happy bubble I’m blowing.

I’m learning that now. There are no true happy endings. Just happy moments, with the ominous to be continued.

There is no black and white.

I live in a world of gray.

“Give me strength,” I whisper to my parents as I climb to my feet again.

I walk back toward the house. Cyrus sits in one of the white rocking chairs on the veranda, a pile of snow pushed out of his way. “Are you alright?” he asks. His eyes study me. I see mixed emotions. Frustration. Pity. Uncertainty.

“I’ll be fine,” I say. Internally, I build the fortress of Alivia-brand-strength around me once again. I’m done being the girl out of control. I am back to being a queen and a ruler.

Just like that.

Because I said so.

“There’s a bit of a problem in this town that I’d like your help dealing with,” I say. I push the snow off the chair next to the King and sink into it. Instantly, the snow begins melting into my clothes. How unpleasant.

“Yes,” Cyrus says, a light igniting in his eyes. “Please, do share.”

“I have an enemy here,” I begin. I feel that black snake of anticipation rising up inside of me once more. “And she’s been trying to take me down for some time now. She’s created…an army of Bitten.”

“Bitten?” Cyrus repeats. He rubs two fingers over his bottom lip in thought. “How many people?”

I shake my head. “I’m not sure. At least a dozen. And she’s been taking people from Silent Bend. It’s ruining our town.”

“The creation of Bitten is an annoyance at best,” he says. “An unexpected side effect of our kind’s thirst and the lack of self-control. If someone thinks they will take a House with an army of Bitten, they are sorely mistaken.”

“She’s holed them all up in the mayor’s house,” I tell him. “She’s keeping him as hostage. She’s terrorized this town long enough. I’m tired of it.”

“Well, my dear,” Cyrus says as he leans forward with a coy smile on his face. “It seems we have a visit to make come nightfall.”

THE MAYOR’S HOUSE IS A splendid thing. Towering white columns support an overhang. Pure white siding that’s been well taken care of. It’s classic and historical. The plaque by the road marks it as the oldest house in all of Silent Bend.

Darkness blankets the town, but I see perfectly clear. See the snow-covered drive that leads up to the house. See the landscaping that I’m sure is meticulously maintained. See the swirling skies that circle above us.

“They’re inside,” I state. I can sense them. Thirteen bodies that smell just…off. Not dead, but not alive. The Bitten. I can sense those who have indeed died. Four immortal Born. And one very delicious-smelling human.

“Indeed,” Cyrus says as we calmly walk up the drive. We are dressed in our finest. Cyrus is in a leather jacket that stretches down to his knees. It’s laced with intricate stitching. He wears knee-high black boots and a sash across his chest. A golden crown sits atop his head. Sharp spikes stretch tall, deadly and dangerous as its wearer.

I wear black leather boots, a severe and regal black blouse with a high, royal neck. My own crown sits upon my head.

We look terrifying. We are royalty. And we will bring justice.

I knock on the door when we reach the porch. Silently, we stand side by side. I can feel the King’s excitement growing by the minute. This night will end in a game and bloodshed—the King’s favorite kind of festivities.

The door opens to reveal a woman with glowing yellow eyes. “What-”

But her words are cut off when Cyrus’ hand clamps around her throat. He stalks forward, pushing her backwards into the house, and she can barely keep on her feet with his speed.

With a satisfied smile, I follow my King into the house.

“I hear we have a genuine war and hostile takeover underway in the lovely town of Silent Bend!” Cyrus bellows as he pushes the woman through the entrance and into a narrow hallway.

The house is beautiful. Historic and preserved. A wooden set of stairs immediately rises inside the door, a hallway to the left, leading straight back and into a dining room. Hallways branch off here and there, leading to unknown places.

“I would very much like to discuss this matter with the…Born in charge.”

We enter the dining room to find five Bitten at the table. They scramble to their feet, eyes wide and bright yellow.

“Who are you?” an older man demands. “And what right do you have to barge into another’s home?”

“Oh, my good man,” Cyrus says as he shoves the woman away from him, sending her sailing across the room, where she buckles the plaster and collapses to the wooden floor. “I do not need rights. I create rights.”

“What the hell is going on?”

I turn to the voice behind me and find myself face-to-face with Micah Washington.

His face instantly pales and his expression goes slack. He instantly drops to one knee, his head bowed. “Your majesty.”

“Well, look at that,” Cyrus says as he looks over at me with an amused expression. “The traitors do have manners, after all.”

“It’s good to see you looking so well, Micah,” I say. I feel the black snake slithering through my veins quickly. I feel vengeance creeping up my spine. “Last I saw you, you all were running away from my newly acquired House with your tail between your legs.”

“I beg your forgiveness,” Micah says, his voice quaking.

“Where is she?” Cyrus says as four more Bitten join us in the dining room. “The one in charge of this humiliating disaster?”

A pair of heels click over wood, and slowly, I hear her descend the stairs. With forced calm, she rounds the railing and comes into full view.

“Hello, Jasmine,” I say. The smile upon my lips won’t be denied.

Her face is stark, drained of blood. Her eyes are glazed, fear controlling every held breath in her body. Her eyes only graze over me for a moment before settling on the King.

“Jasmine Voltera,” Cyrus says as he takes a step forward, his hands crossed in front of him. “It seems it’s been only the blink of an eye since we last met.”

“Almost sixteen years,” she says, but the words stick in her throat.

“Yes,” he says. He stops just five feet in front of her. “We had a lot of fun that week, didn’t we?”

I’m reminded again of the coldness Cyrus brings with him. He came to investigate why Silent Bend no longer had a Royal leader, Elijah having been killed, my father unwilling to claim the throne. Samuel and Christian Kask’s father had been leading for over a century. So, Cyrus called a game. If he could survive a battle against two dozen armed humans, Cyrus would instate him as a full-fledged Royal.

The Kask father did not survive.

And Jasmine took over leadership.

“Now, I’ve been hearing some interesting stories from not just Lady Conrath, but her House members, as well.” Cyrus takes another step forward, and Jasmine takes an identical one back. “Stories of heart-breaking manipulation. Stories of death and love. Stories of betrayal.”

The look in his eyes darkens. I can feel the disdain rolling off him in almost touchable waves. I feel my own fear and anticipation double.

Another vampire enters the room and I turn to find Trinity watching the scene with little more than disinterest.

Maybe the girl doesn’t have a soul.

“Are they true?” Cyrus says to Jasmine. His voice is low, almost hurt.

“My King,” she says, and the desperation that climbs out of her is almost humorous. “I was only trying to maintain what I had worked so hard to create.”

“What you created?” he challenges, the annoyance in his voice mixing with the humor. “See, because I thought that I had created this race? I thought that I had exiled those who betrayed me, and their descendants. I thought I had created this House system and maintained who would rule the world.”

He takes another step forward. As he does, Micah climbs to his feet again, poised and ready.

He will do anything for Jasmine.

And it will get him killed.

“See, I thought it was Elijah Conrath, a Born Royal, who created the House of Silent Bend. I thought it was he who built those houses and gained loyalty. He who controlled this area, aided in keeping our kind hidden.” Cyrus produces a blade from inside his jacket. He holds it before him, teasing Jasmine’s eyes as they follow it back and forth. “I thought it was he who led this area rightfully until he was killed.”

He brings the blade up, brushing the tip of it along Jasmine’s lower ribcage. Micah’s breath hitches and he takes another two steps forward.

“And I thought it was Alivia who had Royal blood flowing through her veins, giving her the birthright to take her proper place.” Cyrus leans in close, his nose tracking Jasmine’s neck as he breathes in her scent. “Because you, my misinformed miscreant, do not carry an ounce of Royal blood in your body.”

Cyrus’ fangs sink into Jasmine’s neck, and not a second later, Micah bounds forward, fangs extended, eyes red. But with the flick of his wrist, Cyrus throws his blade.

It buries itself into Micah’s chest, into his heart.

Micah hits the ground. Blood rushes from the wound. And instantly, his skin turns ashen.

Cyrus releases Jasmine’s neck and she’s instantly at Micah’s side with a scream.

“No!” Her hands hover over his body, looking for something, anything she can do to take back the last few moments. But it’s too late. He’s already dead. This time, forever. “No!” she screams again.

“From what I understand, this is the second lover you’ve been the cause of death of.” Cyrus smiles at Jasmine with her own blood running down his face. “You really should protect the ones you love, no matter the cost.”

Jasmine’s entire body shakes. The hatred and anger builds and builds, and I can feel it rolling off of her. She looks over her shoulder, back at Cyrus. “What do you want from me?”

Cyrus smiles, and it’s a terrifying thing with all that blood on his face. Because he cares not that all her Bitten with a heavy Debt have gathered round. They look at their King with malice in their eyes, ready to protect their creator with one word. But he doesn’t even see them.

“I think an apology to my poor Alivia would be a good starting point.” He squats before Jasmine. He wipes a finger through the blood on his chin, and sucks it off. “You’ve been quite the pain in her ass, from what I’ve heard.”

I come to stand beside Cyrus, my hands folded very calmly before me. Jasmine’s eyes flick to meet mine, and all the hatred and competition and betrayal of the past six months is in her gaze.

Slowly, she rises to her feet, never once looking away from me. Finally, she bows her head to me. “My deepest apologies, Lady Conrath.”

Coming from Jasmine’s lips, it feels like a sarcastic stab.

“Hmm,” Cyrus mulls. “For some reason, I do not believe you. What about you, Alivia? Do you believe her?”

“No,” I say. Fear keeps trying to creep its way up my spine. There are alarm bells going off in my head, saying something really, really bad is coming. But I can no longer be that girl who listens to them.

I just can’t. She’s too weak. Too sad. Too fragile.

“I don’t.”

“Now, that is a problem,” Cyrus says. He steps away, and slowly begins to circle around us. “Because in my very long life, I’ve learned that sincerity is most important in three occasions: love, revenge, and apologies.” He finishes his loop around Jasmine and Micah’s body. “And you have failed to show it, Mrs. Voltera.”

Fear saturates Jasmine’s expression once again. Her eyes grow wide, I smell the sweat on her palms. The weight of her situation is finally hitting her.

Cyrus turns from Jasmine dramatically to face the thirteen Bitten gathered around us. When I look at them, I find faces I recognize. One of the contractors I hired to work on my low-income housing development. Tony, who I’ve never actually met, but looks a lot like his cousin, who I have interacted with once.

She did this to them. Jasmine took away their freewill and choice.

Cyrus takes a step, and another, pacing slowly before them. “Do you all know who I am?” he says, commanding attention.

No one answers right away, not for a few weighted moments of silence. “You’re wearing a crown. So, are you supposed to be a King?” It’s a young boy who says it, probably no more than thirteen years old.

“Very good,” Cyrus says, smiling at the child. “I rule our kind. I rule your kind.” He continues to stalk back and forth, very much looking the part of a panther toying with its prey. “So when I ask you to do something, you know you should do it.”

Cyrus turns back to Jasmine, his eyes flashing brighter. “Since their Debt is to you, I request and suggest for your momentary safety, you do as I say. Or I will kill you.”

She presses her lips into a tight line and wipes the sweat from her palms. She doesn’t respond, but she doesn’t refuse.

“More of the Born will be arriving in this town shortly. Many of them,” Cyrus continues, this time to the Bitten. “We will need a place to house them, and thankfully, there is already one available. One that rightfully belongs to a former Royal. And it’s just across town.”

The breath catches in Jasmine’s throat and her brows furrow. I flash her a warning stare and she’s instantly silent.

“Unfortunately, it is in a sad state,” Cyrus says, nodding his head, indeed looking mournful at its condition. “It is your job to make it ready for the Born who will arrive in two weeks. We have resources. We have money. Now, we need bodies.” He claps his hands together and says this last part with a smile. He looks back over his shoulder at Jasmine. “Now, tell them to get to work.”

The conflict is there in her eyes. This was her home, her House. And the King has just announced that he’s going to expand my House into it for the Born who will be under my leadership. She doesn’t want to give it up without a fight.

But the King has informed her that if she does not cooperate, he will kill her.

“Do as he says,” Jasmine says to her slaves.

Without hesitation, every one of them files toward the front door.

“You’re going to kill them when they’re done, aren’t you?” Trinity says. Her voice is flat, but there’s a hint of bite to it.

Cyrus turns to her. He observes her for a moment, taking in her greasy hair, the nose ring. The general unkempt look to her and her all-black clothes. “You’re a young one, aren’t you?”

“Doesn’t matter,” she says with the shake of her head. “I’ve been dead for over forty years.”

“It still makes you a young one, love,” Cyrus says with a laugh. “And yes, I will kill them when this is over.”

Jasmine’s expression tells me it is not them she fears for, not one bit.

“Alivia!” a voice yells from upstairs.

Cameron.

I’m upstairs the next instant. I break down a door at the end of a hall. It leads into a bedroom and, tied to the bed, spread eagle, is Cameron.

“Holy shit, I’m happy to see you!” he laughs, but it’s filled with pain. Because, carved into the flesh of his chest, is the word TRAITOR.

“Cameron,” I breathe in horror. I claw at the chains that have him bound to the bedposts. It takes me two good tugs before I break the first. When he’s freed, I wrap my arms around him in a hug.

“She had three of her Bitten nab me during your party,” he says. His entire frame trembles, and I wonder what kind of poison they immobilized him with. I’ve seen no evidence of Elle’s toxin anywhere around. “It’s been a damn long two days.”

“I’m so sorry,” I say as I squeeze him harder. The thought of anyone hurting Cameron makes me want to break things. He’s become like a little brother to me. “She’ll pay for this. I promise.”

“Just get me the hell out of his place,” he says as he lets me go. With shaking legs, he stands and starts for the door without a shirt. “And it’s good the King got them out of here before they all killed him.”

“Killed who?” I ask as we make our way down the hall.

“Mayor Jackson,” Cameron says.

I hear him, his breathing labored and harsh. Down at the very end of the hall. I start toward it. I place my hand on the door.

“Please, just leave.” An unsteady voice calls from behind the door. “Just…” a struggled breath rattles in his chest. “Take them and leave.”

I let go of the doorknob. I take a step back.

I did my best to get everyone out of Silent Bend. The curse storm had that unexpected benefit. But I couldn’t protect them all. I couldn’t save everyone.

The Mayor couldn’t protect himself.

I turn and walk back down the hall, joining Cameron on the stairs. “They’ve been feeding on him, almost constantly,” he says quietly. “She made sure he didn’t turn, but he’s been damn close every day.”

“We’ll do our best to protect him now,” I say as I help him down. “Cameron, what did they do to you?”

“Apparently human allergies don’t die when we die,” he says with a weak smile. “I was deathly allergic to peanuts before. They’ve been stuffing peanut butter down my throat for the past two days.”

We reach the bottom of the stairs and I fly at Jasmine, knocking the both of us to the ground. “What is wrong with you?!” I scream in her face. “Why are you so vile?”

Jasmine spits in my face and not a second later, she’s gone. Cyrus flings her across the house, where she slams onto the tabletop, and the legs buckle under the force. The next instant, he is on top of her, his forearm pressed against her throat, his blade in his hand, pressed into the side of her cheek.

“Did you know that when a Bitten’s sire is killed, the Debt instantly goes away?” Cyrus hisses in Jasmine’s face. “I would have killed you the instant we entered this house, but generally, I find it easier to keep them under the influence. They have a way of exposing our kind with their lack of self-control. So for now, I will keep you alive so we can keep them in check. But my patience is a thin and fragile thing. Make no mistake, I will kill you and then slaughter them myself, no matter if the job gets done. Just because I can.”

I walk over to the table, my fingers curling to form fists, and Cyrus moves to the side as I straddle Jasmine, my eyes burning into hers. I want to spit back in her face. I want to sink my fangs into her throat and rip it out. I want to carve the words traitorous bitch into her flesh, just as she did to Cameron. But I am a Royal, and my behavior is always watched. “You’ve toyed with me and tried to control me since the moment I arrived in this town. The tables have turned. They turned months ago. It’s time to accept that.”

And I jab a needle into her neck, releasing Elle’s toxin into her bloodstream.

Her body instantly starts seizing, a pained scream ripping from her throat. Her eyes roll back in her head.

“I won’t have her running free another day longer,” I say as I climb off of her. Cyrus looks at me with hesitation, his eyes flicking from me to Jasmine. He didn’t see this coming, and I realize this is his first experience with the toxin. “We’ll take her back to the House with us.”

“As you wish, my Queen,” Cyrus says. There’s reverence in his voice and he takes a bow.

I heft Jasmine’s still spasming body up onto my shoulder, and Cyrus, Cameron, and I make our way through the snow, back to the House of Conrath.

TWELVE HOURS OF PAIN.

That’s what Elle’s toxin grants a vampire, Bitten or Born.

I finally figure out how to open Rath’s well prison and toss Jasmine down into the darkness and water. Except it’s so cold these days, the water is slush trying to freeze over. She lets out a great howl and cry when she hits it.

I take great satisfaction when I close the door, locking her inside.

Maybe I do have a motherly bone in me. While Cyrus leaves to go manage the Bitten and their renovation of Elijah Conrath’s ruined house, I bring Cameron into my bathroom to clean him up.

“Stop, stop!” he cries as I clean the wound with hydrogen peroxide. “That hurts like a mother f-”

“Quit being a baby!” I shout over him. An amused smile is pulling at my lips. “You don’t want this to get infected!”

“I’m a damn vampire, Liv!” he cries as his chest heaves up and down in pain. His eyes squint closed in agony. “A little infection isn’t going to kill me!”

“Seriously, stop being such a pansy!” I say in annoyance as I hold him down on the marble floor of the bathroom. I dab at the deep cuts with a cloth soaked in the stinging solution. “I thought our kind was supposed to have a high pain tolerance.”

“We do, except when you pour acid into the wound!” He kicks his way out from underneath me and disappears into my bedroom. “Seriously,” he says as he holds a hand out in my direction. There’s pain and fear in his eyes. “I’m good now. You cleaned it. I’m going to be fine.”

And I realize maybe I’m enjoying his pain just a little too much. It’s kind of sick.

“Here,” I say as I stand and grab one of Henry’s shirts that still reside in my closet. “At least let me get this for you.”

“Thanks,” he says as he accepts it. His face scrunches in pain as he pulls it on. “Kinda wish there was a few humans around for a drink to make this go away faster.”

“I’m glad they’re not, though,” I say as we settle onto my bed. “I don’t want anyone else getting hurt.”

“Where the hell is everyone else, by the way?” Cameron asks as he lays back, his head resting on the pillow.

“Cyrus sent them off to look for more Born to join our House,” I say as I lay back beside him on the bed.

“Cyrus, huh?” he questions, looking over at me with equal measures of concern and amusement. “You’re already on a first name basis with your psycho husband?”

I shrug, my eyes studying the ceiling. So much dust and age resides there. My eyes catch every detail, every flaw. The tiny cracks in the plaster, the inconsistency in the texture in one corner. The small bits of dust that cling to the light fixture. “He’s not my husband.”

“Are you sure about that?”

I reflect on that for just a moment. “I don’t remember anything. Not yet. And I don’t feel like it’s going to come. When I’m with Cyrus he makes me feel…like I’m under a spell. But the moment he’s gone, the pull is gone. I don’t think it would be like that if I was his wife.”

Cameron draws in a breath to say something, but cuts off when there’s the sound of a knock on the front door.

“You invite a guest over for midnight tea?” Cameron asks with concern.

I shake my head, my brows furrowing. I dart out of the bed, Cameron right behind me, and descend the stairs. My hand rests on the front door and I pull it open.

“It’s you,” she breathes in a harsh grunt. “You’re the one who did this to me.”

Standing there on my front porch is the woman I found hiding in Elijah’s house. The one I thought I killed.

Here she stands, her eyes glowing yellow, blood cascading down her chin. Her eyes wild and vengeful.

“Oh, hell no,” Cameron says as he takes a step back from the door. “You…Liv? No. You did not go make a Bitten.”

“What am I?” the woman says as she takes an aggressive step toward me. She raises her hands, as if to grab me and do damage, but she falters, as if she can’t. “What is happening? Why am I looking for you?”

I take a step back, my eyes wide and confused. “No,” I say, shaking my head. “I killed you. I…I…I drained you!”

“You attacked me!” she yells as she takes another step forward. “You bit me. That’s the last thing I remember. And then I wake up, feeling like I’m going to die. I found that poor old man in his house, half frozen to death, and I killed him. I drank—” her voice falters, emotion cracking her tough exterior. “I drank his blood.”

The fight seems to seep out of her. Her shoulders sag, her entire frame seeming to grow too heavy for her slight frame. Her eyes fall to the floor. “Ian’s dead, isn’t he? That’s why they’re back so strong.”

“Ian?” I question, a painful little pull snagging in my chest. “No, he’s not dead.”

“Then why are there so many vampires back in Silent Bend?” she whispers with malice as hatred burns in her eyes again.

Ice creeps along my insides. I can’t. I have to shut it out. I have to not feel. “He left. He left me. He left this life. He left Silent Bend.”

She shakes her head. “Ian would never. Because Lula would never, and he’d never leave her.”

“She did,” Cameron says with a hard swallow. “We were all here that night. He turned his back on Alivia and he left town.”

“You’re the woman he was losing his mind over?” the woman says as she shoots me a sharp stare. “The one that psycho bitch killed him over?”

“What?” I ask with a breathy defense. “What are you talking about? How do you know Ian?”

She shoots me a dark glare once more before stepping around me. She works her way past the library, observing it, back toward the ballroom. “I’ve known Ian my whole life. We used to be neighbors, back before his parents were killed. I used to hear the screaming fights and the shit being broken in the house. He’d bring Elle over when it got real bad.”

“You two were friends,” I say in surprise. Ian’s always seemed such a lone wolf. To hear he had a friend just doesn’t seem right.

“Friends,” she says, the way she says it makes me think she hates the way that word applies to her and Ian. “Something like that.”

And the truth is there—so damn obvious. This woman has, had, it’s unclear, feelings for Ian. “What’s your name?” I ask, because I have to move on from my previous thought.

She turns back around to face me, her yellow eyes glowing bright. “Danielle. Danielle Kapos.”

I reach forward and place my hands on her shoulders. The look on her face makes me think she’d very much like to jerk away from me, but her Debt prevents her from doing that. So, I let my hands drop away. “I’m very sorry for what I did to you, Danielle. I didn’t mean to, I swear. I’m still adjusting to this new life and I-”

“Apologies mean nothing,” she says, her eyes growing colder. “Not when I know this isn’t going away. I’m in this for life now. And that’s on you, whether you’re sorry about it or not.”

Well. Isn’t that the cold, hard truth?

WE’VE RUN OUT OF BEDROOMS. With Cyrus’ court members returning within two weeks, they’ve occupied all the spare bedrooms I have. So, I put Danielle in the library. It’s a temporary solution. I can’t have her running around town until she has her thirst under control.

Together, we raid the fridge in Nial’s room. It’s packed full of blood bags.

With one in hand, I make my way to the veranda, to a rocking chair. I dial Rath’s number.

“Alivia,” he answers in that calm demeanor of his. “How are you?”

A little smile spreads on my face at just hearing his voice. Like a warm embrace and a true welcome home. “I’m…okay. Considering everything going on.”

“Is everyone safe?” he asks.

It is such a weighted question.

“No one is truly safe anymore,” I answer him honestly. “Things are so complicated and there are so many little plots going on.” I take a deep breath, letting my eyes slide closed. My brain feels like a tangled web of lies, trying to follow each one as it twists and drops out of sight before resurfacing in a completely different direction.

“It is the truth,” he says. “Nothing is simple in this world.”

“How’s Luke?” I ask, because it’s almost a normal and mundane question.

“He’s fine,” Rath responds. I hear fabric brush fabric, like he’s just sat down in a chair. “He’s been patrolling the town, making sure the evacuation is holding. So far no one new has come back.”

“Good,” I say with a nod. “And I’m glad to hear he’s protecting Silent Bend, but he really should stay inside. It’s not safe out on the streets these days. It’s not really even safe inside your own home.”

That weight tries to crush down upon my shoulders again, but I have to push it away.

I have to.

“I’m coming back now, Alivia,” Rath says. And it’s a matter of fact.

“Yes, you are,” I agree. “It’s time. I need you.”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” he says. “Goodbye, Alivia.”

“Bye,” I whisper as he hangs up.

I go to wait for Rath on the front porch. I shove the snow away with my boot and sit on the top stair. Not much snow has fallen in the past twenty-four hours, but it still piles high and deep.

I breathe in and out, creating a huge cloud of white around me.

I’m scared for Rath to come back. For him to see what I’ve done to a human being. For him to find out Jasmine is in the well. For him to be directly in the path of an unpredictable King.

I have to slay my demons to survive. And right now, those demons are human emotions. I can’t let them control me. I have to be a queen. A ruler. A manipulator.

Because it’s my birthright. My destiny.

Five minutes later, I see the red Jeep crest down the lawn. With a bit of difficulty, it makes its way through the snow. Rath parks it in front of the garage and walks toward me.

I prepare myself for agony when my arms rise to take him into a hug. I try to hold my breath when my face comes so close to his neck. But I can’t help it. I take a deep, long breath.

My throat flares with agony, with that deep, animalistic thirst. But. But there is something different to the way Rath smells. Human—but not entirely.

“What are you?” I finally ask him for the first time. I pull back so that I might study his eyes. Brown. Warm. Deep.

“I am your father’s man, and your right hand help,” he answers me seriously. And there’s a finality in his eyes that says he will answer no more questions.

I nod in acceptance. Rath has a history and story that is dark and deep. And it’s a story he needs to keep to himself. “I’m grateful for your return.”

He nods as well and places an arm over my shoulders. Together, we walk back through the front doors.

“I have a lot to update you on,” I say.

“Who’s this?”

We turn to find Danielle walking out from the library. She studies Rath with her bright yellow eyes. I wonder how long it will be until they do not glow constantly.

“This is Rath, my guide in this new life,” I say. Annoyance flares in me. Danielle is quite unpleasant. Not that I can blame her. But right now, I don’t want her around. “Can you give us some space, please, Danielle?”

She instantly turns and walks back into the library. But not without a death stare over her shoulder.

“She’s yours,” Rath observes. There’s a hint of bitterness in his voice when he says it. It’s subtle, but there.

“It was a mistake,” I say, my defenses instantly flaring. “I thought she was dead. Though, I’m not sure which is worse.”

Rath doesn’t say anything to that. He walks forward, his eyes running over his house. Because it really is his house when he’s the one who’s run it for all this time. “Everyone is gone.”

“Some will start returning shortly, I’m sure,” I say. “The King told all of them to bring back another Born. To build our House. Cameron is here. Cyrus is out with Jasmine’s bitten, renovating Elijah’s house. Jasmine is down in the well.”

“You have been busy the past week,” he states. We make our way to the kitchen. He opens the pantry, next the fridge and freezer. “We need supplies. I think it best I make a run to Draper.”

It’s a thirty-five minute drive to the next town over—their grocery store is much bigger than the one we have here in Silent Bend.

“Now?” I ask, feeling panicked that Rath is already leaving again.

“We need supplies,” he says as he walks back toward the door. There’s a displeased clip to his gait. “I won’t be gone long. I will return before this evening.”

My days and nights are so screwed up now. The dawn was breaking in the horizon just as Rath arrived. The sun is fighting to shine through the clouds now. While I’m feeling it’s time to go to sleep, he’s up and ready for a full day.

Rath is human. He has to be with his ability to go out into the day without hesitation.

“Okay,” I say, trying to sound brave and strong. “I’ll see you tonight.”

He gives me a little thin-lipped smile and presses a very brief kiss to my forehead before walking back out.

I’ve just turned away from the door when Cyrus walks inside.

“I see your friend has retuned,” he says as he closes it behind him. He removes his sun goggles, the ones that are very similar to the set Raheem has. His skin has reddened, because he’s been out in the sun so little that any exposure is brutal.

I’ll be that way soon, too.

“He’s gone to get food and supplies,” I say as I stand before him. “How is your new project going?”

“Surprisingly well,” he says with a smile. “Apparently, one of the Bitten was one of the contractors you hired to do your little housing development. He knew how to take charge and where to raid for building supplies.”

I raise my eyebrow at the word “raid” and Cyrus sees that. “I’ll be sure to cut them a check for their help in rebuilding the Conrath House.”

“Thank you,” I say, giving him a pointed look. I turn away from him, and my stomach sinks. “Now, um, we have a bit of a complication.”

“I assume you mean me as that complication.” Danielle walks out from the library and leans in the doorframe with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Ah,” Cyrus says. “I worried you weren’t completely dead.”

Danielle shakes her head with a scoff. “Asshole.”

“You’ll watch your tongue,” I scold her. “This man is your King and ruler and it would be wise for you to not anger him.”

“As you say, princess,” Danielle says, malice rolling off her in waves.

“She is a feisty one,” Cyrus says as he takes a step toward her. “Isn’t she? She doesn’t seem near as confused and disoriented as most of the Bitten.”

“She already knew about the vampires,” I state. “She seems to understand quite a lot.”

Cyrus makes an acknowledging sound before turning his back on her, as if to dismiss her. But she doesn’t leave. “Do you have the traitor secured?” he asks as he turns back to me.

“She’s not going anywhere.” I listen for sounds of Jasmine inside the well, but there aren’t any. The well is like a dead zone.

“Good,” he says. He takes my hand in his. “Now come. After all that work, I am tired and would like you to join me in your chambers.”

The look on Danielle’s face is appalled. And I’m ashamed for just a moment, before I remind myself I am her ruler and sire. “Don’t leave the house,” I tell her as Cyrus begins leading me up the stairs. “And don’t break anything. I expect you to behave.”

She glares at me all the way up the stairs until she falls out of view.

Together, hand in hand like we are indeed husband and wife, we walk down the hall, past the rooms of many others. Open the door, and step inside.

I feel the pressure. The intensity of what this should be. The two of us. The expectations built over centuries.

Cyrus and I go through our routine again of brushing teeth, changing into pajamas. And I tuck myself into his side in my bed.

He runs a hand up my cheek, into my hair, studying my lips.

“Have any memories begun to surface yet?” he asks quietly.

“Not yet,” I whisper back. And that spell he’s had over me since he arrived a week and a half ago, it seems to be weakening. I am pulled to the King, my body is certainly reacting to his closeness. But I don’t find myself hoping memories of a past life will surface. “Cyrus, what will you do if I am not Sevan?”

His fingers tangle in my hair and he pulls me closer to press a kiss to my forehead. “I will keep looking. For that is all I can do.”

And with no more words, we settle into the darkness behind my closed off windows. Cyrus holds me close. And I lie with the man I am certain is not my husband.

CYRUS STILL SLEEPS WHEN I wake, not three hours later. I swear I hear the front door open and close. Careful not to wake the King, I slip out of the bed and pad down the stairs in my pajamas.

A trail of snow rushes into the foyer. My enhanced hearing identifies two bodies in the library.

My heart thunders in my chest when my eyes catch sight of Raheem. His eyes rise to meet mine from beneath those thick, dark lashes and a smile cracks his lips. Suddenly, I’m back in the middle of the road in town, just three days ago. And I want more of our forbidden kisses.

“You’re back,” I breathe.

“I told you it wouldn’t take me long,” he says. The smile fades as he gets control over his desire. And he has to. Because sitting in a chair in the corner, is Danielle. And standing just to the side of Raheem, is another man.

His hair is longer, reaching his shoulders. It’s in unwashed tendrils. His entire body is filthy, as if he hasn’t showered in weeks. He wears nothing more than black pants and a sleeveless shirt with a black vest. Dirt coats his arms, smudges his face. Dark eyes are barely visible through the way he seems to be squinting, crow’s feet spreading around them.

“This is Danny,” Raheem offers, stepping aside and holding a hand out in the newcomers direction. “Danny, this is Alivia Conrath.”

He does little more than grunts at me, those narrow eyes observing every move I make.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, extending a hand out to shake. Danny doesn’t accept it, so I drop it awkwardly. “I apologize for my appearance. I just woke and wasn’t expecting anyone to return today.”

“What people wear has done little to impress me in the past,” Danny says. His voice is shocking. Rough. Rougher than any other voice I’ve heard. Like he’s smoked since he was two and screamed his lungs out in a rock band. But his southern accent is smooth as butter. “That ain’t gonna change now.”

“Oh,” I say. “Well, thanks.”

I sit in a chair, crossing my legs and watching as Raheem sits across from me. Danny, however, chooses to stand. He looks around the place like he’s searching for all the emergency exits.

“Why don’t you tell me about yourself?” I say. “I assume Raheem has told you all about me.”

“He did,” Danny says as he walks over to the portrait of my father. “You look like your dad.”

“I do,” I nod in agreement. Danny strikes me as the type who doesn’t reveal much about himself. I’m going to have to drag the details out of him. “How about you? Did you know your father?”

Danny grunts again. His eyes shift to the urns on the shelf beside Henry’s picture. “I didn’t have a father. Just a sperm donor.”

“I assume you don’t mean that literally,” I say. I watch Danielle eying Danny, like she’s ready to pounce on him. And I wonder, are her instincts and Debt telling her to protect me?

“You assume correctly,” he says. He pulls a cigarette from his vest pocket and places it between his lips, though he doesn’t make a move to light it. “Enough with the twenty questions. I just need to ask you one question and then I’ll know if I really want to join you.”

“And what question is that?” I ask. Suddenly, I’m nervous. It was hard enough earning the loyalty of my six House members. Now, I’m going to have to do it with fourteen new ones.

“Do you plan on ever feeding off of and killin’ any kids?”

The question is so stark and unexpected, that it takes me a few moments to answer. “Of course not. I would never.”

Danny’s eyes rise to meet mine. “Okay,” he says. The cigarette bounces in his mouth. “Then I’ll join you and your little House. On one condition.”

“What’s that?” I ask. My heart rate spikes. I don’t like negotiating when I’m supposed to be the leader in charge.

“That you don’t ask where I go durin’ the day,” he says. He reaches into his pocket again and produces a lighter. He sparks the flame, but doesn’t light the cigarette. “You can agree to that, and you’ve got yourself a loyal subject.”

I consider it for a long time. He’s obviously got some kind of mission during the day, which is surprising, considering our kind. But I look up at Raheem, searching his eyes for assurance. He nods, and if Raheem thinks he’s good enough to join my House, that’s good enough for me.

“You should know that trust is a very important value to me,” I say as I meet Danny’s eyes. “If I let you know that you can trust me, can I trust you?”

He looks at me long and hard. And for some reason, I get the feeling that this rough and dirty man can tell the difference between a good and a bad person. The fact that he hesitates so long lets me know that I am toeing that line.

“Okay,” he says. He finally does extend a hand forward. “We got ourselves a deal.”

I shake his hand. “Thank you,” I say. “You’re welcome to move into the house, though with the Court here, we don’t have much extra room. You’re can stay in my office temporarily.”

“Nah,” he says as he stands. “I’ll stay outside. That’s where I’m used to being, anyway.”

“But it’s negative temperatures out there,” I say, an amused expression creeping up on my face.

“Since when did the cold bother a vampire?” he says, and a smile tugs at one side of his face. It’s kind of endearing on such a rough character.

“As you wish.”

Danny walks past me, pulling on some sun goggles just before he walks back outside.

“What part of the bayou did you drag him out of?” Danielle asks as she comes to sit on the couch beside Raheem. She stretches her arms out across the back, her legs crossed in front of her.

“Yours?” Raheem questions with an eyebrow cocked.

“Unfortunately,” I say, which earns me a glare.

“Most,” he agrees. Raheem’s feelings for the Bitten are quite clear: they shouldn’t exist. But instead of arguing it out with me, he begins to explain. “Danny is a hunter, of what, I’m not entirely sure. I only observed him for a day, but I could tell he’s a good man. He’ll remain loyal as long as you do what you say.”

“Where’d you find him?” I ask, keeping my voice low, even though it’s pointless. If Danny is within ten yards of the house, he’ll hear us.

“Georgia backwoods,” Raheem says. “I found him the first day. Took a day to explain everything to him—the monarchy, the House system. He knew what he was, had met a few others like him, but didn’t know anything about our system. I think he liked the idea of a family.”

“We’ll give him that if we can trust him,” I say, looking in the direction he left.

The moment grows quiet and I look back at Raheem. He studies me, and it’s so very dangerous.

“Danielle,” I say. “Why don’t you take this time to familiarize yourself with the grounds. There’s a pair of sun goggles by the front door. Take your time.”

“I have to hide from the damn sun now,” she says with disdain. “This is so jacked up.” But she stands, heads to the front door, and out it.

And then, the two of us are left relatively alone.

“How are you?” Raheem asks. He scoots forward, to the edge of the couch. I find myself doing the same on my chair. It’s still too much distance between us.

“Okay,” I answer honestly. “A bit overwhelmed, maybe. But I’m handling it all.”

“What can I do to help?” he asks. Bringing me once again into this fold. Encouraging me to be who I am, and going along for the ride.

A smile cracks on my lips. It feels so amazing, to have this acceptance. The one person in the world who seems me for who I am.

I so very badly want to close that distance between he and I. I want to place my hands on his chest and feel that he is real. That he’s not just a figment of my imagination.

But I can’t. Because it will bring his possible and very likely death if I do. For Cyrus rests just upstairs.

“I need to figure out what to do with Jasmine,” I say instead, because he asked the question. “She’s locked up. Cyrus has commanded her Bitten to ready Elijah’s house for the new House members that are coming. But that’s only going to last so long. We will have to deal with them. Her.”

“The King will not let the Bitten live,” Raheem says. He stands, walking around behind the couch and placing his hands on the back of it.

“I know that,” I say with a nod. “Cyrus has already said so. But…I think what happens with Jasmine needs to be my choice. And I don’t know what I want.”

Raheem studies me, those dark, poignant eyes searching my soul. It’s like he can see clean through me, to the dark parts of me that grow darker by the day. “There are three ways to deal with one’s enemies: death, revenge, and forgiveness. I think you’ve already executed revenge. You’ve taken everything from her. So which do you move onto now? Death? Or forgiveness?”

It really is so stark and simple as that, isn’t it? I either release her and move on from this, or I let Cyrus kill her, or kill her myself.

“I don’t know that I can ever forgive her,” I say, shaking my head. “She killed Ian. She tried to manipulate me. She dug up my mother and had her delivered to my front steps. She’s killed so many people in this town, tried to turn them against me.”

I blink twice, taking in three deep breaths. “But I don’t know if I can kill her, either.”

“Why?” Raheem asks, but his tone is gentle, inviting me to explore the explanation for my answer.

“Because she’s just desperate,” I breathe. And there’s a little voice in the back of my head that feels sorry for her. “She’s just clinging to what she had and what she knows. I don’t know if I blame her for that.”

Raheem walks around the couch once again. He kneels before me and takes one of my hands in his. “And this is one of the many reasons why you are a great ruler, Alivia. You possess both coercion and compassion, and that does not occur often.”

“You’ve returned already.”

My heart leaps into my throat and I jump in my seat, snatching my hand out of Raheem’s. I whip around to see Cyrus standing in the entryway of the library, observing the two of us with much concern and interest.

“Yes, your majesty,” Raheem says as he stands, very calmly, and bows his head just slightly. “I’ve brought Alivia a new subject. He’s just outside if you’d like to speak with him.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Cyrus says. His eyes bore into Raheem, as if he can read into Raheem’s soul and pull out the answers to the questions that are tumbling through his head.

My heart continues to pound, sweat breaking out onto my palms.

“What’s wrong, my dear?” Cyrus asks, his eyes suddenly whipping to mine. “You seem…nervous.”

I swallow once, and realize my fingers are digging into the padding and fabric of the chair’s arms. I release at once and force my heart to calm, which it instantly does. “I’m just anticipating all the new members who will be arriving shortly. I guess it’s just got me a little on edge.”

It’s only a little bit of a lie.

Cyrus walks into the library slowly. He stops in front of me and crouches to kneel before me, mirroring Raheem’s previous position exactly. The breath catches in my throat as he takes one of my hands in his. “Do not be afraid, my darling,” he says. And that look in his eyes tells me he feels betrayed. He’ll be watching our every move from here on out. “I will be here to assist you, every step of the way.”

“Thank you,” I say around the dryness in my mouth.

“Of course.” He offers me a small, terrifying smile.

Raheem was right. Any little move, any little mistake, will get him killed. And once Cyrus realizes I am not his wife, what’s to keep him from killing me, too?

THE DAYS THAT SLOWLY PASS after Raheem’s return are tense and strained. Raheem and I are careful to not even look at each other, and never speak unless absolutely necessary. There will be no more mistakes.

And I know I’m a horrible person when it’s not as difficult to stay away as it should be.

Jasmine is kept in the well prison. I check on her once a day and when I do, she won’t even look up at me. With each passing day, I see the black veins stretch from her face, creep down her neck, stretch onto her chest and arms. It’s only been a few days, and she already looks like she’s dying from lack of blood.

Cyrus and I go to observe the renovation of the Southern house—which he dubs as the Institute—as the Bitten work on it. The broken windows are replaced. The trees pushing the house down on the northern wing are taken down. Walls are patched. The chimney repaired. The walls in every room are given a fresh coat of paint.

With thirteen bodies, the work goes quickly. Within a week and a half, it has come back to life. It is still far from the House, but it’s beautiful. Livable.

On the fifth day of Cyrus’ game, X returns with identical twin girls, both eager to be associated with Royalty. Sebastian returns the next day with what is little more than a child, a boy the age of twelve, just three days post resurrection.

Three other Court members return with new House members. And I begin to grow worried that my family will not be up to this task since none of them have returned. But as the sun almost rises on the ninth day, Anna walks out of woods to the north of the Estate with a man in tow.

I introduce myself to each of these newcomers. Speak with them for an hour or so. The King stays at my side the entire time, bearing in as a heavy weight and a force they cannot say no to.

I hate that it happens this way. That they truly do not get any choice in this matter. They join or face the wrath of a King.

Fear creeps into my stomach as day ten arrives, and still only Anna has returned.

“They will come,” she assures me as we sit on the front porch in the middle of the night. My breath creates heavy clouds around me as I breathe deep and hard. My eyes scan the property, praying for signs of movement.

“There’s only four more days,” I say. “That’s not very much time.”

“They will come,” she repeats as she places a hand on my shoulder.

As she speaks, I hear movement by the gate. Slowly, Markov and Samuel come walking up the drive. There’s a woman beside Markov. Older, with hair down to her waist. And a man with Samuel, who is covered in tattoos.

I jump from the steps and fling myself at Samuel. “You made it,” I say gleefully. My heart is doing backflips. I move on to Markov.

“You doubted us?” Samuel says in mock offense. “Don’t forget, you’re the baby in this House.”

I laugh, so very relieved to have my family return to me.

By the eleventh day, everyone from court has returned except the big bearded man that arrived with X the first night—and Nial and Lillian. I try not to panic.

By day twelve, the work on the Institute is completed. Still, Nial and Lillian have not returned.

On day fourteen, my heart sinks into my feet and disappears into a cold puddle.

They’re not going to make it back in time.

I’m going to lose them.

On that fourteenth day, Cyrus orders all of the Bitten to come to my House. They stand around, terrified. Looking exhausted.

And, I feel sorry for them. None of them had any choice in this. They all have been slaves these past few weeks, first to Jasmine, second to the King.

“Gather around, everyone!” Cyrus bellows from the ballroom. I’m up in my office talking with Markov and Samuel about tracking down Nial and Lillian when we hear his voice bellow throughout the House. “We have a special treat today!”

“This can’t be good,” Samuel says quietly as the three of us exit the office and head down the stairs.

There are so many bodies in this House now. With my returned House members, almost all the Court members, and thirteen new subjects, there are twenty-nine vampires and Rath. Plus, fourteen Bitten. It’s a good thing the Institute is finished. It’s getting overly crowded in here, even with such a big house.

I walk into the ballroom to find Jasmine standing beside Cyrus. Her face is drained of color, black veins covering her face and neck, and I can smell the fear rolling off of her.

“Thank you so much for joining us,” Cyrus says with a disingenuous smile. “I’m very proud of the hard work you’ve all done the past week and a half. You’ve done well. And to those who have joined the House of Conrath, welcome.”

The newcomers shift uncomfortably. I do wonder how many of them will desert me the second Cyrus leaves Silent Bend. Fear only controls people for so long.

“Accidents happen,” Cyrus continues loudly. “Our thirst is a terrible, often times uncontrollable thing. The Bitten are an unfortunate side effect of what we are. But what has happened—this was no mistake.”

Cyrus looks over at Jasmine, and his eyes grow cold. He begins walking around her, circling her like a vulture. “This was a deliberate move. This was reckless. Turning even one Bitten in the town of a House is always frowned upon, but turning so many…  Well, you’ve asked for what is coming.”

My heart leaps into my throat and I look around at the Bitten Jasmine created. Tony. The contractor. All residents of this town we call home. Terror fills their faces. Tears leak down more than one face. This wasn’t their fault. They didn’t ask for this.

But we can’t trust them. They cannot control their hunger. They will attack. They will feed. They will kill. Some of them will accidentally create more Bitten.

It’s terrible, what’s about to happen. But there’s no way around it.

Cyrus hands Jasmine a set of sun goggles. She looks terrified as she accepts them. “Please,” she begins to beg. “Don’t do this. Exile me. Send me away. Just don’t do this.”

“Oh, you should have thought about the end when you began this,” Cyrus says with a manic smile on his face. “I believe this is yours. And that you’ve ended other lives with it.”

Cyrus produces the long bladed knife—the one that may as well be called a sword with its extreme length. The very same one Jasmine drove into Ian the night I tried to die. The one that ended his human life and revealed the traitorous truth.

Jasmine’s hand shakes as she accepts it.

“Let’s have us a little game, shall we?” the King says as he turns back to the silent crowd gathered around him. “You’re going to try to kill your sire, because she’s going to tell you to do so. And if you succeed in killing her, I might let you run free.”

Cyrus beings walking around Jasmine in a circle once more. “But let’s not make the stakes to easy. Every Born, you’ll want one of these.” He picks a box up from the floor and begins tossing a pair of sun goggles to each and every one of the Born. “Because our little event will take place outside.”

“No! Please!” Cries break out from the Bitten. Because it’s only five in the evening. The sun may be hidden behind the clouds of the curse storm, but even the dim light is blinding to the eyes of a vampire—Born or Bitten.

“Let’s head outside, shall we?” Cyrus says. The look in his eyes grows to a crazed gleam. His smile stretches wider and wider, as impending death grows closer.

X crosses the ballroom and opens the door out onto the veranda. With her goggles securely in place, she holds it open, extending her hand out in invitation to exit the carefully blacked out house.

“This is so wrong,” Danielle whispers to me as she puts her goggles on, the only Bitten safe from this day. “They did nothing wrong, and now, they’re going to die.”

“I can’t say I agree with the solution,” I say, swallowing hard as I follow the crowd out the door. Half the Bitten step backward, refusing to leave the safety of the dark. But Markov, Sebastian, and three other Court members shove them toward the doors.

They burst outside with screams and hands over their eyes. I see two others, blinking hard, as if to try to get their eyes to adjust. But they just turn brilliant red, already burning in the light, their eyes permanently fully dilated.

Cyrus leads us north on the property a little ways, to where the landscape opens up to a field of snow. A crack of thunder sounds through the sky.

“Please,” Jasmine whimpers. “Don’t make me do this. I will go. You’ll never hear from me again. I’ll never talk to another House for the rest of my life.”

Cyrus just chuckles at her, ignoring her cries. “You’ll command them to kill you. You have your blade, and unlike them, you can see. It seems a fair fight. If you kill all of them, and survive, I may—may not—let you live. It all depends on how entertained I am.”

The Bitten are forced into a circle around Jasmine, and their screams and sobs rise in intensity.

This is so wrong. This is evil.

But this is justice.

“Please tell me you will never deal out punishment like this.” Rath’s voice comes from behind me. There’s disgust and horror in his usually calm speech.

I shake my head. It’s not an answer. Because I’ve done things over the past few months that I once never thought I would consider. I can’t go back to the girl I once was, and I don’t know that I can fight the woman I am being forced to become. The one I’m learning to embrace.

“Let the game begin,” Cyrus says, the manic smile growing on his face.

“Please,” Jasmine asks once more. She stands at the center of the circle, alone, with the blade held loosely in one hand. She looks defeated. Broken. Abandoned.

“Now!” Cyrus bellows, spittle flying through the freezing air. “Or it is your head at the end of that blade and they die anyway!”

She takes a stuttered sob. Deep, sucking breaths cause her shoulders to rise and fall quickly. Which transforms into a growling hiss. And two seconds later, she lets out a howling scream. Her eyes are wild, demonic. They sweep the crowd, but land on me.

I hold her eyes, determined not to be intimidated by the tri-polar want-to-be queen.

One, two breaths later, she raises her chin. Her eyes harden, and she squares her shoulders. Her eyes flare brighter, and she looks around at the mess she’s created one last time. “Kill me.”

The weight of the Debt has never been more obvious than when the poor, blinded Bitten rush at her, all at once.

With one sweeping twirl, Jasmine’s blade slices up the center of a man. Blood sprays through the air, hitting Jasmine in the face, coating her well-water soaked shirt. He collapses to the ground, screaming in agony, though still alive.

Without time to put him permanently down, Jasmine jabs toward a woman with glowing eyes. Her blade sinks five inches into her chest, and she instantly drops, her skin turning gray.

Three others stumble blindly in Jasmine’s direction, hands outstretched. With one war cry and a spin, the blade connects with the first neck, and then the second, and finally the third. Three severed heads hit the ground with a thump, and the bodies collapse to the ground, sending out a spray of blood over the gathered crowd.

A man gets his hands around Jasmine from behind and his fangs sink into her neck. But with a backward swing of the blade, she buries it in the top of his skull. He drops from her, dead.

Her neck bleeding, Jasmine turns to the first man she cut, and drives the blade through his chest, ending his enslaved life.

A bear of a man—my former contractor—rushes her from the side, knocking them both to the ground and making the blade go sailing to the edge of the crowd to land at Sebastian’s feet.

The man’s hands go around Jasmine’s throat, squeezing with enough force to cut off every sound that might try to escape. But Jasmine’s brings her hand forward, her fingers speared together. And it’s as if in slow motion as she thrusts them forward. Connecting with the flesh beneath his rib cage. Suddenly, her hand disappears—into the man’s chest cavity. Blood gushes over her arm as her eyes go wild and gleeful. He gives a gurgled cry as her hand presses up inside of him. With a furious war cry, she pulls, and rips his heart from his ribcage.

Tossing it to the side and rolling as the man begins to collapse on top of her, Jasmine climbs to her feet, her eyes glowing so bright, I can see the red hue through her goggles.

This is too much. Too much blood. To harsh. To unfair. My stomach rolls, but there’s nothing it to dispel. I reach for a hand to hold onto. Anyone. And I find Markov and Anna. Surprisingly, Danielle places her hand on my shoulder from behind.

For another fifteen minutes, Jasmine battles the remaining Bitten. Slaughtering them. Burring her blade in their chests. She’s bitten twice, clawed from front and back. But one by one, the bodies drop into the snow. Slowly, the snow around us goes from pink, to red, seeping further and further out, until there is no more white in the circle. Only blood-soaked slush and bodies litter the ground.

Jasmine pulls her blade from the last of the Bitten, letting her fall to the ground, landing on top of two other bodies. Her chest heaves, sucking the air in and out in desperate pulls. There isn’t a surface of her body that isn’t covered in blood. It clings to her hair, coats her skin in a thick slick. Her clothing is drenched in it.

And as she looks around to us all, a tear leaks out onto her cheek. Followed by another. Then, a rush of others. Soon, she’s sobbing. She collapses onto her hands and knees.

My heart twists as she drips blood onto the soggy, red ground.

“Please,” she sobs. “Just do it.”

Cyrus steps forward, picking up the blade from the ground. The one coated in red.

“Don’t!” I cry as my heart threatens to break into a million explosive pieces, stepping forward from the crowd. Something bites at the back of my eyes and my throat tightens. “Don’t kill her.”

“Why not?” Cyrus asks, annoyed at being denied more of what he craves.

“Because,” I say as Jasmine’s eyes rise to meet mine. They hold so much pain, yet still so much hatred. But all I can feel is pity. She’s made so many mistakes, taken every wrong turn. “Because everyone deserves a second chance.” I look up at Cyrus. “Let me take her in. Teach her the right way to do things. After all of this, do you think she’ll ever stray again?”

Cyrus walks forward, toward me, his eyes steady. “Compassion is a rare find in our kind, especially considering what this woman has put you through.” He stops in front of me and his hand rises to cup my cheek. “You’re a caring woman, Alivia. You have done much for your House and for your town. But second chances are not something I give.” Panic rises in me when I see the look harden on Cyrus’ face. “Not when an individual has put our kind at so much risk for exposure.” Without looking away from me, he addresses Jasmine. “Remember, you brought this on yourself.”

Cyrus whips around in a movement that is invisible with its speed, swinging the blade.

Jasmine’s head falls into the snow, her body collapsing into a heap.

“No!” I scream, leaping forward, as if I can stop anything.

But a strong pair of arms wraps around my torso, holding me back. “It’s over,” a British accent says quietly into my ear. Nial doesn’t let me go as I try desperately to get to Jasmine. “It’s over.”

Attention turns to myself and those behind me. Tears roll down my face as my eyes are transfixed on Jasmine’s ruined body. “I could have…” I breathe in and out, my voice broken and small. “She could have changed. She just needed…  She just needed a chance.”

“She never gave anyone a second chance, why would she take one herself?”

The pain and terror inside me grows very still and quiet as I recognize that voice. I turn, very slowly to face its owner.

Christian Kask stands in the snow, his expression grim. Lillian stands beside him, a hand on his shoulder. Next to him is Trinity, a tear rolling down her face. Nial finally lets me go.

The final two members of the Broken House that I was never able to secure stand before me, amongst the many, many members of the House of Conrath.

“Brother,” Samuel breathes. He rushes forward to wrap his arms around the man.

My House and family are complete.

“Let this be a lesson,” Cyrus says, and attention shifts back to their King. “We do not tolerate insurrection. The monarchy enforces justice. And do not forget what this woman, who is your leader, was willing to do for a woman who killed her loved one. Who tried to take what was rightfully Alivia’s. Who did unspeakable things. Lady Conrath was willing to forgive. That makes her unique, and I hope you do not forget that. But I, your King, I do not share the same compassion. Do not forget who you follow. Hail, Alivia Conrath!”

Cyrus pumps his fist in the air with his great shout.

“Hail, Alivia Conrath!” Markov echoes, and he drops to one knee, his head bent.

“Hail, Alivia Conrath!” the shouts echo around me. And one by one, fifteen new House members and six old ones drop to their knees, shouting my name.

I stand alone, apart—horror and wonder and hatred and love filling me to the brim.

This was my birthright. Blood and terror and allegiance.

I’m Alivia Conrath, and this is what it truly means to be a House ruler.

“IT’S A BEAUTIFUL HOUSE, NOW that it’s all fixed up.”

Danielle walks by my side. Door after door leads to more bedrooms. The walls are patched. The windows that were broken, replaced. The floor has been sealed and polished. A new chandelier hangs in the foyer.

Rath has just left. As usual, he’s taken care of everything—now that the contractor is dead.

It isn’t the House. The Institute is still not perfect. With the new renovations, it’s lost some of its classic charm. But it’s a home. It’s fit. It’s repaired. It’s still beautiful and grand.

“Yes, it is,” I agree as we come to a stop in the great room.

It’s now adorned in lavish furnishings. Three grand couches. A beautiful rug in the middle of the floor. Paintings unearthed from the attic. It’s beautiful and must be one of the most impressive homes in Silent Bend now.

Lillian stands in the middle of the room, chatting with two of the new Born. When they see me approach, they bow their heads and walk away.

“Thank you for doing this,” I say. “They’ll need teaching, direction. Once we feel they’re properly trained, we’ll reevaluate the living arrangements.”

“Of course,” Lillian offers with a smile. She follows me as we walk back out toward the foyer. “Some of them know our ways, others barely know what they are. We will educate them. Make them ready.”

X walks down the stairs, her hand trailing over the railing. “It would be best we begin right away. We have little time to waste.” She stops at the bottom of the stairs, folding her hands in front of her, looking at me with impatience.

It’s been obvious, this entire time, that X doesn’t care for me. It’s difficult to tell if she doesn’t like anyone, or if it’s just me who’s so lucky. “Of course,” I agree, offering an annoyed smile. “We will leave you to it. Let’s go,” I say to Danielle.

The two of us walk to the front doors, and just as we step outside, I find Danny sitting on the front porch. He rests in a white rocking chair, his feet propped on the railing. Those dark eyes study me, searching me over. “Alivia,” he says with the slightest nod of his head.

I offer him a smile before turning to leave.

Something about him unsettles me. His quiet ways. His odd requests and statements. But I think mostly it’s his eyes. He sees too much. Sees the truth and my truth is blurred these days.

Snow begins to fall once more. We’ve gained another inch just in the last two hours.

“I guess the curse storm wasn’t for Jasmine,” I mull to myself out loud.

“I always wondered if the curses were real or just scary stories my grandma told,” Danielle says as we trudge through the snow. It’s too deep to drive around town. But walking through the snow isn’t a difficult task with our newfound strength.

“I’ve heard too many stories to deny they’re real,” I say. My eyes scan the dark, searching for signs of people coming back into town. “Maybe this is for me. Maybe it’s for the King or just our forsaken town. Maybe it’s for an enemy we can’t even see.”

Like whoever is creating the Shadow Army of Bitten. The one who hides in the dark, only to emerge when we least expect them.

We travel in silence for several minutes. The flakes fall thick and heavy. The snow clings to my hair, melting into my skin. But I don’t feel cold. Not even a bit.

“Danielle,” I say, thinking of the cold. “Why were you in that house, the night I turned you?”

She looks over at me, but I don’t return her gaze. She unsettles me. She makes me feel guilt, and I don’t need any more of that these days.

“Poverty is a very real thing in this town,” she answers. “I lost my job about three months ago. Haven’t been able to find another. I got kicked out of my apartment just a week before this storm started. That same day my car broke down. I couldn’t leave town. But I also had nowhere to get away from the cold.”

“You were homeless?” I ask, my brows furrowing. And I feel even worse.

“Can I ask you something?” Danielle asks, changing the subject instead of admitting the truth.

“I guess.”

“You and Ian were together, despite what you were and everything he believed,” she says. My hands curl into fists at the topic she’s chosen to bring up. “You had to know it wouldn’t end well. So I ask: did you love him?”

Her question stops me dead in my tracks. The cold I do not feel on the outside trickles down the back of my spine. My eyes meet hers, and I don’t know how to speak for several long moments.

“We were constantly holding back,” I answer honestly. I don’t know why I do it. Perhaps because I know how she felt about Ian. Perhaps because I need the closure myself. “Yes, we knew it wouldn’t end well. So, I’m grateful we didn’t let it go as deep as love because neither of us could have seen the end as black as it came.”

I take another step forward, not daring to look at Danielle. Because parts of what I just said were the truth. But parts were pure, straight up lies.

“He has a way, doesn’t he?” she says as she follows me, just a few steps behind. “Of pulling you in with that tortured soul. You just want to fix all the darkness in his life and give him something better.”

She nails it right on the head. “Something like that,” I say in a painful sigh.

He left me. He just left. After coming to me that night and begging me to leave with him. To walk away. And he just walked away, without me.

I should have seen it coming. He’d been upfront with his feelings the entire time. He never wanted me to become a vampire before there was no other choice.

I should have known he would leave.

But I didn’t.

“I’ve seen the way Raheem looks at you,” she says quietly. “He’s careful. But not careful enough. The way you wanted Ian to love you, Raheem already does.”

I slow. The statement rolls around in my head, over and over.

I know this. I know Raheem’s feelings. I see it in his eyes every day.

“You’re going to get him killed, aren’t you?” Danielle asks. I don’t answer her—because I’m so very afraid it’s the truth. “Do you love him? Because if he’s going to die for his love for you, I hope you feel the same way.”

I whirl around on her, my eyes instantly flaring. “Just stop,” I bark. “It’s none of your business. You’ll never bring this up again, you understand me? Raheem. Ian. My feelings or anything related to relationships. I don’t want to hear another word.”

She shirks back a step, her eyes growing wide with fear for a moment. But it doesn’t last long. Her expression narrows and hardens. “You got it, master. I won’t try to be your friend again.”

She stalks ahead of me, headed back to the House. And I’m left alone in the snow with a million emotions I thought I’d buried.

“I’VE INVITED THE HOUSE IN Vermont to attend a party the night after tomorrow.”

Cyrus stands in my bedroom. His trousers hang low on his hips. His feet are bare, as is his chest. The muscles in his chest stand out in deep contrast with the shadows the fireplace casts.

He looks beautiful standing there. Dangerous. Fierce and seductive.

I walk toward him, dropping my coat on the floor by the door. The darkness creeps up inside me, whispering to my hurting insides to do some hurting in return. There must be balance. Checks and equalization. An eye for an eye, pain for pain.

A little bit of my humanity has been dying every day since I’ve Resurrected, and I don’t know if any more of it remains.

“Whatever you wish, my King,” I say low and seductive as I cross the space slowly. The heat from the fireplace warms my skin as I approach him. He’s cast in silhouette, a dark figure before the flames. “I look forward to meeting more of my Royal cousins.”

I stop before him, just a few inches away. His dark eyes trace my body, running from my tight jeans, up over my hips. They linger on my breasts, my curves exposed by my low neckline. They slide up my neck.

And I touch the tips of two of my fingers against his lower abdomen. Slowly, so very slowly, I let them slide up between the valley of his stomach muscles. They twitch and quiver with need at my touch.

“I think I dreamed of castles last night,” I breathe into his ear as I lean into the King. My lips hover just a fraction of an inch from his neck. “Of grand ballrooms and blood. Of death and life.”

“You did?” Cyrus breathes as he wraps his hands around my waist. His own lips linger on my collarbone.

“Perhaps,” I say as I press my lips to the hollow beneath his ear. I let them part ever so slightly as I drag them down, toward his shoulder. His fingers clamp harder into my sides. His body jumps to life, shaking and quivering in need. “It’s hard to be sure. The dream was so fuzzy.”

“We did not settle in Roter Himmel until ten years after our son was born,” he says as he runs one hand up my back, pulling at my sweater. It rips, a quick tearing sound cutting through the otherwise silent room. “The castle was abandoned, the town burned to the ground.”

His fingers search my exposed skin, his touch rough and demanding. I place my hand flat against his stomach, pressing myself closer into him. The breath hitches in his throat.

“You worked tirelessly,” I say, switching to the other side of his neck, just barely brushing my lips over his flesh. “You made it a home for our family.”

“Yes,” he breathes. I look up to see his eyes slide closed. The ecstasy is clear on his face. “Our son, he nearly froze to death that first winter. But we made it through.”

“Together,” I say. I bring both of my hands to his chest, clinging hard.

“Yes,” he whispers. His eyes slide open and bore into mine. His hands come to my arms, clinging tight. “Sevan? Have you come back to me?”

This is such a dangerous game I play. But I need it. I crave it. Because this is who I am now.

“I don’t know,” I say, putting a little quiver into my voice. “I’m so confused about everything that is happening.”

The emotion on Cyrus’ face comes flooding through. He gathers me into his arms, pulling me tight, cradling my head against his chest. “Everything will be alright, my love. We will get through this. Together.”

A small smile curls on my lips as I look into the flames.

The King is not the only one who can play games to heal emotional scars.

SOMEONE KNOCKS ON THE DOOR to my bedroom just as Lillian puts the finishing touches on my dress. “I’ll get that,” she says as she gives me one last admiring smile before walking to the door.

The gown is all black, falling from my waist in tiers. The neckline plunges low, so low it nearly reaches my bellybutton, exposing my cleavage. It stretches over my back, coming into a high collar that flares around my neck in a dramatic, old-world collar. My hair is styled into a complicated twist at the back of my neck, my crown sitting atop my head.

I look like the dark queen I pretend to be.

“You look quite stunning, I must say, Alivia.”

I turn to see Christian step into my bedroom. Lillian offers me a little smile, before sliding out the door and closing it behind her.

“I appreciate you saying that,” I offer, stepping into the bedroom from the immaculate bathroom. I slip into my heels, instantly growing four inches. “And I appreciate you being here.”

Christian’s face turns serious and his eyes drop away from mine as he takes two more steps forward. “I didn’t really come back for you,” he says honestly. “Not at first, anyway.” He sits on the edge of my bed, and for a moment, I bristle at that. This is my space, not his.

“It was a lot harder than I expected,” he says. He laces his fingers together, staring at them. “Being away from my brother. We’ve been together for over seventy years. A lifetime for humans. When you and Jasmine went to war, I didn’t know how to feel.” Finally, he looks up at me. That crooked, womanizing smile begins pulling at the corner of his mouth. “You swept into town and changed everything I had ever known. You had the blood of a Royal, but you knew nothing about our town. About our history. About being a ruler or even about being a damn vampire.”

He offers a mournful, little smile. He releases his hands, placing them on his thighs and sits there, looking very uncomfortable. “I didn’t think you knew what the hell you were doing, that my brother was a traitor for turning away from the House our father lead for over a century.”

He looks away again, and I realize just how very hard this is for him. “But then Jasmine didn’t look too much like a leader anymore, either. She was rash. Crazy. She couldn’t protect her own. And she just kept getting worse and worse. So when the shit hit the fan and suddenly I had to make a choice, I chose not to make one. I’ve been out there on my own, living like Anna did for a really, really long time.”

When he says Anna’s name, there’s regret in his voice. It’s been obvious Anna has history with both the Kask brothers, but it’s never been my place to ask what happened. That’s her past and she owns it.

“Lillian found me. Told me how happy Samuel was being a part of your House. How happy she was. How you knew what you were doing.” Christian looks up at me, his eyes open and ready for my judgment. “I didn’t really believe her. But I had to see, you know? I had to give myself some confirmation of what I thought before, that there was no way you could be a good leader, when you were such an…ignorant, uninformed infant.”

That stings a little bit. Because there’s confession of truth in his words. It’s what he truly thought of me.

“So, I came back with Lillian. I told her that I was just going to see what was going on. That I made no promises that I would join your House, even though she told me that was her mission.” Samuel stands up once again and takes three steps toward me. “But we came back. I heard the fight that was going on. And I watched as you begged for Jasmine’s life. And I heard all the terrible things she did to you. And, you asked for a second chance for her anyway.”

Christian takes one more step toward me, and then he drops to one knee. He bows his head just slightly. “I was wrong, Alivia. You were indeed born to lead this House. You’re a ruler, a true Royal. And if you will have me, I will follow you.”

I reach down and take one of his hands in mine. Christian looks up at me expectantly. “Your words mean everything,” I say, my expression open and true. “Because you know. You are the son of a good man who did his best. You know. And, I swear to you, I will do my best.”

He nods. “I know you will.”

“Welcome to the House of Conrath.”

Christian stands, holding my eyes the entire time. The weight and loyalty behind his eyes is present, heavy.

“Let’s get to this party, shall we?” I ask as I allow a smile to begin forming on my face.

Christian offers his arm, and I loop mine through his. My heels click over the hardwood floor, and he opens the door to let us both out.

Music and voices float up to the second floor. There are people everywhere—in the hall, in bedrooms. Down the stairs, couples are scattered about. Everyone is dressed in their best.

My arm still looped through Christian’s, we make our way down the stairs. And the scent of human blood grows stronger and stronger with each step.

The fire leaps into my throat, quickly spreading through my body like a match set to a dry field.

The ballroom is crowded. The foyer is packed to the brim. People wander in and out of the library. The halls house many groups.

But even with the mass numbers, I hone in on the humans like they are a bloody beacon. The woman in the black cocktail dress. The twin men in their suits. Three younger-looking teenagers.

They’re scattered about the house. Fangs sink into necks. Vampires chat with them, laughter at unknown conversations.

I don’t recognize any of them.

“The House of Allaway brought their own snacks to share with everyone as a gift,” Christian offers.

The burn in my throat leaps to life once more. It shoots throughout my body like a flame set to a puddle of gasoline.

I grab for the woman chatting with a group of vampires I do not recognize and my fangs sink into her neck. Two pulls, three. The woman doesn’t move, and a blissful moan bubbles up from my throat.

“I’m sure she is tasty,” Christian says. And suddenly, he’s pulling her away from me. “But we must leave enough to share.”

I snap back to myself, my fangs retracting. I let the woman go, and she stumbles back to the others in a daze. I blink the blood haze from my eyes and look around. The other vampires look at me with slightly disgusted expressions.

“Forgive me,” I say, offering a small smile. “I guess it’s been a few too many days since I last fed.”

A man offers a smile, breaking the tension. “No worries, my Lady. We’ve all been there. Some of are still there.”

I smile once again and shuffle off with Christian, who offers me a handkerchief. I wipe at my mouth, clearing away the mess.

“How long until I get this under control?” I ask. “I can’t keep snapping like this.”

“Usually about three weeks,” he says as we stop among the crowd. He takes the cloth from me and clears away the rest of the blood himself. “How long has it been?”

“Almost two and a half weeks,” I say, offering him an appreciative smile as he finishes.

Christian nods. “It will be over soon. And then, you’ll only need to feed once a week or so, just like the rest of us. You’ll get through it.”

“There she is!”

The commanding voice booms behind us. We both turn to see Cyrus walking toward us. Flanked at his side are a man and a woman.

“Chelsea, Charles,” Cyrus says as he walks to my side, dismissing Christian. He loops an arm around my waist. I notice our outfits match. He wears black trousers and a black jacket that looks fit for the King he is. His collar is high and regal, just like mine. “I would like to introduce you to the lovely Alivia Conrath.”

I flash my most brilliant smile and step forward to shake the woman’s hand first. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“And you as well,” Charles says as I shake his hand next. He brings my hand up to his lips, where he presses a kiss there.

“Chelsea and Charles lead the House in Vermont, covering the surrounding region,” Cyrus says. His voice is loud, excited. He’s fit for a party such as this one. It is the second one he’s thrown since his arrival, after all. “They came into leadership after their mother was assassinated a few years ago.”

“Thirty-five years isn’t exactly just a few,” Chelsea chuckles, eying the King with a flirtatious eye. Her hair is brilliant red, as is her twin brother’s. They look so alike in so many ways, they can’t be anything but twins. Even the crowns on their heads are identical.

“It is in my immortal life, my dear,” Cyrus says, flashing her a daring smile and taking a tiny little bow.

“We’ve done our best since,” Charles offers with a smile of his own.

This all seems so fake, all for show. And it’s making me want to crawl out of my own skin.

“I am sorry to hear about your poor mother,” I say, ending the joking and banter.

“Oh, don’t be,” Charles says with a little flick of his wrist. “It was Chelsea that killed her. Our mother was nothing more than a womb and an educator. She served her purpose.”

Well, that’s horrifying. “Ah,” I say instead, as if it doesn’t truly unsettle me. I would give anything to have even just one more day with my own mother, and these two threw theirs away as if she was nothing.

“It only took us three days to determine Chelsea here was not Sevan,” Cyrus says. His smile grows thin lipped.

“I was far too murderous to possibly be Sevan,” she laughs.

“I see,” I say, raising an eyebrow and chuckling falsely along with them. “And here we are, more than two weeks post-Resurrection, and Cyrus and I are still figuring things out.” I cling to Cyrus’ side, wrapping my hands around his bicep and looking up into his eyes lovingly.

The reaction his body has to my game is instant. The look in his eyes grows hungry. His body twitches with desire. He leans into me closer.

“Oo,” Chelsea coos. “This certainly looks like it has great potential.”

“It certainly looks that way,” I say, letting a smile take over my face as I look back at her. “Doesn’t it?”

“Some chardonnay for any of you?”

A platter suddenly appears between our small group, loaded with thin fluted glasses filled with sparkling liquid. I look up to see Rath. He’s staring at me with something sharp like disapproval in his eyes.

“Thank you!” Chelsea coos in delight as she takes a glass. She downs it in one gulp before taking another, just as Charles does, as well.

“Your majesty?” Rath asks, his tone dropping lower. Cyrus takes a glass, studying Rath as he does. I decline the drink.

“Thank you.” Cyrus takes one sip, eying Rath as he dismisses himself. “Chelsea, Charles, if you will give Alivia and me a few moments? We will join you again shortly.”

“Of course,” Charles says, dipping his head and dragging his sister away.

What a spastic pair.

“They seem…interesting,” I say as I watch them make their way back into the crowd.

“They’re both idiots,” Cyrus says as his eyes also follow them. “But there is no one yet in their line to replace them. And Charles won’t be producing any offspring anytime soon to pass the royal blood down to, if you know what I mean.”

And I do. It’s obvious Charles prefers the company of males. Even now, his hand is on Samuel’s arm, and he laughs hysterically. Samuel looks ready to bolt.

“Come with me,” Cyrus says. He gently takes my hand in his, and we slowly work our way through the crowd, across the ballroom. He opens the door to the veranda and we step outside into the dark and cold.

“Have you experienced anything else?” Cyrus asks as he sets his glass on a snow covered side table. “In the past, once Sevan began to remember things, it started coming back more and more quickly.”

I bring my hands up, lacing my fingers behind Cyrus’ neck. I bring our faces close together. His breath warms my chest. “Be patient with me, my King,” I say quietly. “Remembering multiple lifetimes will take time.”

“Of course,” he says. His hands come up to caress my back, pulling me closer. His lips hover so close. I’m sure he’s going to kiss me.

But he only presses his lips to my cheek, before stepping away, grabbing on of my hands, and standing on the edge of the veranda. He looks out into the darkness. Over the empty pool. Over the tiny graveyard. Over the river. “It’s quite a full house you have right now.”

“It is indeed,” I agree, breathless. My heart hammers in wicked anticipation, and is suddenly let down because he didn’t take my bait. And I’m realizing just how sick I’ve become. “I admit it makes me afraid for Rath. Should someone mistake him for one of the feeders.”

“Oh, I very much doubt that will happen.” He says it without looking at me. The breath billows out of him in a huge white cloud. “He’s such a unique being. I’ve never met another like him.”

My heart skips a beat and I turn to face Cyrus, pulling him to face me. “What do you mean?” I ask, my voice bordering on desperate. “Do you know what Rath is?”

Cyrus smiles. He brings his free hand up and brushes his thumb over my cheek. “Yes,” he says. “But it is not my story to tell.”

I want to beg him—for him to tell me the answer I’ve wondered after for these past six months. But his words ring true, and I cannot betray Rath by begging his dark, unknown story from another.

“You are lucky to have him,” Cyrus does offer instead. “His loyalty is an uncommon gem.”

But as Cyrus says it, the look on Rath’s face when he offered the drinks comes back to mind. He didn’t look happy. And he hasn’t seemed happy with me for a while.

“I am,” I agree, even as my stomach sinks.

I cannot please everyone.

I cannot make all the right moves with it comes to every single person in my life.

“Come,” Cyrus says. “Let us rejoin your party.”

He leads me by the hand and we walk back into the ballroom. “Would you like to make any kind of a speech?” he asks into my ear.

I swallow hard and look around at all these people. There are so many of them. They’re so old, so much more experienced at this than I am.

“Yes,” I lie. “I’d like to say a few words.”

Cyrus grabs another glass and taps a knife from the buffet table against it. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he says loudly, instantly commanding attention. Every eye turns expectantly in our direction. “Our Regent and Lady, Alivia Conrath would like to share a few words.”

Synchronized, every eye slides from Cyrus to me. And I pride myself that I do not step back under their gaze; I don’t break out into a sweat. I roll my shoulders back and lift my chin just a little higher.

“Thank you all so much for being here,” I say, my voice strong and loud. “There’s been quite a lot of change happening in our region the last few months, and I’m sure most of you have heard about some rocky circumstances.”

As I look around the room, many nod their heads. The look in their eyes confirms that they have indeed heard of the mess that has been going on in our part of the country.

I think momentarily of the girl I was just a few months ago. Of the child that I was, terrified of an enemy. Enough so that I ran away from my home. I hid. I let another fill my head with one side of the story.

And now, here I stand before a mansion filled with immortal killers.

“But I am here to assure you that things will never be like that again,” I say, my voice increasing in volume. “Silent Bend will be controlled. There will be order. I will make sure of it. Our secret will be kept safe under my leadership.”

“And our secret is a show of our great strength,” Cyrus says, shifting attention once again to him. “For thousands of years now, we have built an empire. Bred a new species. There are thousands upon thousands of our kind. Yet, the world knows nothing.”

The air around us is deadly silent. No one takes a breath. They lean toward us, hanging on the King’s every word. I feel their excitement growing, pride at what we are and what has been accomplished.

“Power lies not in those who flaunt it,” Cyrus says, his voice dropping an octave. “For once you lay it out for all to see, it sits there for any to take it. Power lies in those who have built their empire in the shadows without a word being breathed. Power lies in having your masses built, so when the glamorous show falls, the empire rises, already in place.”

The King’s words chill me. While he has not said he plans to take over the world someday, he will be there should the world crumble and fall.

“You stand here because you have kept our secret,” Cyrus says, raising his glass to all before him. “And you all are a part of that power. I salute you.”

As if many of them have heard this speech before, they raise their glasses, as well. “I salute you,” they repeat with pride.

The music picks back up. Cyrus hands his glass off to a random man and takes my hand once again in his. “Would you do me the honor of a dance?”

“It would be my pleasure,” I agree, a smile pulling on my lips. I take a step forward, and suddenly my ankle twists, and I fall into Cyrus’ arms.

“Now, our kind generally isn’t the clumsiest,” he laughs as he helps right me.

My brows furrow. “I caught my heel on something,” I say, looking back where I just stood.

We stand in the middle of the ballroom, on top of the Conrath raven crest. My eyes scan the floor, and finally, I see it. There, where the Raven’s eye should be, is a chip in the floor.

Great. Cyrus throws a party and my father’s house is being damaged.

“How about that dance?”

My attention turns to Cyrus once more, and he looks at me with a smile and eagerness. Returning it, I place one hand on his shoulder, resting my other in his hand.

A simple step forward. To the side. The other side. Backward. Repeat.

We twirl. Glide over the marble floor. Cyrus leads me step after step. He’s an accomplished dancer, and I never once feel out of sync as he guides me through the steps and movements. The masses quickly move to make room for our dance.

For a moment, I am once again swept up in the grandeur of the King and his Queen, and I imagine that I am actually her. Here with my husband, with an interrupted immortal life before us, filled with love and pain and reunion.

It’s a beautiful, if somewhat broken, picture. But it’s easy to want it for a few moments.

The music begins to slow, and Cyrus twirls me one last time. He dips me into a low dip, and I let my head fall back as my eyes slide closed. The tip of Cyrus’ nose trails from my chest downward. And so very reverently, he presses a kiss between my breasts.

My eyes glow and burn as he rights me, and our gaze meets once more. I see the desire there. The urgency.

He’s ready for his queen. Now.

But I am not her.

I toy with the ultimate game creator.

“Thank you,” he breathes hard.

“Of course,” I respond, cupping his cheek in my hand, gazing tenderly into his eyes.

The crowd around us claps, drawing my attention away. The floor drops out beneath me when my eyes meet Raheem’s.

He does not mask his disapproval. His gaze is hard, cold, and vengeful, and it’s directed at the King. His eyes flick once more to mine, and there’s betrayal and hurt there. He stalks away, back into the crowd.

And I feel sick.

Who the hell have I become?

THE KING TAKES A BOW, that entertained, almost drunk-like smile on his face. He takes a huff, deep breath when he stands once more and looks around at the crowd. “Thank you! Thank you,” he says, his smile growing bigger and bigger. “Now, where are Chelsea and Charles?”

“Here, your majesty!” that girlish voice cuts through the crowd. They both shove their way through the masses and pop out before the two of us.

“Wonderful,” Cyrus says, clapping his hands. “Now, I’m thinking of a number between one and fourteen. Would you please pick a number?” he asks of Chelsea.

She mulls it over for a moment, thinking far too long and hard about it. As if she doesn’t grasp what has just happened.

Part two of Cyrus’ game.

“Two!” she finally declares gleefully.

“Wonderful,” Cyrus says with a smile. He then turns to Charles. “Your turn, my man.”

“Eight,” Charles says without hesitation. There’s a smug look on his face as if he’s sure he’s guessed correct.

“Eight, he says!” Cyrus says, throwing his hands up in the air. “Two and eight, guessing from one to fourteen. So, we shall go right in the middle with five!”

Cyrus walks in a small circle, studying those that surround us. And I feel as if I should be nervous. The King’s games never end well. There is always death and blood. But instead, I find myself anticipating what is to come.

“How many of you have ever watched modern sports?” Cyrus asks. He slowly walks the perimeter, his hands folded behind him. “I confess I don’t get into it much, but I did study them sometime in the last decade or so. Trades happen frequently, switching and offering like it’s nothing of consequence at all. Teams swap players to gain advantage and to shake things up with fresh blood.”

Tension rises in the air as some begin putting together what is going on. They shift uncomfortably, look at each other with wariness.

“Alivia recently acquired fifteen new members of her House. All Born. All capable. All willing to swear loyalty,” he says as his eyes search out the new faces. They are so new that I only remember a few of their names. “And today, the two Houses will trade five members.”

Shouts of anger and disbelief rise into the air. Eyes flash red. Several take steps back, as if to flee.

“You cannot be serious,” Chelsea asks in disgust as she steps forward. “The shortest anyone has been a member of the House of Allaway is twenty-one years. You expect me to just give away loyal subjects?”

Cyrus walks up to her and puts his face within two inches of Chelsea’s. “I expect you to obey your King,” he breathes low and dark. “For if you do not, you know what the punishment is.”

The way her face blanches tells me she does indeed.

But I’m not certain what the punishment is. A swift, quick death by stake or beheading? Or a trip to Roter Himmel for a trial and then death?

Either does not end well for her.

“Do as he says, sister,” Charles says as he places a hand on her shoulder. “We will let them volunteer and then go from there.”

Chelsea continues to stare at Cyrus in disbelief. Her eyes are wide, fearful, angry. She doesn’t say a word—only takes one step back away from the King.

“Wonderful,” Cyrus says, annoyance front and center in his voice. “Now.” He straightens, looking around to those who surround us. They grow thicker by the moment as everyone gathers to the ballroom. “Those of the House of Vermont who would like to volunteer to trade to the House of Conrath, please step forward now, or forever hold your peace.”

The crowd shifts and a moment later, an older woman and a severe-looking man step forward. “I volunteer,” he says. He stares me down with dark eyes.

“I’m willing,” the woman says. Her voice is timid, unsure.

“Any others?” Cyrus asks.

And there’s a little scuffle. Arms shoving, someone nearly tripping. A young woman stumbles out into our circle. She looks scared, terrified, and it’s clear that she certainly doesn’t volunteer, but is being volunteered.

“Thank you, my dear,” Cyrus says, taking her hands in his momentarily. “You will not regret this.”

She won’t look him in the eye and shuffles back toward the older woman.

“It appears that is all for our volunteers from the House of Vermont,” Cyrus says. “Now, each of you must choose someone.” He turns back to Chelsea and Charles.

Chelsea still looks shocked. Betrayed. Her eyes shift to the crowd, scanning from one House member to the next. Charles on the other hand, points into the crowd to a young girl who looks younger than Elle. “Francesca.”

The girl swallows hard and walks forward to join her group. My new group.

“Lexington,” Chelsea finally responds.

“Are you serious?” A man from the back of the room yells out, and all eyes turn back toward him.

He’s young, probably around my age, with blond hair and vivid blue eyes. And he looks totally betrayed.

“Do not question your regent or your new one may question your ability for loyalty,” Cyrus says in warning. “Please, come.”

The look Lexington gives Chelsea as he walks past her is almost enough to kill. He stands before them all. I can feel the hatred rolling off of him.

“Now,” Cyrus says, clasping his hands behind him once again. “As to the members of the House of Conrath.”

The crowd shifts, the tension in the air doubling. This is so unexpected. So brutal in a non-violent way. I understand the difficulty in building a House and gaining loyalty. And now, the King is just going to toy with it like it is nothing at all.

“Do we have any volunteers?” he asks with a smile.

I turn, scanning the crowd, suddenly scared to death that someone will step forward. That it will be Markov or Nial or any of my original members. That all of my new members will step forward at once, ready to abandon me before they know me.

But not a single Born moves.

“Ah,” Cyrus says with an amused smile. “Interesting. See, Alivia here has only had most of these House members for a few days. They come from all parts of the South, gathered here to be members of a new House of order. They’ve been given a choice. And yet, each of them chooses to stay.”

I look around, into the faces of those new members that surround me. And I see it on their faces. Some of them do look at me as if they think I’m someone worthy of following. But others, I am just one of two great evils. No better than the other choice. Perhaps I am only the one that is closer to home.

“Now to shake things up a little.”

And the coldness in Cyrus’ voice when he says it, it makes the breath still in my chest, turning to frost that freezes my entire body over. I turn to see the look on his face. His eyes have gone hard and manic. The gleam in his eyes makes me afraid.

“Some of you in the House of Conrath may look at Alivia and think she is inexperienced. She is uneducated. She has no idea what is to come in what it will take to control her region.” Cyrus turns his gaze upon me and my hands break out into a cold sweat.

He’s caught me. He’s caught onto my game. And now, he’s turning on me.

“And you’d be right.”

The room grows silent and I swear the temperature drops fifty degrees. We are all a strangled breath, caught in a throat out of fear.

He turns back to the crowd. “Those of the House of Conrath, besides those newly acquired trades, please step forward.”

The fear in the room does not decrease as bodies shuffle. Some scooting back, others fighting their way forward. One by one, my House members walk to the front. Anna. Nial. Markov. Danny. Lillian, Cameron, Samuel. New faces I hardly recognize yet. Trinity. Christian.

“I would like to offer you a once in a lifetime opportunity,” Cyrus says. The smile stays present on his lips, entertained, so happy at his diabolical games. He once more paces before his prey. “You can stay with this infant of a Royal. You can live out your menial lives here in this backwater swampland. Or you may join me—in Court. And I will give you the opportunity to earn yourself the title of a Royal. You need only to step forward. You have thirty seconds to decide.”

Gasps rise up into the air. Low murmurs roll through the room like a slow tidal wave.

I feel cold. Numb.

Cyrus has two faces.

I must never forget that.

He’s just invited my own House to abandon me and join him in Roter Himmel.

My eyes flash to my House, and I cannot hide the panic on my face. My eyes first meet Nial’s. He stares at me, thin lipped, a look of fear and disgust warring on his face, and he shakes his head.

Anna does not look toward me. She stares at the King, as if to dare him to try harder to get her to leave her position.

Samuel’s eyes are glued on Christian, as if he’s just waiting for Christian to step forward and leave once again. But Christian meets my eyes, and he nods, as if to reaffirm everything he said before the party.

Cameron meets my eyes and shakes his head. “Not a chance,” he says, without a waver in his voice as it cuts through the silence.

And as he says it, the tattooed man Samuel brought steps forward. His eyes are fixed on Cyrus, his shoulders squared. “I’d like to be given that chance.”

A woman with hair down to her butt steps forward, as well.

My heart starts racing. How many will come forward? There’s fifteen seconds left, and to a vampire, that’s an eternity for something to happen.

“Bad idea.” Danny’s gravel voice cuts through the quiet. I look over at him and see him shake his head, his long hair falling into his face. His arms, which were folded across his chest, slide to his sides and his fingers roll into loose fists, as if he’s preparing for a fight.

“Ten seconds,” Cyrus says, the smile twitching on his lips again. “The time to decide is now.”

A low chatter cuts through the crowd. All eyes flicker to the twin girls X recruited. They argue, and it’s clear: one wants to join Cyrus, the other isn’t so sure.

But after only another moment of debate, they both step forward.

Another small movement draws my eye to the right. Trinity stands there, her eyes fixed on the floor between Cyrus and I. She teeters on her toes, as if she will take that defining step forward any second now.

“Tick tock,” Cyrus teases her.

“Trinity,” Cameron says. “Don’t do it.”

She wobbles, as if about to step forward. She curls her fingers into fists. And as time ticks down to three seconds, she finally looks up, and settles back onto her feet.

She’s chosen to stay.

“Well, well,” Cyrus says, that smile on his face. “Out of twenty of you, only four have chosen to change sides. Only four of you wish for esteem. For a grander life than the South. Only four of you wish to reach for the status that has been out of your grasp your entire, long lives.”

“Their mistake.” It’s Markov who says it quietly, but without hesitance.

Cyrus looks over his shoulder at Markov. And the ice in my chest grows colder when the smile returns to his face.

“Their mistake indeed,” he agrees. “Only four of you chose to abandon your true calling in life and show your true, traitorous colors.”

Cyrus draws the sword, which has dangled at his side all night seemingly for costume, and with one swift motion, beheads the twins in one sweep. Their heads drop to the ground, their bodies collapsing. Blood sprays over the party. With a twirl, Cyrus embeds the blade in the tattooed man’s chest. The woman with the long hair turns to run, but not before Cyrus throws the blade, embedding it into her back. She drops to the ground, dead.

“Let this be a lesson you all learn today!” Cyrus bellows, causing everyone in the room to flinch. “I am your maker. You exist because of me! Above all else, I value loyalty. We are born into our stations not by accident. If you will not remain loyal to those who will take care of you, you do not deserve to live!”

I reach up and wipe a few drops of blood from my face, where I was sprayed when he took the twins’ heads off. My hands come away covered in red.

Fear blankets the immortals around us. They do not dare speak. They dare not move and draw attention to themselves. They huddle together just a little closer. They are all remembering why it is Cyrus who rules them.

“Ignore the possibility that Alivia may be your resurrected Queen,” he says, his voice dropping back to normal levels. “She is of Royal blood. A descendent of the third son. Those that remain in the House of Conrath, do not soon forget your first loyalty is to this woman. Others may deceive you, they may try to change your minds, but you must never forget. This is her birthright.”

Cyrus suddenly grabs two men from my House, shoving them back into their own, new line. He stalks forward, scanning the faces of those that remain in the Conrath line up. He stares down Christian. Nial who stands beside him. Cyrus grabs the woman beside Nial, and she gives a whimper and a cry as he harshly shoves her into the new line.

Down he moves. He must see the loyalty in Anna’s eyes, and Lillian’s. He moves past them. He stares down Danny. And he grabs two young recruits and places him with the other three.

“Here are your new members, House of Allaway,” Cyrus says, holding his hands in their direction. “Take them and get the hell out.”

No one says anything for a moment, too stunned at everything that has happened to move.

“I said get out!” he bellows, spit flying through the air.

And suddenly, everyone springs to life. They disappear out the door. The five chosen to leave shuffle toward Chelsea and Charles, as though unsure if they are actually supposed to depart.

One by one, the extra bodies leave. They take their human snacks with them.

The House feels less crowded.

But all the more dangerous.

“It’s been one hell of a party,” Cyrus says. And he’s got anger in his eyes, his shoulders are tense. His body seems ready to snap at any moment. He crosses to me, and I have to make a very physical effort not to flinch away when he takes my hand. “I hope you all get some rest. Goodnight.”

Without another word, Cyrus leads us through the remaining bodies. And suddenly I am terrified at this game I’ve started. Because I cannot end it without evoking his wrath. And I do not know if I will survive it.

“ALIVA?”

It’s Anna’s voice that cuts through the door the following night. I climb out of the bed where I’m pretty sure Cyrus is pretending to sleep. My feet carefully pad over the floor, and I open the door soundlessly.

“Yes?” I say quietly. Though it’s completely pointless.

“You should get dressed,” she says. There’s urgency in her voice. “There’s something you need to see.”

I don’t ask for explanation. I only cross back into the room, dress myself in two seconds, and walk back out, side by side with my General.

She leads me through the hall and down the stairs. The dim evening glow is barely holding on to the day as we open the front doors. For a moment, my eyes sear in pain. I throw my hand in front of my eyes, blocking out the dim light.

And the moment my eyes adjust, they take in the blood at my feet. A thick, obvious trail of it leads away from my front door, down the drive.

“How far does it go?” I ask as I step out into the snow.

“You just need to see it,” Anna says with horror in her voice.

Together, we walk down the drive. Over the landscape. To the front gates, following the trail of blood. When we turn onto the road that leads to Main Street, we’re greeted with greater, larger splashes of blood. When we reach the T, I spot the first limb.

An arm pokes out of the snow, the hand down and buried, the severed stump poking out in the air for all to see. Blood saturates the snow around it. The bloody stump has been frozen over completely, the skin crystallizing and turning black.

The chill sinks into my bones as we continue walking. There’s a foot on the side of the road. A trunk without a single limb lies in the middle of the snow packed street.

A head lies just beyond that. I slowly approach, feeling all the blood in my body drain to my feet and disappear somewhere entirely.

A mass of red hair spills out to the side of the head. Using the toe of my boot, I push it to the side, turning it so the face comes into view.

Except the face has been smashed in, beaten, so badly battered it is unrecognizable. But the hair marks her clearly: Chelsea.

I swallow hard, backing away slowly.

My eyes turn to the road that leads out of town.

All along the way there are severed limbs. More heads. Blood. So, so much blood.

My enhanced brain and senses start matching up the bodies, the severed limbs. The heads. There are at least ten dismembered vampires lying around the streets of Silent Bend.

“Who would do this?” I ask in horror. I back further up, wanting to wash the horrific scene from my memory forever. To pour acid in my ear and burn the images away.

“Look at this,” Anna says. She crosses over to a snow drift with a head lying in a halo of red. To my disgust, she picks it up by the hair. And I see it.

The brand of the snake eating its own tail. The flesh around the wound, though frozen, is red and pealing. It’s fresh. It’s burned into the poor woman’s forehead.

“They’re back,” I breathe. I cross to the next nearest head I can find. I roll it over. Sure enough, there’s a snake brand there, too.

“I don’t think they ever left,” Anna says as she tosses the head back into the snow. “I think they’ve been watching us the whole time. They waited until the House of Allaway was leaving, unsuspecting.”

I shake my head, my stomach rolling. “They only came with fifteen members. That means only five of them survived the attack.”

“And there’s no human blood here,” Anna says as she surveys the deadly scene. “We’d smell it. Alivia, I think they took Allaway’s feeders and, considering everything this army is, we have to assume they turned them.”

“Shit,” I breathe. My hands go to my hips and I turn in a circle, surveying our surroundings, searching for spying eyes.

“I think you need to get back to the House and make some phone calls, Alivia.”

Anna and I whip around, the both of us instantly producing weapons.

But it’s Danny we turn to find. He surveys the mass murder scene. And the look on his face says that he knows this is horrific, but he also doesn’t look scared or shocked. “You two get back. I’ll clean up the evidence. Can’t have people seein’ this.”

“You sure you can handle it?” Anna asks.

“Yeah,” he says as he steps forward. He grabs an arm, and then a leg, and throws them in the middle of the road to begin a pile. He takes a lighter from his pocket and lights some unidentifiable item of clothing.

“Thank you,” I say, swallowing the bile in my throat. “I really appreciate this.”

He grunts in acknowledgement and throws one of the heads into the flames.

Anna and I walk back through the front doors just moments later. “Rath?” I say loudly into the dark house.

A few moments later, he walks out from the direction of the kitchen. “Yes, Alivia.”

“There’s been a horrible attack,” I say, pacing in the foyer. “The House of Allaway…”

“Someone slaughtered them on their way out of town last night,” Anna fills in when I can’t make the words form.

Markov walks down the hall toward us, his hands in his pockets, a look of great concern on his face. “Who?”

“Whoever was making the attacks on Jasmine,” I say. My mind is reeling. There are so many implications over this. So much to be figured out. “They’re making a new move.”

“They killed over half the Allaway House,” Anna says.

And just as she finishes speaking, the phone on the table in the foyer rings. Everyone falls deadly silent. It’s me who takes the first step toward it.

“Hello?” I ask as I raise it to my ear. Were I still human, my hands might have shaken.

“Is this Alivia?” A terrified, angry, shaking voice asks from the other line.

“Yes,” I say, my heart racing. “Charles?”

“Yes, it’s Charles!” he bellows, his voice barely understandable as it shakes with rage. “Can you explain to me what happened last night? We leave your House and are almost immediately attacked by a hoard of Bitten!”

“You’re sure they were Bitten?” I ask as Anna, Rath, and Markov tighten around me, listening in.

“Of course I’m sure!” he hisses. “The yellow eyes are quite unmistakable. They came at us with an army and those glowing red irons. They…” his voice wavers. “They slaughtered our people and all we could do was run.”

“How many of them were there?” Anna asks. She doesn’t have to speak any louder for Charles to hear her.

“At least fifty of them. Maybe more,” he says. He’s begun to calm, his tone confused and hoarse. “They ambushed us. Took us completely unsuspecting.”

“Where are you now?” I ask. “Are you safe?”

“The rest of us ran as fast as we could,” Charles says, the fear he must have experienced creeping back into his tone. “We got to our vehicles outside of town and drove the rest of the day. We’re at a hotel in Virginia right now.”

I nod, looking around to those around me. “Good. Keep going. Don’t look back. I don’t think they’ll come after you again. It’s us here they want.”

“You’d better get your shit straight, Lady Conrath,” he spits my name. “Your region is a bloody disaster and a shame to our kind. And now, my sister is dead because of you!”

The line goes dead.

I hold the phone away from my ear, just staring at it for a long time.

“It’s an official declaration,” Anna says. Slowly, I turn to face her. “Remember how we talked about a Civil War coming? This is the first battle.”

“You have to stop this,” Markov says, his expression growing dark. “As leader and regent, it is your job.”

I nod, fighting off the overwhelmed feeling trying to claw its way up my throat. I take one deep breath. Two.

“Okay,” I say, gathering myself. An eerily calm manner takes me over. I remember that I am a leader. I remind myself that I am a Royal. “Anna, I want you to go to the Institute and gather the others. Bring them here and I’ll give orders.”

“Yes, your highness.” And it’s the first time ever someone has said it to me. The first time it’s felt right, because I’ve just given my first order as regent in a time of war.

She’s gone in an instant.

“Gather the others into the ballroom,” I tell Markov. He gives a nod before walking back down the hall. “Rath, I need a map of town.”

Rath gives me a slight bow before he walks away. And the motion feels completely wrong coming from him.

I wait in the ballroom, pacing back and forth. It’s Cyrus who first walks in, and in his hand is my crown. “It should most certainly be worn when giving your first command as a regent.” He offers an approving smile as he places it on my head.

“I am sorry this happened the night of your party and in my region,” I say sincerely.

“Oh, my dear,” Cyrus says with a slightly condescending smile. “Do you think you are the only area with insurrection and war? There is a reason we do not have a larger population. We have a tendency of killing each other off.”

Raheem walks into the ballroom, and when I meet his gaze, there’s distance in his eyes.

“As my most accomplished spy, I would have expected you to catch such an event as this,” Cyrus chides. And his tone grows colder with each word.

“My mission here in Silent Bend has been accomplished,” he says, not intimidated by the King in the least. I remember him saying that he was too valuable to the King for him to be disposed of. I wonder what secrets he possesses to hold the guarantee of his position. “You never gave another assignment.”

“Fair enough,” Cyrus concedes as others begin flocking into the ballroom.

The front door opens, exposing the now dark night outside, and the others from the Institute flock inside. One by one, they gather around me.

I stand before the crowd, my head held high, my hands clasped behind my back.

“Something unspeakable has happened in our town,” I say as I look out over the seventeen House members and eight Court representatives. “I’m sure you can smell it, if you pay attention. Outside our doors is blood. The blood of our own kind.”

I study the faces, looking for readiness. Will they fight if it comes to that? Do they feel the need to keep our species hidden? Do they see the injustice that has been done in creating this army? Do they recognize the lives that have been lost and the choices that have been taken away?

“Someone has been building an army for some time now,” I say, my voice growing louder. They all watch me quietly, with baited breath. “At first, we thought it was a few isolated incidents. I myself was attacked by what was thought to be a rogue Bitten when I first arrived in Silent Bend. But since then, there have been more and more people that have gone missing in this area. People are being turned. They are being weighted with a Debt they cannot fight.”

I step forward, and the crowd parts around me. I stand at the center of them. “The sad thing is that I saw this coming,” I say, my voice quiet and low. “The Bitten have been slaves. They have been looked down upon as little more than bloodlust accidents. I do believe this is the beginning of a civil war.”

“So, what the hell are you going to do about it?” I turn to see that it is Lexington who’s spoken up. He stares at me with judgmental eyes, and I have to remind myself that he’s only just left the House that was just slaughtered last night. He probably would have been dead, too, had he not been traded.

I walk toward him, holding his gaze. “We’re going to search this town. And if we unearth them, we will end this army.”

Cameron gives out a war cry. It was all for show—I know he’s not going to be the one leading the raid. But it has his intended effect when the rest of them raise their hands into the air and cry out, as well.

“Anna will give you your perimeters,” I call loudly as Rath hands her the map of Silent Bend. “Do as she says. She will not lead you astray.”

And for the next ten minutes, I watch from the back as Anna sections off the town, doling out assignments, areas to search. They will all go out and scour in groups of four. If they find the army, they are not to engage until they’ve received the reinforcements of our entire House.

We’re outnumbered in this. But the Born are stronger, faster, more coordinated, and none of us are hindered by a Debt.

“Well done,” Cyrus compliments me as the last group leaves. “Your first case of insurrection and you handled it like a much more experienced leader.”

“Thanks,” I say absentmindedly. I walk through the ballroom, out onto the front porch. I lean on one of the great pillars, looking out into the dark night.

A pillar of smoke rises into the air out toward town, and I make out the faint scent of burning flesh and hair.

I pull my cell phone from my pocket and dial.

“What is that smell?” the voice answers, annoyed.

“You don’t want to know,” I tell Luke. “More bad things happened. The town still isn’t safe. How are things looking from your end?”

The sheriff sighs, and I hear him stand and boots click over a hardwood floor. “I’ve been patrolling the borders of town. People have been trying to come back and it’s no shock. This has been going on for three weeks.”

“What are you telling them to keep them out?” Anxiety hitches up in my chest at the thought of more innocent victims coming into this bloody town.

“That some sewer pipes froze, burst, and contaminated the water supply,” Luke says. I can just imagine him looking out his window at the mess of weather outside. “They all think the whole town is toxic right now.”

“The town is toxic,” I say under my breath.

“How long is this going to go on for, Alivia?” He sounds tired, sick of what has been going on. “This is ruining people’s lives. Things have to move on, life has to move on.”

I shake my head, even though he can’t see it. “I don’t know. But I have a feeling things are going to get worse before they get better.”

“How could they possibly get worse?” he asks in disbelief.

I explain to him what’s been happening. The bodies. The snake brands. The numbers Charles told me about.

“I told you the number of missing person’s cases in the area has skyrocketed,” Luke says.

“They all have a Debt to a master that is awfully careful.” I pace on the porch. I want to fight. I want to do something about this.

“This isn’t going to end well for anyone, is it?” he asks.

“I’m trying.” The words come out harsher than I intend. But I feel desperate.

“Just get that King out of here,” Luke says. “That’s a start.”

And he hangs up.

Get the King out of here. It is a start. One I have control over.

We need to finish the last part of his game. And then, I can reveal the truth. That I’m not his wife. And he can leave.

It’s a start.

“I DON’T GET IT,” ANNA says as she throws her hands up in exasperation. “It’s like they just disappear without a trace. There’s not a single sign of them around Silent Bend.”

I study the map on the desk in the office, rubbing two fingers over my lips. The twelve squares of the grid she made are all covered in red Xs. In their groups of four, they trickled back to the House as the sun began to rise. All gave reports. They’ve found nothing. No clues. Not a trace of the Bitten army.

“They must not be staying in town,” I say as I sink into the chair at the desk. “It’s the only solution that makes sense.”

“That doesn’t help us, either,” Anna says.

“They could be staying anywhere,” Raheem fills in. I look up to meet his eyes. He’s focused once more. Raheem is an elite spy, a man of plots and secrets. This is his element, and I’m glad to see him able to focus on something else again.

“Exactly,” Anna continues. “They disappear for weeks at a time. They could be traveling in from Montana for all we know.”

“Nah,” Danny says, shaking his head. “They’re watchin’ what’s going on. They planned that attack. If they aren’t keepin’ the whole army close by, they’ve at least got spies around, watchin’ us.”

“I can’t believe we’re having this problem with Bitten,” Samuel says in disgust. “They never have any idea what they’re doing. They’re idiots.”

“Excuse me,” Danielle calls out in offense from the foyer as she passes by. She walks up to the doorway, her eyes instantly glowing yellow in anger. “You Born may be stronger and more manipulative than us, but don’t forget we’re still people. And we’re at least not walking corpses.”

“You will watch your tongue,” I tell her coldly, and she immediately closes her mouth. “Please,” I say, turning to those around me. “You should show some respect. It’s not like those Bitten have any choice in the matter.”

“If you want me feeling sorry for the Bitten, that isn’t going to happen,” Samuel says with the shake of his head. He turns from the desk and collapses into a nearby chair.

“Then, you can leave,” I say coldly. He meets my eyes with surprise at my harshness. His brows furrow as if to test and see if I’m being serious. And when I say no more, he gets up, and walks out.

I wish Nial were here. He’s always been good at keeping me calm and even—something I’m losing a hold on lately. But he’s at work at the hospital. I hate that he has to continue working there, but we need the blood with such a full House.

“I don’t know that there is any more we can do at this point,” I say, my eyes once again studying the map. “They will attack again; I think we can be sure about that. But we will be more vigilant.”

“I’ll have three guards out at all times, patrolling town and the grounds,” Anna says, slipping instantly back into General mode.

“I volunteer for day watch,” Danny says. He pulls his goggles out from his vest pocket. I wonder how often he leaves the Institute during the day, like he requested I not ask about. I wouldn’t know since I’m not often there. “I think Bridget will go with me.” The older woman who volunteered to come to our House.

“Take Trinity with you, too,” Anna says. “She needs to keep herself busy and useful.”

Danny nods and slips out of the library without a word.

“I’ll get working on the other shift schedules,” Anna says. She gathers the map into her arms and heads out. “Come on,” she says as she passes Danielle. “Come help me and make yourself worthwhile.”

She peels away from the wall and follows after Anna.

Leaving Raheem and I alone.

It’s the first time we’ve had a few moments alone in weeks. And I find myself afraid to meet his eyes.

“This will end in war,” he says quietly from behind me.

“I know that,” I respond. Gathering my courage, I stand, turn, and lean against the desk, finally facing him.

He stands beside the fireplace, the flames casting shadows on his form. He wears a tan tunic and a keffiyeh that’s red with geometric black patterns. His expression is long, serious. Those dark eyes dance as they stare at me.

“You know it’s all an act, right?” I say quietly. I stand, crossing my arms over my chest.

“You are a pretty damn good actress,” he says. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you really might be the Queen and that you really might have feelings for the King. You sure put on a convincing show.”

“But you do know better, right?” I ask as I take two steps toward Raheem.

We’re toeing that dangerous line once more. So many beings with enhanced hearing inhabit this house, but most are asleep. Cyrus and X have retired to a vacant house to work on running the world. That doesn’t stop just because he’s investigating me.

There’s little to no one around to overhear us. But it’s still incredibly dangerous.

“I don’t know,” he says. His body language is screaming guarded. The tense shoulders. The wary expression. “Do I?”

“You should,” I say as I take another step toward him. The distance between us closes and I feel the electricity in the air spark. “We all have our roles to play in this game. But it’s just a role. Not the truth.”

“And what is the truth, Alivia?” he asks as I stop just a foot away from him.

“That you make me feel alive again,” I say, my voice growing more and more quiet. I reach up and grab a fistful of his tunic and pull him closer to me. “That there’s something electric between us. And that doesn’t go away when you’re not around.”

I feel his breath on my chest, and my eyes drop to study the strong arms he possesses, the wide chest. My curiosity burns inside of me, like a wild animal searching for a desperate meal.

“Is it me you think about when the King touches you?” he whispers as he leans in, his lips brushing my ear. “Do you dream of deserts and caves when you sleep? Do you long for sand and pyramids?”

My eyes slide closed as his lips move down to my neck. I let my head fall back, exposing more flesh for him. His hands wrap around my back, pulling my body to his.

“Yes,” I breathe without fully comprehending his question.

And I’m left breathless for just a second as Raheem disappears. The doors snap closed and the lock slides into place. We’re alone, no longer exposed for anyone who may wander by.

Suddenly, my back is pressed against a bookshelf as Raheem molds against my body. He holds my hands high above my head, his face just a breath from mine.

“Were you not a regent, I would take you somewhere far away,” he says as his eyes study mine. “Somewhere remote and beautiful and warm. Just the two of us.”

The breath hitches in my throat and I feel everything surging inside of me. Wanting to get closer, so much closer. Wanting more. Being terrified, because this is so much, too soon, so dangerous, so the wrong-

I shut that thought down before it can fully form.

I can’t go there.

I’ve let that go.

“Kiss me,” I beg him, because I find I cannot close that tiny gap between the two of us.

A wicked grin curls on his face just before he crushes his lips to mine. They’re urgent. Hungry. His lips are forceful with mine, taking them as they will. A sigh works its way between my lips and his tongue finds mine.

He releases my hands and suddenly hoists me off the ground. He presses me into the bookcase harder, digging his hips into mine.

All my previous fears about being with a man no longer apply. All my reasons for caution are gone.

There’s nothing to stop me. And oh, how my body doesn’t want to stop.

But there’s that voice in the back of my head. Telling me things I wish to put behind me. Bringing up faces that have forsaken me.

“How can this ever end?” Raheem breathes as his lips trail my jawline before finding their way to the hollow beneath my ear. “What do we think we are doing?”

“Why does there have to be thought and evaluation behind it?” I ask. Before I’ve realized what I’m doing, I’ve pulled his tunic up and over his head, dislodging his keffiyeh.

And I can only stare at Raheem in wonder.

I’ve never seen him without some kind of head covering. Beneath it is dark, incredibly thick, close-cropped hair. Somehow, he looks even more dangerous, exposed like this.

And his body.

Tattoos run over his flesh in every direction. Some kind of script runs down his side from beneath his arm, down into his pants. An Egyptian eye — the Eye of Horus — covers his left breast, over his heart. A mass of tiny black lines run down his right arm. There has to be hundreds of little marks.

Beneath that ink is an astonishing body.

Every muscle in Raheem’s body is defined. Toned. Built for action and war. And war is indeed present on his body. Scars dot his flesh here and there. A thin, wide, white mark on his lower abdomen. A burn mark on his left shoulder. Several small white pebbles of scar tissue spread over his right arm and the same side.

Raheem has seen more than a few fights.

“You’re beautiful,” I say, running a hand down his chest as I study everything. And he lets me take him in with reverence. Both hands run back up, sliding over his cheeks, up to his head. It’s at that length that leaves his hair fuzzy and soft. An appreciative smile crosses my lips.

Gently, slowly, I let my hands slide down once more, until they lace behind his neck.

“No woman has seen me…like this, in some time,” he says. A red glow burns gently in the back of his eyes as he studies me.

“Thank you,” I breathe. “Thank you for allowing me to see the real you, Raheem.”

He offers me a smile, but there’s something sad about it. He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear and presses one last, gentle kiss to my lips. Slowly, he lets me back down to the ground, though he does not move away from me.

“What is this, Alivia?” he asks as he brings his hands up to the sides of my face. “What are we? What are we doing?”

I shake my head, but I don’t have a response right away. “What do you mean?” I ask, because I’m too afraid to analyze it myself.

“I mean that I watched you almost the entire time you have been in Silent Bend,” he says, and there’s a hint of pain in his voice when he says it. “I’ve seen you with someone else. Someone you were willing to give up your life for. And we…  I am not foolish enough to believe we are that.”

“You’ve confessed to having relationships with many women, Raheem,” I counter, and my voice grows more serious. “You should know not to make comparisons.”

“Yet through those relationships, I’ve learned much,” he says, and then he does take a step away from me. “I’ve learned to recognize a rebound. And it’s not a privileged position to be in, my nofret.”

I want to tell him he’s wrong. That that isn’t what this is. That I’m a deep person capable of deep feelings and being genuine.

But I can’t.

Because I’m not that kind of person any more.

“It’s okay,” he says, nodding his head, even though it looks like it causes him pain to concede like this. “I understand. Let’s just let this be what it is. It’s not love. It’s just…need.”

Just need.

And there, he’s nailed it directly on the head.

“I’m sorry,” I say, my eyes wide, and I shake my head. “I am what I am.”

“And that’s all that I ask for,” Raheem breathes as he takes a step forward. He brings one hand to my face, and presses a gentle kiss to my lips. It only lasts for a moment, before he breaks away. He bends, retrieves his clothing. Holding my eyes, he dresses once more, covering his head again. And in his eyes, I see that he means it. He only asks for the real me. And he accepts this for what it is at face value.

But I also see a skiff of pain there. The desire for more.

And he knows I cannot give it to him.

“’Til we meet again,” he says, flashing me that wicked smile, the sexy, carefree façade back on, as he backs toward the doors. And then he’s gone.

“YOU SAID THE GAMES WOULD be in three parts,” I say to Cyrus as he sits in the grand chair in my father’s office. “What’s the third part?”

I walk around in front of the chair and stop in front of Cyrus. He sets his bourbon aside and sits forward, taking my hands in his. His deep eyes search mine, as if trying to pull Sevan out through them and into remembrance.

It’s been three full weeks. Surely, he is beginning to realize that she isn’t coming.

“Are you so anxious to see this come to an end?” he asks. A lick of cold slides slowly up my spine. “Why the hurry?”

“Because my House will be on edge until it is over,” I answer him quickly. I rehearsed the response before I came and asked the question. “You make them nervous.”

“I do, don’t I?” he says with the masochist smile. It brings him great joy that he can evoke so much fear.

“You’ve given them much reason to fear and respect you,” I say, smiling. I consider sliding into his lap for a moment, but the time for that game is past. I need the King to leave. He needs to finish his game, and once he does, I will tell him that I know I am not Sevan. Then, he will leave.

So, I can’t toy with him any longer.

“Fear is a strong motivator,” he says as he swings my hands back and forth just once. And I know his hope must be diminishing when the lust does not gather in his eyes. “Fear deepens loyalty. I think you’ve already learned this.”

I have. I used it once when I made Samuel feed off of me until he nearly killed me when he messed up with a human woman. And I’ve used it multiple times since.

I nod.

“You want to get the games over with, you say,” Cyrus says as he lets my hands go and stands from the chair. “Then, let’s wrap this up tonight. We’ll finish at midnight.”

“Great,” I say with a little smile. “Is there anything I can do to help prepare?”

He offers another smile, and I know I’ve made a mistake when I see the look in his eyes. “Oh no, my dear. I will take care of everything.”

“AND YOU HAVE NO IDEA what he’s got planned?” Samuel asks as I fire the arrow into the target across the ballroom. It hits dead center of the bull’s eye.

“Nope,” I reply as I take the next arrow Danny offers me. “But you can be sure it will be bloody.”

“Seems to be his favorite kind of sport,” Danny observes.

“He knew my dad wasn’t going to survive that game,” Samuel says, shaking his head. “He just wanted someone to bleed.”

“Keep it down,” I whisper as I fire another shot. “You don’t need to go pissing him off. Unless you want it to be your blood he sheds tonight.”

Samuel grunts something, but our conversation is cut off when the front doors burst open.

Anna throws a man to the ground in the foyer, quickly followed by Lexington with his own prisoner. He walks her forward with a stake pressed to her back.

Because their eyes glow bright yellow, their fangs exposed, their expressions livid and ready for a fight.

“They were at the fence line. They set off the flood lights,” Anna says, pressing her booted foot into the man’s chest. He hisses at her. Anna whips out a blade and nails his wrist to the floor. Blood seeps out as he rages in a howl. “They were spying.”

I dart to the foyer, followed immediately by Danny and Samuel. I walk up to the woman, because she’s not incoherent with pain. Her eyes burn into mine—in defiance, in hatred. And there, branded into the back of her hand, is the snake eating its own tail.

“Who are you working for?” I ask, not looking intimidated one bit. “Who created you?”

The woman cackles in a laugh, throwing her head back. She goes on and on like a mad woman, totally out of her mind. Finally, she takes a gasping breath, once again looking down to me. “You think I would tell you, even if I could tell you?”

So, she’s been commanded not to reveal her sire’s identity. She literally cannot tell me.

“Who’s your main target?” I ask, taking a step toward her, entering her personal space. “Is it me? The King? All of us?”

“You know the twenty questions is pointless.” I turn to find Danielle join our growing crowd. “They can’t tell you anything.”

“Then, what good are they?” Lexington says, and one second later, he drives the stake into the woman’s heart. He lets her body collapse to the ground in a heap, and her skin grows ashen.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Anna growls at him. “That was not your call to make.”

“She obviously wasn’t going to have any useful information, so what good was the waste of breath?” he asks, clearly annoyed. He turns and stalks back out the door. “You’re welcome for the help, by the way.” He flips us all the bird before he slams the front door closed behind him.

“Hot head,” Anna says, shaking her head.

Danielle shifts beside me and I turn to see the horrified look on her face. She studies the Bitten woman, now dead, with fear and moisture pooling in her eyes. She shakes her head. Her gaze darts up to Anna and I. Once more, she shakes her head in disbelief before she stalks down the hall.

“I wouldn’t have preferred Lex do it that way,” Anna says as she pulls another blade. She drives it through the man’s chest and he immediately goes still. “But he was right. They’re useless if they don’t tell us anything. They’re only a threat if we let them live.”

“Just…clean up the mess,” I say as I walk away.

THE CLOCK TICKS DOWN. AT ten o’clock, Rath declares dinner served. I still have no idea who’s cooking the food. We eat, conversations naturally flowing around the table. Now that the House and Court members have had three weeks to get to know each other, it is no longer silent. Nial laughs with Serge. Lillian and Morticia chat. Even Cameron is getting Sebastian to crack a smile.

Eleven o’clock.

Eleven thirty.

At twenty minutes to midnight, everyone begins drifting away from the table. Rath begins clearing the dishes. My heart starts to race.

“You look nervous, my dear,” Cyrus whispers in my ear as we stand from the table. I look back to see the expected smile on his lips.

“Just anticipation,” I respond with my own attempt.

“Turn around,” he says. I’m nervous with trepidation at his request, but I do it. I spin, turning my back on Cyrus. He drapes a piece of cloth in front of me, and my heart races all the faster as he ties it around my eyes, blindfolding me. “Do not worry.”

But I do. Because there is always cause to worry in a game.

“Come,” he instructs. He takes my hand in his and very carefully leads me into the ballroom. And I realize just how enhanced my senses are. I hear the echo every sound makes, can sense objects in the way. It’s incredible, being able to see without eyes. Not details, but shapes and distances.

“Sit,” he says as he leads me to a chair, set directly over my father’s crest. “Just wait here for a few minutes and we’ll begin soon.”

I listen as people shuffle around. More and more Court and House members fill the ballroom. Whispers float around, everyone wondering at the contents of this last and final game.

Suddenly, there’s a choked off yelp and I flinch. Shouts and angry voices. I reach up to remove my blindfold, but there’s a soft, fragile feeling hand stopping me.

“Don’t,” they say. X.

“What’s going on?” I demand, though I don’t try to remove the blindfold.

“Just be patient,” she says and I hate her more than I ever have before. “You will see in just a few moments.”

There’s a bang, the sound of a foot connecting hard with the front door and more scuffling. A muffled yell works its way to my ears. There’s the scraping sound of two chairs being dragged against the marble floor and I hear two bodies shoved into them.

More yelling. More chaos.

“Silence!”

Cyrus’ command is deafening among all the noise. My ears ring and the ballroom falls silent. The air quakes with his intensity.

“Much better,” Cyrus says, clearly annoyed. His booted feet tap across the marble, walking toward me. His hand grabs mine, and he places something cold and hard in my hand. It has weight to it. A sharp edge.

A knife.

“This game is for you, my dear Alivia,” Cyrus says. I hear him walk behind my chair, and he places his hands on the high back of it. “This is a game of judgment and quick decisions. You must make a choice and you have ten seconds to make it. In war and leadership, we don’t often get time to make decisions. We must listen to our instincts.”

His hands slide over the back of the chair, back and forth, in gleeful anticipation.

“And make a decision you must,” he says, his voice growing chilly and low. “For if you don’t, they both will die, anyway.”

My blindfold is suddenly yanked away. I blink twice, clearing the light from my eyes. And sitting before me, bound to chairs, duct tape over their mouths, are Trinity and Sheriff Luke McCoy.

“One of these two has betrayed you,” Cyrus says. “They’ve posed a devastating threat to your House. You must kill someone and you have ten seconds to decide who. Starting…” he walks around to the side of me, holding a digital timer in his hands, with big, bold numbers for all to see. It is set to ten seconds. His finger hovers over the start button. “Now.”

Cries and shouts rise up into the air, so much noise telling me who the most likely traitor is.

But I tone them all out. I study their faces. Luke. Who has done so much to protect Silent Bend. Who has helped me with everything I’ve asked. But who has made it very clear that things were so much better before I showed up in town.

Trinity. She’s shown an obvious hatred for me since day one. She chose to side with Jasmine until the very last second. She only came to my House when there was no other option. Yet, she watched firsthand the punishment for betraying me when Cyrus killed Micah and Jasmine.

A sweat breaks out on my hands.

Which one?

I have to kill someone or they both die.

Who betrayed me?

The sheriff? Trinity?

The shouts grow louder and more panicked. I glance over at the timer and see I have two seconds left.

And in that moment of pressure, in that moment of panic and life and death stakes, I have a perfect moment of clarity.

It is not the right decision. Because I realize there is no correct decision.

There is only the one I have to live with.

The blade flies from my hands.

And embeds itself in Danielle’s chest.

A choked off gasp cuts from her throat. Her eyes grow wide as she falls backwards. Her head bounces off the marble when she hits the ground. Blood instantly seeps from the wound, saturating her shirt. The pink in her skin leeches away and the grey of death claims her flesh.

Not a sound is heard in the ballroom as all eyes shift from Danielle’s dead body, to me.

But I feel one weighty set of eyes on me, and turn to meet the gaze of the King.

“Neither of them betrayed me,” I say, calm and low. “You said this was a test in snap judgment and decisions. It was neither of them, but you said someone had to die. It didn’t have to be one of the two of them.”

And slowly, one tiny muscle movement at a time, the smile curls on Cyrus’ face. “That is correct.”

And everyone goes crazy. Shouts. Cries. Words of congratulations and encouragement.

But there’s a little piece of my heart that dies.

Because I just killed an innocent girl. A girl whose only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time when I couldn’t control my thirst.

“Members of the Court!” Cyrus suddenly bellows. “Pack your bags, for tomorrow night, we depart!”

This causes all the more stir. Sevan’s name is thrown into the air. There is so much confusion—so many questions left unanswered.

“I will talk to you in an hour, my dear,” Cyrus says, leaning in close, his hand on the small of my back. He presses the lightest of kisses to my cheek before walking away.

I feel numb. So very cold. I walk forward, not hearing a word from the crowd that fills the ballroom. I walk around Danielle, feeling my stomach roll. I walk toward the hall. And all the blood in my body pools to my feet when I see Rath, standing in the entryway, and the look on his face tells me he watched everything.

“I’d like a moment, Alivia,” he says.

I don’t want to go. I can’t face him after what I just did.

But I also cannot run away.

So, I follow him into the library. He closes the doors behind us, blocking out most of the noise.

I swallow once as I sit. And it takes every ounce of strength I have to look him in the eye.

“I’m leaving, Alivia,” Rath says. “I’ve served the Conrath family for all these years because of not just what they stand for, but what they did in action. Death and violence are things I left far, far in my past. And I do not wish to accept it back into my life. I cannot return to it. This is my official letter of resignation.” He does indeed hold an envelope in his hand. “I’ve already hired someone to take over my duties, someone like…yourself.”

Tears pool in my eyes as I finally look at him. My lip begins to quiver and my insides shake. The most human I’ve felt in a very long time.

“My bags are already packed,” he says. The strain in his voice tells me this isn’t easy on him, either. “I just wanted to say goodbye.”

And it takes everything I have in me when I stand. When I take three, four, five steps across the library to him. My arms feel as if they’re filled with lead and ice as I bring them up to pull Rath into an embrace.

“I’m sorry,” I choke out in a whisper.

But Rath does not offer an “I know,” or any words of comfort. He simply allows me to hold him for a few moments. And then, he pulls away. He offers the smallest of small smiles. He turns for the door, and pulls it open.

“Goodbye, Alivia Ryan.”

And then he’s gone.

“THE KING IS ASKING FOR YOU.”

I don’t look up when Lillian speaks. My eyes remain locked on the portrait of my father. I’m slouched in my chair, my knees tucked up to my chest. I’ve got a blanket pulled up around my shoulders and head. I’m not cold, but I certainly am trying to disappear.

“Alivia?” she asks in concern. I hear her cross the library and she squats beside me, dropping to my level. “There was no right choice to make. You had to do something or he would have killed the Sheriff and Trinity.”

“It’s not just that,” I say in a flat, scratchy voice. I don’t look away from Henry. “Rath just left.”

“I’m sure he’ll be back in a few hours,” she says in confusion over my reaction. “Supply runs don’t normally take too long.”

I shake my head. “You don’t understand,” I manage to get out. “He’s seen the darkness I’ve become. He sees that I am no longer the girl Henry would have called his daughter. He saw me for what I am. And he’s gone.”

Lillian does not say anything and I don’t look away from my father’s serious, deep eyes. Those eyes hold their own secrets. He did things that were dark and vengeful. But he never sank to the level I have.

“You should go to Cyrus,” Lillian says. Her voice is tight. “He seemed rather eager to speak to you.”

I nod, blinking five times fast. I feel as if I should be stiff and moving should be difficult, trying to hold in all these feelings. But my new body betrays me and moves with perfect ease. I climb from the chair, dropping the blanket on the floor. I cross the library without looking at Lillian.

I do not have to ask where Cyrus is. I can sense him. Hear him breathe. Hear the carpet brush beneath his feet. He’s in my bedroom, waiting for me.

The door does not squeak as I open it. Cyrus stands in the middle of the room, hands folded behind his back. The expression on his face when he looks at me is disappointed. I’ve let him down, too.

“I’m not her,” I tell him quietly, shaking my head. Tears threaten to pool in my eyes when there’s a bite at the back of them, but once again, my new body makes that difficult too.

“And you are entirely sure?” he asks, walking forward. He stalks toward me, as if I am prey and he is a lion. Everything in the way he looks at me is different now. No love. No hope. Only disappointment. “You once let on hope. You said things. You made me believe.”

“I know,” I say quietly, with a little nod. I feel eerily calm. The King may well wish to kill me for what I did. But in this moment of self-hatred, I find I do not care. “And I thought maybe. Just maybe. I wished for it for a time. But it didn’t make it true.”

“You let me believe, Alivia!” He suddenly screams the words in my face.

I let my eyes snap closed and wait for the final blow—for my second and last death.

“Hope is an unbearable thing,” he says, this time quieter and under control, though through clenched teeth. “Because every time…every damn time I think this will be the one. Surely, after two hundred seventy-one years, ten months, and six days, surely this will be the one.”

When the blow never comes, I let my eyes slide back open. And there is all the pain I could imagine on his face. There is the death of hope. There is the disappointment. “I’m so sorry,” I breathe out. I am so very sorry for so very many things.

Cyrus studies me, his eyes flicking between mine. He stands like that for a long time. As if to be absolutely sure that there is not something I’m suppressing. Holding back. Something he isn’t missing.

I am absolutely sure. I’ve remembered nothing. I’ve felt nothing.

“I’m not Sevan,” I say, assuring the finality.

“No,” he finally breathes. “You’re not.”

And having confirmed his answer, he steps away from me. He grabs the bag with his things and walks for the door. “I’ll be sleeping in my own room tonight. I shall give you your space. We will depart come nightfall.”

I nod, unable to say anything else. And he walks out, shutting the door behind him.

Numbly, I walk to the window. Light begins to glow on the horizon and I remember that it’s the first of March, but the view outside reveals no hints at spring. Random, uneven bouts of snow still fall from the sky, adding to the nearly three feet of cover. The sky brightens momentarily with a bolt of lightning. The clouds continue their slow swirl, circling our abandoned town.

It’s so grim. So fortune telling of death and unhappiness.

My eyes fall to the small graveyard that is slowly disappearing beneath the snow.

My entire family is in the ground. My uncle. My mother. My father.

Ian left me. Rath abandoned me. Cyrus will depart soon.

And who am I left with?

Falling for the man who would one day be my worst enemy was the most dangerous thing I could have done—and I was constantly surrounded by people who wished to kill me. He made me vulnerable. My feelings for him left me exposed to those who would manipulate and take advantage of me.

Opening my heart to him meant opening the door to losing myself.

I thought I was a good person. I thought I knew right from wrong.

But in this world of secrets and lies and blood, all the lines have blurred. All the circumstances leading to this means to the end are gray.

And I’m not sure who I have become.

IT’S THE SMELL THAT FIRST grabs my attention.

The hours leading up to nightfall are hectic. Crazy. Court members run here and there. Clothing is thrown in every direction. Hanging from the railing, littering the halls, a sock hangs from the Conrath chandelier. Bags are piled by the front door.

I can’t help but think there would not be so much chaos if Rath were here.

While everyone packs and prepares for departure, I catch the scent of something…off.

In the three weeks since the Court members arrived, I’ve grown used to their scents. I know the individuals. But this one. I do not know.

“Do you smell that?” I ask Christian as he passes me in the hall.

He pauses, taking a deep breath. “Smell what?”

I shake my head. “Never mind. You’ve only been here a few days. Markov!”

He looks over his shoulder at me, on his way back to his bedroom. When he sees me, he walks back down.

“Do you smell something…someone that just seems-” I struggle for the right words. “Something just doesn’t belong.”

He too breathes deeply. “I noticed it when I woke, but there’s so many around, I didn’t think too much of it.”

I shake my head, taking another deep breath. I detect the faint trail of the scent. I follow my nose, Christian and Markov following behind me. It starts from the farthest south door in the ballroom. Through to the foyer. Up the stairs. Down the south hall. Back to my bedroom, though it does not enter.

“Someone was checking the whole House,” Christian says, seemingly having caught on to the scent. “Back down the stairs,” he says with a tip of his chin in that direction.

“Have you seen Sebastian getting packed yet?” a woman asks as we head down the stairs. “He’s always holding up the entire party.”

“Haven’t seen him,” Christian offers distractedly. Markov leads us in the direction of the northern hall, on the trail of the scent. It intensifies as we walk past doors.

“They were this way most recently,” Markov says. He pauses beside a door, taking a deep whiff, before moving onto the next one. His eyes instantly flash red. “In here.”

Christian pulls a stake from his pocket, Markov’s hands come up and his fingers curl into claws, ready to strike. Ian’s training from so long ago comes flooding back to me. My knees bend as my muscles flex and prepare. I wish I had a crossbow nearby.

Markov throws the door open and the three of us burst inside.

There is nothing that could have prepared us for what we’d find.

Painted on one wall is a gigantic red cross, a crown roughly painted above it. And nailed to the wall, a nail through his hands, feet, and through the neck, is Sebastian. A giant wooden stake goes through his chest, through his heart, and into the wall.

“Intruder!” Markov bellows.

He tears out of the room, and all hell breaks loose.

“Who would have done this?” I ask in horror.

Blood runs from Sebastian’s chest, saturating his clothing, running down the wall and on to the floor. His head lolls forward, blood spilling from his mouth.

“The blood isn’t flowing anymore,” Christian says as he starts searching the room. “He’s totally gray. He’s been dead for at least two hours. Liv, I don’t smell any exit points.”

“They’re still in the House,” I say in realization.

And no one but me and Rath know just how many places they could be hiding. There are endless secret doors, tunnels, and who knows how many other hidden places I have yet to discover.

A woman lets out a scream as she comes into the bedroom. Her hands fly to her mouth and chest, her face losing all its color.

“What is going on?” X demands from behind her, shoving the woman aside to get into the room. She stops short when she takes it all in.

“Sebastian,” the woman cries. And when I look at her—actually look at her, I realize how very much she looks to have the same translucent skin. The same nose. The same unruly dark hair.

She’s his mother.

I back out of the room, my mind reeling. There’s so much that needs to happen all at once. There’s too much going on.

“Search the House!” Markov bellows, giving the orders I am not. “Find whoever did this!”

Search the House. I can start with that.

The first place I think for someone to hide is the well. I fight my way through the crowd to the south hall and swing back the painting of the women. It takes me a moment to find the right place to press on the wall, but it suddenly pops out toward me. Swinging it open, I peer into the dark.

It’s empty.

My heart drops into my stomach. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.

I close the door, and head further down the hall. I check every painting. Behind every curtain and tapestry. But if there are hidden passageways and rooms, I do not find them.

A tap on the shoulder sends me spinning around.

It’s Samuel. The expression on his face is confused. Betrayed. Hurt. Unsure. “What is this, Alivia?” he asks, his voice hoarse.

My eyes fall to what he holds in his hands.

It’s a long rod of iron, maybe two feet in length. And at the end of it is a not perfect circle. But as I look closer at it, the details slide into place. The tiny scales. The open mouth. The disappearing tail.

The snake brand.

“What is this, Alivia?” Samuel repeats, his voice gaining a hint of franticness. And anger. “What is this, and why was it in your bedroom?”

“What?” I gasp, my eyes flying back to his face. His eyes have hardened. “Samuel, you know what that is, but I do not know where it came from.”

“Alivia, it was in your room,” he hisses as he takes a step forward. I take an equal one back. “I grabbed it before anyone could find it, but…” He sounds desperate, searching for some logical explanation.

“Cyrus!” a voice suddenly bellows from the direction of the library. “You should see this!”

A bucket of ice is dropped into my chest.

I hear the bodies flock toward the library. Hear the gasps of horror. The yells of uproar.

When I break through the crowd, eyes turn on me, cold and questioning.

Serge stands in the middle of the library, Cyrus at his side. Resting in his hands is a branding iron just like the one Samuel holds.

“What is the meaning of this, Alivia?” Cyrus asks. I try to read his expression. To see if he believes that I truly have anything to do with this. Or if he wants to believe my innocence. But his expression is impassive. Blank.

I shake my head as I step forward. Bodies press in more tightly around me. I hear weapons drawn. Curse words mingled with my name. “I don’t know,” I say, but it comes out quiet and strangled. “I swear. I don’t know what is happening. Someone got in the House while we slept and-”

“Stop lying!” a shout leaps into the crowd.

“She’s a Conrath!” another cry cuts through the crowd. “Henry hated the monarchy. She’s carrying it on and trying to kill us!”

“No!” I cry, turning in a circle, trying desperately to convince them. “I would never!”

“Why is this in your home, Alivia?” Cyrus asks, stepping toward me, the iron resting across his hands. “What explanation can you offer?”

I swallow once. And I know. Talking my out of this one is not going to be easy. They’re putting bloody pieces together. They want answers. And the easy solution is right before their eyes.

“Someone is trying to frame me,” I say quietly. I know it’s not going to convince them.

“Ah,” Cyrus says as he walks closer. “A good old conspiracy and set-up. How dramatic.”

I nod. “It’s the truth.”

Cyrus opens his mouth to say something, but I am suddenly shoved aside as someone forces their way forward.

I swear the world slows, and I watch in one frame at a time as a man I do not recognize bursts between the two of us. His arm rises. A stake clasped in his hand.

It swings downward.

And embeds itself in Cyrus’ chest. Right into his heart.

The space explodes into action. A blade instantly buries itself in the attacker’s back. He collapses to the ground, the life draining out of him. I’m grabbed from behind, bound tightly.

But I watch as Cyrus’ eyes grow wide. Watch as he falls backward, as others try to catch his falling body. The crowd swarms around him and he disappears from my sight.

The King. The King is dead.

And the cries and swarming bodies, they tell me they all think I ordered this.

That I’ve been behind everything.

I’m being dragged away, headed for my death. People swarm around me, swarm to the fallen King. My feet drag over the marble floor.

When something utterly impossible happens.

A body rises from the swarm of people. Brilliantly glowing eyes, black veins spread over his entire body. A feral, demonic howl rips from his chest and every eye turns to him.

King Cyrus stands—alive—among the shocked crowd.

Blood leaks out from the stake that is still embedded in his heart. Cyrus wraps a hand around it, and yanks it from his chest. Blood pours from the wound. But we all watch in horror and fascination as the gaping hole in his chest knits itself back together. As the blood stops flowing.

Cyrus breathes hard and deep, that inhuman rattle flowing in and out of his chest. His eyes are wide, chaotic as he scans the crowd. Before they land on me.

Cyrus is alive.

He was staked. In the heart.

But here he is, alive. Standing.

King Cyrus, King and ruler of the vampires, is a true immortal.

A ruler who cannot be killed.

“YES, IT IS TRUE,” CYRUS says. The crowd has stilled, holding baited breath. Every one of us unable to believe what we have just witnessed. “I cannot be killed.”

And the House erupts. Gasps. Cries of disbelief. Fear. Confusion.

For just the briefest of moments, the attention has turned away from me.

The implications of what this truly means is terrifying. Cyrus is demented. Cruel. Cold and blood obsessed. For thousands of years, he’s ruled his kind. He’s kept us secret. He’s taken care of us. But what if the tables flip? What about that time when society falls, and he rises, like he said, and the only way to protect the world is to kill him? And he can’t be killed?

The cacophony is deafening.

“So, the King cannot be killed!” Godrick bellows over the crowd. “Is it really so surprising? The problem at hand is that this woman ordered his execution!”

My heart drops out from the bottom of my feet. “No!” I scream. “I swear, I didn’t!”

Shouts. Screams. Demands for answers. Calls for my immediate death. Words like beheading and burned at the stake.

I will not survive the night if something does not change right now.

But I’m being dragged through the crowd, which shifts to the ballroom. Feet pound everywhere. I’m stepped on, pushed, shoved. A stampede threatens to break out, but even in my mansion, there is only so much room.

“Give her a chance to explain!” a commanding voice cuts through the chaos. Markov.

“Calm down!” Lillian yells. “Let’s talk this through!”

I drop from the grasp of whoever is dragging me, and I’m nearly trampled underfoot. Someone spits in my face, hitting me just below the eye.

Suddenly, glass shatters and one of the chandeliers above us goes shattering to the marble floor, causing the crowd around me to scatter. Little shards of crystal embed themselves into my left arm.

Standing at my side, gently pulling me to my feet, is Raheem.

“You all will cease acting like savages,” he hisses through clenched teeth. His eyes glow, black veins stretching across his face. He’s pulled his single-edged sword from its sheath and stands before me, ready to kill. “You will hear her out and she will be given your ear!”

The silent crowd parts, letting Cyrus walk forward. Most of his veins have retreated, now only being centered around his eyes. The risen King still bears shredded clothing, blood saturating his front.

An entirely new reverence fills the ballroom as all eyes turn to him. Fear, awe, uncertainty fill the faces of all. More than one immortal Born drops to their knees, their heads bowed. The weight in the air is suffocating. It’s obvious that most of the Court, if not all, had no idea that he was truly immortal.

“Death and destruction and chaos rule in your town, Alivia Conrath,” Cyrus says. He stops three feet from Raheem, who stares the King down with death in his eyes. “I should kill you now. I should rip your heart from your chest this very moment. But my loyal spy, one I have had the chance of working with for nearly a millennium with has asked that we let you speak. So speak.”

My insides quiver for the first time since my Resurrection. My hands sweat. My bottom lip threatens to quiver.

I am terrified.

I am no ruler.

I am a girl.

A girl about to be put to death for something I did not do.

“Something has been happening since before I arrived in Silent Bend,” I begin, stepping forward, around Raheem. He stands close behind me, his blade at the ready. “Since before I knew anything about our world. People were attacked, Bitten created. I was attacked by one myself the very first night I left this house.”

“Staging!” someone yells from the crowd. “You knew you couldn’t be killed!”

“All for show!”

“No!” I yell, shaking my head. “I thought I was going to die. I didn’t know the explanation for why a seemingly human person had bitten me!”

Desperation crawls up my throat. I had to make them understand.

“Before I claimed leadership of this House, Jasmine’s House was attacked,” I continue explaining. “Multiple times. Ask them. It was before they came to me.” I search the crowd desperately for their faces.

My eyes find Lillian, who was attacked. But the expression on her face is leery. Unsure.

“It’s true,” Samuel says, his brows furrowed. “Nearly all of us were attacked by this Shadow Army. But it was before we joined your House.”

“When we were your enemies.” It’s Anna. And I can see the gears turning in her head—putting pieces together and realizing the timeline of things.

And my stomach drops out.

“Were any of you attacked after you joined her House?” X asks loudly.

I look at them all. Markov stares at me darkly, a look of betrayal and confusion on his face. Lillian shakes her head in answer. Cameron looks confused, looking from me, to the branding rod in Cyrus’ hands, and back.

But Samuel looks at me as if he is certain I orchestrated everything.

He came to me because to him, the attack on Jasmine’s House was the last straw. He left her because she didn’t know what she was doing. His words.

And now, it looks like I ordered the attacks to secure his allegiance.

“No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “I swear! I had nothing to do with this!”

“And what about your shamed father?” a woman demands. “It is no secret that Henry Conrath wanted nothing to do with the monarchy! That he despised us and everything we stood for!”

“Then why would I accept my birthright?” I cry out. “Why would I ever build my own House then?”

“To get close to high-ranking officials,” another throws out there. “To get close enough to kill the King!”

“No!” I scream. “I would never!”

“She had nearly a dozen Royals killed!” someone yells. “The House of Allaway was slaughtered! Yet, none of her House has suffered death. Look at the damage she’s inflicted in just a few months!”

“Kill her!”

“Take her head!”

My heart will surely beat out of my chest any moment now. Surely, it will hammer so quick and hard, it will explode out of my chest and I will collapse to the ground, dead. I can barely see straight. My mind begins to gloss over.

“Give her a trial!” Raheem suddenly bellows. He steps forward again as the crowd surges forward. “If you believe her so guilty of plotting to end our kind, give her a trial!”

And this quiets the crowd. The expression on the King’s face is thoughtful.

“Take her to Roter Himmel you say?” he whispers.

All the blood in my body drops to my feet.

A visit to the palace, unless you are a member of the Court, always ends in death, Raheem once told me.

“Yes,” Raheem says. “She’s a Royal. A House leader. It’s her right to be given a trial.”

Every eye turns to Cyrus, waiting his decision. And he takes his time in answering.

One second.

Two weeks.

Three years.

In a vampire’s enhanced mind, so enhanced it has the ability to consider so many scenarios, that’s what his three seconds of hesitation feel like.

“Than a trial she will be given,” Cyrus says. “Go gather your things, my dear. We depart for Roter Himmel in twenty minutes.”

Two hands roughly grab me around the upper arm, shoving me toward the crowd. Raheem’s sword is instantly at the ready, trying to force the guards away from me.

“Unless you wish to die, right now,” Cyrus growls at him, “you will let them do their job. She will not be harmed before the trial.”

The breath rips in and out of Raheem’s chest, harsh and ready for a fight.

And I see it on his face now. Damn being cautious. Damn hiding his feelings. It’s all out there on the line. All exposed for everyone to see.

And I pray it doesn’t get him killed.

He takes a step back, allowing my captors to shove me forward.

“Lillian,” I beg as we walk past her. “I swear, I swear I had nothing to do with any of this. You have to believe me!”

But her eyes fall away from me as we move past her.

“Anna?” I call as I spot her across the crowd.

She only looks at me with confusion and uncertainty.

I do not get the chance to speak to any other House members, because my captors shove me toward the foyer, stepping over the dead Bitten, and up the stairs.

One of the men opens the door to my bedroom and roughly shoves me inside. “You’ve got five minutes,” he says as I easily regain my balance. “And don’t think of escaping out a window. He’ll be watching the outside.” He points a thumb at his partner.

I swallow hard and nod.

I can’t seem to breathe as I turn to my bedroom.

Just twelve hours ago, I was on top. I had control. I knew what I was doing.

Look how quickly things fall apart. Just twelve hours later, and everyone I thought I trusted has turned on me, and I am probably going to die.

I walk into my closet and grab a bag. I shove whatever my hands find into it. Dump random bathroom things into it. My hands still in the drawer with the false bottom.

Elle came to me not long ago, begging for her family’s safety and anonymity. And before she left, she gave me a gift.

Glancing over my shoulder at the man who stands guard at the door, I find he’s looking away from me.

Quickly, I slide the false bottom out, grab the vials of vampire toxin, and slip them into my bag. Casually, I walk out of the bathroom. My heart rate picks up as I study the man’s back.

I take one step to my right. And another.

Holding my breath the whole time.

But my guard doesn’t turn.

I take another step to the right. And, my eyes on him the entire time, I reach a hand out. My fingers brush the edge of the painting. Still, he does not turn.

My fingers curl around the edge of the painting, and I pull.

Soundlessly, it swings out toward me.

My heart races. Surely, the guard will hear it, find out I am doing something I should not be doing. Surely, he will turn and kill me right now.

But he doesn’t.

So I open the painting door wider, take a step toward it.

And then I’m gone.

I carefully close the painting behind me once again. I’m immediately engulfed in darkness, and it takes my eyes just a moment to adjust. But instantly, I’m on the move. My cat-like feet race down the stone stairs. Through the darkness. Down further and further. In just a few seconds, I’m out on level ground and I speed over ice that once sat as puddles of stagnant ground water. On and on, until finally, I make it to a wooden door. Carved into the surface is my father’s handwriting: Elijah Conrath. March 3, 1651—October 13, 1875. Finally, rest in peace, my brother.

Over a hundred and forty years ago, my father fled his attackers through this tunnel. Then it was the townspeople trying to burn him alive in his own home. Now, it’s the Royals trying to frame me in the very same house.

We both found our escape here.

History does have a way of repeating itself.

I shove my shoulder against the door, and it instantly pops open and I tumble out into the darkness and into the thorns and frozen vines. Snow spills into my shirt, down my boots. I’m buried in it momentarily before I right myself.

Fields stretch out before me, and I turn back to see the fence of the Conrath property. Off, far, far down the sprawling landscape, sits my House. The House I now have to run from if I’m going to survive.

I stall for a moment, staring at it. I’ve resented everything that House has brought into my life. How it’s twisted it, twisted my perception on reality and how dark the world really is and the secrets that it holds.

But in these six months since I’ve come to reside in it, I’ve come to love that House. It’s secrets. It’s history. It’s power.

And now I have to leave it.

I have to run.

I have to leave Lillian, and Anna, and Nial, and Cameron.

And Raheem.

I have to run.

A Royal rogue.

It’s much harder than I ever would have thought to walk away from this life I’ve gained.

I sling my bag over my shoulder, my mind rolling through the next steps of what needs to happen.

First, I need transportation. I have to get out of here.

The deepening snow slows my race toward town. My legs can move fast, they’re strong, but the snow that comes up to my thighs is difficult to move through. It takes me almost five minutes to reach town.

I search the vehicles that still line Main Street and fill the parking lots. I need something big—something that can move.

The few vehicles left are covered in snow, buried and unrecognizable. I get halfway down the road before I see a truck in the parking lot of the grocery store with a high lift and monster tires.

Perfect.

I pull my cell phone out as I walk up to it, my packed bag in hand. I’ve got just enough of a signal to pull up a video browser. I type in how to hotwire a car just as I reach it.

I bust in the back window to get inside and crawl through. I then lay across the front bench to get access to the fuse box.

I’ve just about got it when a sound outside the truck sends my heart into my throat. I’ve been caught. This is it. Cyrus has already found me.

But when I sit up, and look out the back, broken window, the last person I expect is there.

Elle Ward stares at me with wide, surprised eyes. “Alivia?” she asks in disbelief.

“Elle?” I ask as I climb over the seat and out into the bed. She holds a plastic shopping basket, filled with non-perishable food. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean?” she asks, her voice picking up a little quiver. “I was just getting some food to take back to Lula. We were running low.”

My mind flips back a few weeks, to what everyone at the House was telling me. “I thought you left,” I breathe as I hop down to the ground, and sink straight into the snow. “Why didn’t Ian take you with him?”

“You know where he is?” she asks, emotion cracking her voice at the same time as hope.

I shake my head in confusion. “I…” I stutter for words, trying to make sense of this. “They said he left after that night. That he took you and Lula and got out of Silent Bend.”

Elle shakes her head as moisture swells in her eyes. “Where is my brother, Alivia?” she asks in an emotional whisper. “He left four weeks ago and I haven’t seen him since.”

Four weeks. One month. Four weeks ago, I took a pill because the time had come for me to embrace my new life. One month ago, the King was going to kill me to see if I was his Resurrected wife.

Four weeks ago, Ian showed up in my room, begging me to run away with him.

Four weeks ago, I began to die, my vision gone, and a set of fangs sank into my neck, ending my life as a human.

“He came to see me that night,” I say quietly. “He asked me to leave. But it was too late. I was already dead. And the King…Cameron…Lillian. They all told me he took off. That he went to get you and that you all left town.”

Fear consumed me just before I died. Raheem had warned me that Cyrus would not respond well to a lover in the way of finding his queen. And he walked in that night to find Ian. With me. We’d kissed that night. There’s no way Cyrus wouldn’t have heard it all, just in the next room.

A gasp works its way up my throat. I take a step back.

“No,” I whisper as the tears pool in my own eyes. I shake my head. “No.”

“Where is my brother, Alivia?” Elle asks again.

I squeeze my eyes closed, forcing two tears to run down my cheek.

I thought he had finally left me for good. That he had abandoned me. That he had finally realized that I was what I was, that he had finally accepted what I was born to, and he just couldn’t move past that.

But Cyrus lied. He made Lillian lie. He made Cameron lie.

Ian hadn’t left.

Not of his own free will.

“I don’t know where he is,” I answer honestly. “But I know who has the answers.”

That eerily calm expression she is known for comes over Elle’s face. Her eyes empty. Her shoulders relax back and she seems focused once more. “Then you have to go find him.”

I swallow once. Because it’s the truth. “I will.”

I STARE AT THE GATES of the House of Conrath from the outside. The ornate curving of iron. The giant Raven woven into the beautiful work. The great stone pillars they’re attached to.

I remember the first time I saw this gate. Before I knew anything. Just two days before I arrived at this very same spot, I was working in a bakery. I’d had my hands coated in flour. I’d made a batch of cinnamon rolls. I’d clocked in at four thirty in the morning and clocked out at two. I’d driven my broken and battered car. I’d packed up the few remaining things in my tiny apartment that would fit into my bedroom here in Mississippi.

My arrival at these gates was the start of so much.

And the end of everything I’d ever known.

In one giant leap, I sail over the gates. Once again, I travel up the driveway, up to the House, not knowing what to expect. I walk up to the porch, but instead of Rath, waiting to greet me and ease me into my new life, it’s Cyrus who steps out onto the porch.

“I’m ready,” I say. “But not before you make me a deal and let me address my House members.”

He studies me, his face once more an unreadable mask. Finally, he nods once. He stands aside, letting me through the front door.

The Court members stand in the foyer, dressed and ready for departure. They’re calm. Composed. As if they were just waiting for me to return to the House. Except for Raheem. He stands at the end, his eyes dark and ready for death. His hand rests on the hilt of his sword.

Just beyond them stand all fourteen of my House members.

I walk forward until I’m standing at the center of them all. I drop my bag to the marble floor.

“I know you don’t know what to think right now,” I say as I turn and look around at my House members. The old. The new. The uncertain and the remaining loyal. “Things seem really bad, and whoever has done this has been very careful.”

I turn, my eyes trailing over the Court members. It’s obvious every one of them believes me guilty. And why wouldn’t they, when none of my House members have been killed, but so many other Royals have?

“But you all know me,” I say as I turn back to those that matter. I find Lillian’s eyes. “You stood with me when I had to bury my mother again. You comforted me and lifted my spirits when my heart was shattered.” I look at Cameron. “And you became my family when I had none.” Nial.

I take a step toward them. I let my hands hang at my sides. Open. Accepting of them and their judgment. “You know I didn’t do this. That I would never do something to hurt you. Please, look deep down. And find that truth. I don’t know much of anything anymore. But I do know that you are my family, and I beg you not to forget that.”

“Enough,” Cyrus says quietly from behind me. I turn to face him, leaving my House to determine if they believe my speech—the truth—or not. “You asked, very boldly, for a deal.”

I nod, taking a step in his direction. “When I Resurrected, you told me that someone very special to me had left. I’ve just confirmed that what you said was a lie.”

Grunts and hisses ripple from the Court members at me calling their King a liar. The circle tightens around me, both from the Court members in preparation for attack, and from certain members of my House in protection.

Maybe I haven’t lost them all for forever.

Raheem jumps forward, drawing his sword, his eyes blazing red.

“I want you to tell me the truth,” I say as I take another step toward Cyrus, stepping around Raheem. “Did you kill him?”

Cyrus too steps toward me. “No,” he says.

“Did you let him leave?” I ask as my throat feels tighter.

Cyrus comes another step closer. “I too will make you a deal. You don’t make a fuss, you make this easy, our trip to Roter Himmel, and then the truth will be revealed to you.”

I study his eyes, long, hard. Search for the truth there. And there’s the tiniest bit of openness there. I think he’s telling me the truth.

“Alright,” I say with a nod. “I will go with you to Austria for my trial. And then, you will tell me where he is.”

A wicked smile curls on his lips and a chill runs down my back. “Deal.”

Cyrus turns and it’s an unquestionable cue that it is time to leave. “You will choose one House member to accompany you. Choose wisely.”

“Let me,” a voice instantly blurts. I look over my shoulder to see Trinity step forward eagerly. “Please.”

She’s the last one I would have expected to want to come with me. I study her for a long time, evaluating her motivation. I can’t figure that out. But the look on her face is desperate, eager. “Please,” she says again.

I nod and turn back. “Trinity will come with me.”

Murmurs break out behind me, the House is surprised, as well, some negatively toward this. But I do not go back on my decision.

“Very well,” Cyrus says as he walks toward the door. “Secure the prisoner.”

Two different guards from either side rush forward to grab me. I realize then, neither of the ones from just before are among the crowd now. I have little doubt Cyrus killed them for letting me get away.

“Someone needs to be in charge of things while you are at trial,” Cyrus says as he opens the front door. “I will hope that your judgment is still worthy and let you decide who can run things in your place. For now.”

I look over my shoulder, and study the faces. Many of them have doubted me. They question. Some look ready to turn. But one stands out, loyal to the end, unwavering in belief.

“Nial,” I say, my heart racing. “Will you please take care of everyone while I am gone?”

“Of course, your highness,” he says as he takes a deep bow. When he looks up again, the expression on his face tells me he believes me. Through and through.

“Take care, House of Silent Bend,” Cyrus says as he turns in the doorway momentarily. “Until we meet again.”

One by one, the Court members file out the door, and Trinity walks ahead of me as I’m forced through the doors. We trudge through the snow. Down the drive. Over the expansive property. I look back at the House one last time as we make our way down the end of the driveway. And I hope and pray it is not for the last time.

“WATCH THE SKY,” I SAY as I look out the back window.

Cyrus and X turn as well, looking out the back window of the limousine we ride in. I study them as they study the retreating, swirling sky. “If I was the one who orchestrated all of this, if I created all those Bitten, wouldn’t you assume that curse was for me?”

They both turn once more to face me. The tension in the air is thick, heavy, like an itchy, wet, wool blanket.

“Would that curse still be hanging over Silent Bend if its intended recipient was leaving?” I ask, my voice cold and harsh.

“It doesn’t always work like that,” X says. And the way her eyes flick away, there’s something about it.

“It may take some time,” Cyrus says as he studies me. We race through the dark, a caravan of four limousines that cut silently through the pitch black over unhindered ground—free of snow the moment we left the borders of Silent Bend. “The curses we receive are not always immediately obvious. Are they, chancellor?”

He looks over at X with a mixed expression. Disdain, anger, amusement—it’s always difficult to tell when it comes to Cyrus.

“You have a curse, too?” I ask in genuine curiosity.

She shoots me a harsh glare, but I can feel her true anger is directed at the King himself. “Yes,” she says.

“Well, go on,” Cyrus says, the amused smile creeping up on his lips. “Tell her the details.”

X leans back in her seat, crossing her legs, away from Cyrus. And suddenly, she seems incapable of looking at anyone. “I resurrected just after the Queen’s third death. By then, we knew for certain what was happening, that she would awaken from the Royal line. She’d been gone for eleven years.”

She swallows and her eyes drop to her hands, which fidget in her lap. “I’d been around Court my entire life. My father worked with Cyrus, assisting him in anything he needed. So, I had watched Cyrus, seen him with Sevan. Saw the way he loved her.”

She stops speaking for a long moment, and I can only imagine the history she’s reliving in her head. “I’d fallen in love with Cyrus, slowly, over my entire mortal life.”

Finally, she looks up, fixing me with a solid stare, refusing to look in Cyrus’ direction. “So when I resurrected, I pretended to remember things. I’d watched Sevan for some time as a child, knew events. I’d heard stories, plenty of them to make my ruse convincing. I made him believe.”

The shock sinks into every part of me. My eyes flick to Cyrus, who looks to be reliving his own version of the story in his head. I started playing the very same game, toying with this man’s emotions. But I was never in love with Cyrus. My motives were black, twisted. X said she’d actually loved the King.

“She was very convincing,” Cyrus says, his tone low and reflective.

“I was,” she confirms. “But it became more and more difficult to keep up the façade. He began talking about the early days, before he turned himself. Before the uprising and the death of his son. And I only knew little pieces.”

She suddenly jerks her head to the side, snapping her eyes closed. “Cyrus was very upset with me.”

The weight that settles over us all says this is a massive understatement.

“The lie was dealt with,” X finally continues. “But from that day on, no other man would ever love me. No matter what I did.”

And an awkward moment comes back to me. Of when X first arrived at the House of Conrath. Between she and Raheem. It had been obvious there was history between them. The look in her eyes said she felt something for him. But the look in his—there was nothing there in return.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “That’s awful. I know what it’s like to not be loved in return, the way you want to be.”

X takes a deep breath, shaking her head, and seeming clearing away the powerful emotions rushing through her. She offers a cold smile. “It doesn’t matter now,” she says. “It’s all far, far in the past.”

IT’S A FORTY-MINUTE DRIVE to the small airport. We roll right up onto the airstrip and there, just beyond where we park the limos, waits a sleek, beautiful jet. The baggage is loaded, and one by one, the Court members file into the aircraft. A very human pilot and his co-pilot greet us, and the burn in my throat flares hot and furious.

But a strong set of hands grabs me from behind and drags me to the back of the plane. I’m shoved into the seat against the window, and a harsh-looking woman with cold eyes sits directly beside me.

“Let me.” I look up to see Raheem standing in the aisle, death and violence in his eyes as he stares at my companion.

“Not a chance,” she says with a smirk and a shake of her head.

“I’m not giving you an option,” he says through clenched teeth.

“Raheem, don’t,” I tell him, shaking my head.

“You should listen to her,” Cyrus’ voice cuts from the front of the plane. “Your traitorous feelings are quite clear. Your access to Miss Alivia will be limited from now on. I’ve never doubted my trust in you until now.”

Raheem stares Cyrus down, anger and malice, but also fear and respect in his expression.

“Do as he says,” I beg him. I can’t have anyone else getting hurt because of me. “Please.”

After a long moment, he finally looks at me, and I see consent there. He takes a seat in the row ahead of me.

Just before the sun begins to rise, we take off, sailing through the air. The window coverings are secured, not letting in an ounce of sunlight.

The flight seems to take forever. Five hours in the air, and then we touchdown somewhere to refuel. And while they fill up, six humans file into the jet. The fangs come out. The blood flows. Though all the Court members are too careful to spill it. My throat burns, my brain can’t process anything but the smell and how much I want the warm liquid coursing down the back of my throat.

But none of the humans are allowed to come back my way. Instead, someone throws a blood bag at me, which I catch with a quick hand, just before it hits me in the face. I tear into it with animalistic control—none, and down the entire bag in less than thirty seconds, leaving my front covered in splatters of red.

Fitting. I will arrive in Roter Himmel—Red Heaven, covered in red.

We take off again, and it’s another six hours in the air. I have too much time to think. Too much time to analyze.

What is going to come? Will I be able to make them see reason? Will they just kill me no matter what I say? What will happen to my House if I am put to death?

These are the things I want to focus on, but there’s a tear in my heart that is leaking deadly and toxic emotions.

Ian. I let him go forever because I truly believed he had left me. That he walked away when he saw that I was what I was born to be. So, I let him go. I moved on. With Raheem. We kissed. And I let myself get lost in those kisses.

But…  But what if Ian hadn’t walked away? What if the King really had lied about who sank their fangs into my neck, ending my human life? What does that mean for Raheem and I?

I turn to the blocked out window and wipe the single stray tear away.

What a mess I’ve made.

The next time we touch down, the pilot comes back, thanking us for joining him and saying he hopes we enjoyed our flight.

“You okay?” Trinity asks when she joins at my side as we begin to file out of the plane. It’s dark outside, a cool nip to the air. I have to remind myself we’ve just flown half way around the world.

“Yeah,” I say through a thick throat.

“In here,” the woman in charge of me says, indicating another waiting limo. Trinity and I climb inside, and it’s instantly dark when we do, the windows blacked out.

We take a silent ride, and I try to distract myself from my impending trial by studying the terrain outside the window. A valley spreads out before us, sided immediately by steep mountains. Trees dot every surface. Small patches of snow hide in the shadows.

Spring is close here. The warmth in the air is fighting the cold. They aren’t buried in snow here. They aren’t cowering beneath the eye of a curse storm.

And Austria is beautiful.

We cut through the valley, toward where the mountains narrow together. It takes us thirty minutes to reach the mouth of the canyon, and then I’m feeling a bit claustrophobic.

The mountains cut straight up around us. They tower, shadow us, it feels darker through here, even in the middle of the night. The stars blink in and out of view behind trees, behind the peaks of the mountains.

“I’ve never been out of the country,” Trinity says quietly. She stares out the window, too.

“Me, neither,” I say as I shake my head.

“The world is a big, big place,” the woman says. And she holds a smile on her face. She’s happy to be home.

The canyon goes on for an hour, winding, climbing, falling in elevation. The snow grows more prominent, several feet deep, and then thins out before disappearing completely.

We begin to descend into a valley, curling to the north, and suddenly, we’re in yet another canyon. This road is narrower. The trees grow closer. The car drives slower around sharper climbs and turns.

I feel the anticipation inside of me rising. I can feel the air thicken. Feel the danger growing more obvious.

We’re almost there.

We crest over the mountain, so high in elevation my instincts tell me my ears need to pop. But my vampire body does not react the same. And as the trees thin, as our outlook opens up, I get my first view of Roter Himmel.

THERE’S A GIANT LAKE SPREAD before us. It must be miles wide and half a mile across. The stars and crescent moon reflect brightly off the perfectly still water. Lights of houses and buildings dot the horizon beyond the lake. I think that’s what they are. It’s difficult to make out the details from this distance.

The valley is completely surrounded by mountains. And it’s obvious: the only road into or out of Roter Himmel is this one we are on.

We descend into the valley and the scent of pine and rain grows thick. Nightfall here is grand, like anything in the world could happen. This is a town of secrets and magic. Of blood and curses.

The road nearly levels out and then curves around the edge of the lake, hugging the base of the mountain. It’s narrow, only two lanes. No highways here.

“How many people live here?” I ask in wonder as I take it all in.

“There are four hundred thirty-something Court members in Roter Himmel,” the woman says. “And roughly five hundred humans. They feed us, take care of the farming and animals. And they’re paid greatly. The King takes care of everyone in the valley.”

“It’s amazing,” I say as I shake my head. “An entire town, centered around the vampires, and no one knows about it.”

“It’s not been an easy thing, keeping it hidden,” she says as she raises an eyebrow. “Plenty of blood has been spilt in keeping our secret.”

I can only imagine.

We continue the drive around the lake, which takes fifteen minutes. We crest around the west edge, and houses begin to crop up from the ground. They’re old. Most of them stone. The coloring is weathered, as if they have been here for centuries.

Farms stretch out around the houses. I see barns off in the distance, housing sheep, cows, even yaks.

The further we drive, the closer together the houses become. Some newer structures crop up, here and there. Small shops indicate this is indeed the main road. There’s a small commerce that exists here.

And then, the houses drop away. Fields of grass take over, but only for a few minutes.

And suddenly, there’s the palace.

It rises up, the road’s elevation climbing quickly. The side of the mountain holds it close, promising an impossible to take location. A stone wall surrounds it, difficult to follow as the trees swallow it over and over again. Great spiraling towers are scattered on the corners. Tall poles rise above them with flags that wave in the night.

Black with a red crown in the center.

I thought the Conrath Plantation was old. That it had history.

But it is an infant, barely taken its first breath, compared to Cyrus’ castle.

“Wow,” the word leaks out from Trinity.

Flames in giant bowls line the road leading up to the castle. Abruptly, we come to a bridge, and off to the west, I see a waterfall cascading from the mountain. It runs down a seam in the mountain side before rushing beneath the bridge. Light and flames dance around the castle walls, and through the dark, I see black, hooded figures walking the walls, each holding crossbows, rifles—an assortment of deadly weapons.

Before us, a giant set of gates swing open, allowing the first of the limousines through and into the courtyard.

Our car rolls through, and once again I am struck with wonder.

The mountain hides the true size of the castle. The courtyard alone feels as big as the Conrath property. Cobblestones line the entire area, branching off into two roads, one headed north east, the other north west. And in the center is a giant garden area. Grass just showing signs of life. A fountain at its center. Bushes, and the beginnings of flowers.

Towers rise from the ground, stair stepping up and up, the castle climbing the mountain.

But I only get a few seconds to take it all in before the cars branch off onto the north west road, and we disappear into a tunnel. Narrow walls hug around us, and I am instantly more claustrophobic. The walls are only inches away from the sides of the vehicle. We wind and wind, up and up, climbing up into the belly of the beast.

Suddenly, we break into a huge cavernous space. The ceiling must be twelve feet tall, and it alone must cover an acre of space. Great, stone pillars support the ceiling here and there, gigantic things that must be twenty feet around.

The space is filled with all kinds of vehicles. Fast sports cars, barely an inch off the ground. Huge SUVs and trucks. There must be over fifty vehicles.

“Let’s go,” the woman says, nodding her chin for the door. We climb out and she instantly stops me. “Just to be safe.”

She binds my hands, and Trinity’s, with some kind of flowing silver cord. I want to test it, surely I could break it with my strength. But that wouldn’t look good when I am the prisoner.

“Welcome to Roter Himmel,” Cyrus says as he climbs from the vehicle, spreading his arms wide. “I hope you find your visit here…pleasant.”

The smile on his face says it will be anything but.

Movement catches my eye, and I look to find Raheem climbing from one of the vehicles. “I can take the prisoners from here,” he says as he crosses to us, his eyes fixed on me.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Cyrus counters, closing in on us. “It has become quite apparent things have been happening and I can’t go having you aid in an escape plan.”

“I would never,” Raheem challenges as he looks down his nose at Cyrus.

“Do not test me, young pup,” Cyrus growls.

“Stop,” I say, directing it at Raheem. “It’s okay. We will do as the King says.”

He turns to look at me, and the look in his eyes tells me he doesn’t like this. There’s a fear there that drops a piece of ice in my own heart.

“Wonderful,” Cyrus says, clasping his hands together. “Now that we’ve got that squared away, let’s retire to the castle for dinner, shall we?”

He turns without another word and the entire group makes their way to the far wall. Raheem walks just to my side, the woman following closely behind Trinity and me.

A man presses a button on the wall and I realize the giant set of ornate doors are the opening to an elevator. It dings a few moments later, and the doors slide open to reveal a giant lift.

Marble floors, mirror walls. A chandelier hangs above our heads. The space is large enough to accommodate all eleven of us. Up we rise. Up and up and up, and it feels that surely we’ve risen to the top of the mountain before the doors slide open with a ding.

The doors let us out into a great hall. Huge ceilings rise above us, twenty feet high, at least. Stone walls rise and rise, wooden beams stretching overhead in every direction. Flames glow from the walls here and there, casting the passageway in shadows that dance and flicker like ghosts.

Beautiful rugs chase around the stone floor. Tapestries hang along the walls. Paintings are scattered about. The space is littered with iron and gold.

It’s beautiful, ancient, and grand. But there are no rivers of blood seeping into the stone floor as I imagined. No skeletons hidden in corners. No rats and wild dogs as pets of princes and princesses.

It’s a historical castle.

Down the hall we walk and finally, we take a turn into a massive room.

A gigantic table dominates the space and sitting atop it, is a spectacular feast. Servants usher us inside, and one by one, we are seated. And as the chaos of the seating takes place, I notice others joining the table. Soon there are a dozen other Royals seated. There is no speech made, no grand words. They simply dig in.

These people are familiar with one another. They’ve dined together for centuries. They do not need introduction. They don’t need to hear big words spoken. They are comfortable around one another.

“You should eat as much as you can,” Raheem says as he leans in towards me. He begins dishing food onto my plate, which is difficult to do myself, with my hands still bound together in front of me. “It may be some time before you are given the opportunity again.”

My eyes widen as I meet his gaze. And I am beginning to see what may be coming.

“Eat,” he quietly commands again.

And so, I do. But everything sits in the bottom of my stomach like a wet lump of coal. The food, though I’m sure spectacular, is tasteless to me.

Whispers here and there ask who I am. Simple explanations of a Conrath Royal are given.

How soon until Cyrus tells them all what he thinks I have done?

Anticipation creeps up my veins. Through my toes. Up my calves. Through my back muscles. Over my shoulders. Twisting around my arms, and down to the very tips of my fingers.

Like a ticking bomb that’s about to explode right beneath me.

Cyrus bursts into laughter, along with a few others, and I jump. Hard. But not a head turns in my direction. Raheem grabs my hand, holding it firmly.

“Why did you come with me?” I suddenly ask Trinity, because I have to change the subject. Right this very moment.

She licks some kind of sauce from her fingers. And I feel all of her defenses rising, scared. Unsure. “Because I have a debt to you to repay.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, my brows furrowing.

She glances over at me, her eyes open, timid. She grabs another chicken leg, holding it poised, ready to bite into. “Because when you opened your eyes and saw me and the Sheriff sitting in front of you, you should have assumed it was me who betrayed you. I helped Jasmine do terrible things to you. You had to know you didn’t have my loyalty and that out of the two of us, I was the most likely to have betrayed you. I thought for sure I was dead.”

She blinks, letting her eyes drop away. She bites her lower lip and shakes her head. “But you didn’t. You didn’t kill me. And you didn’t believe that it was me. I don’t get you. Not even a little bit. But I intend to pay that back.”

She takes a bite out of her chicken, not looking at me, and the message is clear: she’s done talking about this. I study her for a few moments, trying to understand her, as well.

She’s acted like she hated me from the first moment she laid eyes on me. I’ve been met with nothing but disdain and disinterest from the beginning. But when it came down to the wire, when it was time to see who really remained loyal and who would doubt me at the first obstacle in my reign, here is the last person I ever expected at my side.

“Thank you,” I finally say, far too late to flow smoothly as a conversation.

But she simply nods her head.

A sharp slap and ringing sound suddenly makes everyone at the table jump harshly.

I squint my eyes back open to see the cause. And find Cyrus has smacked one of the snake branding irons down on the middle of the table. The rounded end has embedded deep into the wood, permanently damaging the beautiful, enormous table.

“Onto the reason our new guests are here,” he says, his eyes slowly rising to meet mine from beneath his dark lashes. The wicked smile grows on his lips.

“There has been a bit of an insurrection growing in the United States for some months now,” he says as he stands. And slowly, he begins walking around the table, his fingertips pressed together. “See, leadership was just being restored there, so we did not hear about it here in Roter Himmel. And I am deeply saddened to hear that this betrayal has come from one of our very own Royals.”

I expect a deep gasp from everyone around the table. But their expressions only grow grimmer. These Court members around the table are after all centuries, if not thousands of years old. Surely, this isn’t the first plot of treason they’ve been witness to.

“I am afraid I have brought the dear Alivia Ryan Conrath here to stand trial,” Cyrus says, looking over his shoulder at me. “And the evidence is quite damning.”

A set of hands suddenly grabs me from behind, pulling me back. My chair tips backwards, my boot kicking the table as I tumble back. A surprised scream rips from my throat and we’re moving so quickly. In just a moment, the table, with Raheem and Trinity, my only allies in a very dangerous place, are disappearing down the hall.

I see as Raheem jumps to his feet, but before he can make a move for me, three other vampires have jumped on him, pinning his face to the ground, his arms wrenched behind him.

“Just do as they say!” he yells to me, his voice frantic, his eyes wide and terrified.

“Don’t fight them!” I scream back, so very afraid they will hurt him for his willingness to jump to my aid. “Please! Not for me!”

My captors turn down a hall, and my view of Raheem is suddenly cut.

DOWN A SET OF STAIRS. Past so many rooms. Around a turn. Down again. Turn. Cut. Straight. Turn. Down. Down.

There’s no possible way I could ever find my way back. No way I could find my way out should I escape.

But I can feel it in my gut. In that instinctual third eye we all have—I will not escape. That will be made sure of.

The air grows colder as we descend into the belly of the castle and mountain. Moisture coats the walls, hangs in the air like a disease, waiting to leach into my lungs and poison me from the inside out.

Further still, we travel down. Not a ray of light could ever penetrate down this far.

Finally, we tumble out into a narrow passageway. Torches line the walls, licking so close to us, I’m sure my hair will catch fire. Doorways open here and there, most of them shut and locked secure.

I realize: this is a prison.

Steel walls a foot thick separate the cells, and secure, steel doors slide closed. We go down past five cells before I am roughly thrown into an open door. I fly through the air before crashing into a stone wall.

The sound of metal on stone screeches through the air as the door is slid closed and the lock secured. There is the sound of footsteps retreating, and then it’s quiet save for the faint sounds of breathing from random cells.

I right myself as fear leaks into my brain. I look around me, and there isn’t much to see. Stone floor, three steel walls, one stone one that I’m guessing is an outside one. A board is attached to one wall, held up with cinder blocks. It’s a bed, but there’s no padding, no pillow, no blanket. Not that we sleep much.

In the steel door, there is a small sliding window. I hope that’s where they deliver food and—since I’m a vampire now—blood.

But as I notice the very dim, very faint glow that begins to spread from the ceiling, I look up.

A small cylinder rises up in the ceiling. The reflective quality to the inside of it confuses me at first. But then I realize it’s covered in mirrors.

And the top of it opens out into the pre-dawn sky.

Second by second, the dim glow begins to intensify. And the realization hits me: we are just minutes away from dawn. That tube lets out into the outside. And those mirrors are there to reflect the brightness of the sun back into my cell.

“No,” I breathe in a whimper. “No.” I shake my head, backing away from it, toward the door. In just a few minutes, I’m going to be in agony, my fully dilated eyes unable to handle the blinding sunlight that is about to arrive.

I turn and smack my palms against the door. “You can’t do this!” I scream. “This is torture! You can’t! I didn’t do anything! It wasn’t me!”

“Pipe down!” someone yells from another cell with a thick Hispanic accent. “Screaming won’t do you any good.”

Another yells at me in what must be German.

“Liv?”

It’s little more than a whisper. Quiet. Unsure. Hopeful. Coming from the cell right next to me. “Liv? Is that…is that you?”

And my heart explodes into a million pieces. “Ian?” I gasp.

I place my hands on the wall that connects the two cells, leaning in close as if I can will myself to melt right through the steel.

“Liv!” he says loudly. “What…what are you doing here?”

Tears instantly spill down my face, rolling down my cheeks in fat beads. Just the sound of his voice instantly brings every feeling and every emotion rushing back. “I’m going to be put on trial. The Court, they think I did something awful.”

I hear movement on the other side, and I can just imagine it: Ian placing his hands on the steel, mirroring my position. His forehead touching the wall. “This has something to do with the Bitten attacks, doesn’t it?”

I nod, even though he can’t see it. He’s so engrained in this world. He understands so much. That it only takes him moments to figure everything out. “Yes,” I whisper.

He lets out a breath, slow. Low. And he doesn’t have any words of comfort for me.

“Ian, why are you here?” I ask, so afraid of the answer.

“I think you know why,” he says quietly. He taps his forehead against the wall. Not gently. “Lovers quarrels are never quiet, and that’s what the King saw this as.”

Tears rush down my face all the faster. I take a hard sniff, trying to reign in my emotions and utterly failing. “They told me you left me. Just walked away. That you’d taken Elle and Lula and left for forever.”

“How long has it been?” Ian asks, his voice low and intimate. “It’s easy to lose track of the days in here.”

“A month,” I respond as I let my hands slide down the smooth surface.

“A month,” he says. I hear the grief, the sadness. The anguish he’s been through in that month. “That’s how long I’ve been here.”

I squeeze my eyes closed, forcing more tears out. I wipe at them, taking a deep, calming breath. “I’m going to get you out of here, Ian. It’s my fault you’re in here. I promise. I’ll get you out.”

And that heightened sense, the one that is always aware of exactly where the sun is, the one that warns of pain to come, goes crazy in me. The glow in the mirrors intensifies and I can’t seem to help it as I look.

My eyes sear in pain. Like a hot poker jabbed into my eyeball, continuing on through as it sinks into my brain. A scream rips through my throat as I drop to the floor. And I’m not the only one. Five others bellow and scream in pain. Hands smack the walls, feet kick at the doors. We are a pack of caged wolves who rage and fight to free ourselves from a death trap.

This is death. Even with eyes closed tightly, even with my hands clamped as securely as I can over them, the sun still sears my eyes. And maybe part of the intensity is mental, knowing I am trapped here inside. Maybe it’s just my instincts telling me to flee and knowing I cannot, but now, the pain is so intense, I wish for death.

“Ian,” I breathe with a sob through the pain. “I need you to tell me something.”

He hisses through his own pain and I hear him smack the stone floor with his hand. “What?”

“Who drained me?” And for a moment, everything stills, hanging on the answer to my simple question.

One beat. Two.

“Me,” he finally answers.

There’s the truth. Nothing in me doubts it.

“It was me.”

The sun crests over the trees, engulfing me in blinding sunlight, and I have never known pain such as this.

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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.