Chapter 25
Chapter
Twenty-Five
“IWILL DO WHATEVER I can to protect you,” I say as I try to swallow the lump in my throat. “You have my word.”
My House members stare back at me. We have gathered in the library and suddenly, we feel so few. Six vampires. One unknown. One spy who’s motives I feel are shifting. And me. Nine is nothing.
They each wear their best. Lillian in a spectacular gown. Anna in an intimidating leather jacket and serious boots. Samuel, Markov, and Nial—all in suits. Cameron in a button up shirt and jeans, that’s as nice as he gets.
And I wear a black gown that Lillian made me. It hugs and curves my body. It has a sweetheart neckline and lace that stretches up over my collarbones to a severe collar. It’s intimidating and regal and perfect.
“Don’t worry about us,” Samuel says, crooking a smile in one corner of his mouth—it isn’t entirely convincing. “We’re all already dead. It’s you who’s guaranteed not coming out of this alive.”
“Samuel,” Lillian hisses. The look on her face is quite displeased.
But each of their eyes turns to me. Samuel is right. They have all already died. Except for maybe Rath. But they’ve already come to this crossroads. They’ve already come back from the great unknown.
And right now, I’m feeling a little jealous of that fact.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” Nial asks. “To wait?”
I swallow hard. I once offered myself up to them. I told Jasmine I wanted every one of them to drain me dry. It was a distraction then. A decoy for what I was really trying to do. But now… These people. They are my family.
“I’m sure,” I say, nodding. “I won’t put any of you at risk in any way. I fear if the King comes and I am already dead, he may not appreciate that. I won’t risk his anger toward any of you.”
Lillian stands and crosses the room to me. I rise to not quite her height.
She takes my hands. Her dark eyes, so dark they are nearly black, hold mine, and I see in her what Ian doubted. Loyalty.
“You are a beautiful person, Alivia. Jasmine never would have done for us what you have. And in sacrifice, I know every one of us can see that you, you, were born to do this. You were born to lead the Southern House.”
Markov steps forward, holding my eyes. Lillian lets go of my hands and makes room for him. Never looking away, he drops to one knee before me, taking one of my hands in his.
“I’ve lived a long life,” he says. “And I know how rare it is to find a leader worth following. Alivia Ryan Conrath, I pledge my fealty to you and your House.”
He presses a gentle kiss to my hand, holding it almost in reverence.
Samuel kneels next to Markov. My heart leaps into my throat as I feel this heavy weight anchoring us all together. It is something that will change everything.
He takes my hand in his. “I’ve heard stories of Elijah and loyalty and trust. I watched my father do his best. And I watched Jasmine wreck everything the House could have been.
I’ve seen a lot. But I’ve never pledged allegiance to anything.
I don’t have my brother by my side, and for both of us, that’s a first. I know you understand what it means when I tell you, I pledge my fealty. Unconditionally.”
I nod to him, fighting back the tears at the back of my eyes.
My eyes shift to Nial, who walks forward. He takes both my hands in his, holding my eyes solidly. He’s quiet for a moment, as if he ponders what to say. “You gave me a family when I thought I would never experience that word again. You are my blood, Alivia, and I, yours.”
“You are my brother,” I say to him quietly.
“You know I am with you.” I look up and see Anna. Her eyes burn with intensity. And her staying, it means something, because she could survive out on her own just fine.
“And I have no idea what the hell fealty means, but it sounds awesome, so I’m that too,” Cameron says. My eyes shift over to him and a smile crooks on my lips. He holds up his fist and I know it counts for everything when I fist-bump him.
My eyes slide back to Rath, who stands by the door, hands folded over his lap.
“And you’re sure I cannot convince you to leave?” I ask. It’s a weight that sinks in my heart, burning a hole through it before dropping into the acid of my stomach.
“My place has always been with this family,” Rath says. His eyes fix on mine. Deep and soulful. “That does not change because of the presence of a King.”
I stare at him far too long. But finally, I can just nod. And feel eternally grateful.
Lastly, my eyes shift to Raheem.
He stands in the corner. He winds a bit of leather round and round his wrist. His black eyes watch my Houses confessional and his expression is complicated. I look at him, for a long time. He doesn’t say anything.
Finally, his eyes meet mine. And there’s everything there. So much that is so complicated. But it’s only there for a moment before he pulls off the wall and walks out of the room.
“Be watchful,” I say to my House members. I swallow hard. So much will happen tonight. So much will change.
They each give me a nod and I follow after Raheem.
He walks into the ballroom, the heels of his boots snapping across the marble. I follow silently behind him.
He stops before the gigantic glass doors that open up onto the veranda. He places his hands on the glass, and leans his forehead against it.
“I know I’m not her,” I say. My voice seems very small in this enormous space. Yet, it echoes, like a ghost taunting me. Reiterating what I cannot truly be sure of. “Does it change anything if I am not her?”
Raheem doesn’t look back at me. He stands there against the glass, his shoulders stiff. I see his fingers curl against the glass, as if he is in pain, trying to grasp onto anything that will anchor him to reality.
“You have never known Sevan,” he says through what I am sure are clenched teeth. “You do not remember her, who you may be. So you do not know how very like her you really are.”
My heels echo off the walls as I slowly take one step at a time. “And if I am not her, does that change anything?”
I stop just three steps behind him. The breath catches in my chest, and my heart beats with the speed of a hummingbird. I know he can hear every flutter of it.
“Do you wish things could be different if you aren’t?” he asks quietly.
And slowly, one controlled motion at a time, he turns toward me, first looking over his shoulder, and then fully facing me.
I see so much longing there. But it’s carefully guarded. There is so much fear, so many forbidden feelings. And our human desires apparently cannot be bridled even when we rise from the dead. Raheem cannot rein it in, and I know…I feel…
Do I wish things could be different? Do I wish I could touch Raheem without fear of the wrath of King Cyrus, should I be his wife? Do I wish I could see how his lips taste, if they taste of spices and history and the desert?
An ache deep inside of me tells me yes.
But love is deep and lust unsure.
“I wish many things could be different,” I finally answer honestly.
Raheem takes two steps forward, our bodies only a breath away. He raises his hand slowly, his fingers hovering a breath away from my face.
“I’ve had gypsies and queens as lovers,” he says as he studies my face. The hint of a red glow ignites in his eyes. “I’ve refused Maria of Antioch and kissed the princess of Siberia. Yet none of them have held me enchanted and captive as you have.”
Finally, he lets his thumb rest against my bottom lip. It parts my lips open just a fraction and my hot breath comes out wistful.
“But even if you are not Sevan,” he says mournfully as he lets his thumb slide from my lip, “I cannot leave the King’s service after so long. As I once said, saying anything, doing anything, when it comes to you, will only get me killed.”
I reach up and grab Raheem’s hand with both of mine. I pull it to my chest, resting it against my heartbeat as our faces come so close. So close together.
“He cannot control everyone’s lives,” I say airily. “You are your own man, Raheem. I believe you can do anything you want.”
His eyes rise up to mine and a small, sad smile pulls on his lips. “You are incredible, my nofret, but you do not understand.”
And suddenly, he yanks his hand away and disappears across the room.
Only one second before a loud knock sounds on the front door.
I whip in the direction of it as every ounce of air leaves my body.
The world grows very still and very quiet.
The sound of one footstep. Two.
Rath comes into view, exiting from the library. I’m terrified for him. So human—maybe. So fragile. So exposed to death.
I should have had someone turn him.
Should have protected him better.
Should have sent him away with the staff.
Yet there he is, his hand on the doorknob. There it turns. And there it opens.
“Welcome to the House of Conrath,” Rath says in that calm and easy way of his.
“The word House is yet to be determined.” It’s a woman’s voice, low and sultry. I can’t see her behind Rath.
With one glance at Raheem over my shoulder, I see that he won’t meet my eyes and it cracks me just a little further. So, instead of falling apart all over the marble floor and my father’s crest, I walk toward the front door.
Rath steps aside as I exit the ballroom to let our guests in.
A woman in thick snow boots and a brilliantly white fur coat steps inside.
Her face is what immediately draws my attention.
Sharp cheekbones, perfectly shaped lips, seductive eyes.
Platinum blonde hair. This woman looks like the most terrifyingly severe angel that never existed until this moment.
“Welcome to my home,” I say, knowing I must speak first if I am to establish myself in this moment. “We are so happy to have you visit.”