Chapter 26 #2
“And how many of them know the history of this town?” he asks as he swallows a bite of what I’m pretty sure is duck. “Elijah Conrath was a good man. It was a shame to hear of the town’s mutiny.”
I swallow hard. I’m so out of my depth here. I thought I was prepared. I thought I could do this. But I am an infant who knows nothing.
“Some of them,” I respond. “A lot of people have been afraid of me since I moved into town. They knew my family’s history and associated me with it, even though at first I knew nothing.”
It’s a shocking display of the pain Cyrus must feel when he lets out a frustrated, tender breath.
He takes my left hand in his, and raises it to his lips.
“That is not the way it should have been,” he says in that intimate way again.
“Your father should have prepared you, taught you. Henry Conrath… Well, he was an aggravation and a borderline shame to our kind.”
“It happens,” X says from down the table. She sits exactly opposite the King, at the head of the other end. “Some of our kind resent what they are. They choose to live a solitary life, removed from everything they were born into.”
My eyes slide back to Cyrus and a million fire ants bite at my insides. “I did not know him, but I believe my father to have been a good man. I kindly request that you do not speak hard things against him.”
Cyrus studies me. Slow. Calculated. He raises a hand to my face, brushing his thumb over my cheek. “As you wish.”
I don’t know if I can ever get over this man’s two faces. The terrifying and cruel, and the tender and broken.
Rath steps into the room, instantly popping all the uncomfortable bubbles. He holds a pitcher in his hand, and it’s filled with a thick, red liquid. He walks to the head of the table and pours Cyrus a wine glass full. He begins making his way down the table, the Court side first.
Cyrus takes a sip and makes a slight face. “Not fresh,” he states. “I suppose you don’t have use of feeders yet.” He looks up at me, his expression like this is the most natural thing in the world. “You do, however, have all of them to take care of.”
“None of us have any complaints.” And it means everything that it’s Markov who says it. Considering.
Cyrus gives an amused smile. And dinner moves on.
Small conversations strike up between the two different Houses.
Cameron talks at a man with long black hair, who I’m not sure has even grunted an acknowledgement of the conversation that’s trying to happen.
Lillian attempts light conversation with pretty much everyone, but the Court members only give short, stiff answers for the most part.
Nial does manage to engage two from the Court in a conversation, I keep hearing hints of England brought up in.
Samuel sits and eats, his face still white. He’s the only one here that truly grasps what is coming. He’s done this visit before, and it did not end well for his family.
I do not say anything unless I am directly addressed, which only happens when Lillian attempts casual conversation. Cyrus seems content to do the same. He observes. Laughs at a joke Nial awkwardly cracks. And, he listens.
I get the feeling that he is simply biding time. I feel I know what is to come.
The dinner drags on long. So long. One hour. Two.
Finally, when we’ve been here, holding awkward non-conversations for nearly three hours, King Cyrus suddenly stands. Everyone else clatters back from the table to rise, as well.
“Thank you all for a lovely evening. Or morning, I suppose it still is for my dear Alivia. Now, you will have to dismiss the two of us, we have much to discuss.” He holds a hand out for me.
My eyes go to my House members. Their eyes are dark, or wide, or fearful.
I swallow hard as my heart rate spikes. I look at each and every one of them. Is this a goodbye to them as a human? My eyes, which have not dared look at Raheem all night, finally catch his. But his expression is set, not giving away an ounce of emotion. So I look from him, to Rath.
His composed expression is only betrayed by his eyes. There’s fear, anticipation, uncertainty. Fatherly protectiveness. But all he can finally do is give me a subtle nod.
I take Cyrus’ hand. It’s warm and smooth, and it makes me want to run.
All eyes watch us as we exit the dining room, and I’m suddenly terrified when we step through the doors. We’re alone.
“Is there some place we can talk privately?” he asks.
Talk.
I swallow hard and nod. My hand still in his, I lead him up the stairs. Down the hall. And into my bedroom.
I close the door behind us, lingering against it for a thoughtful, reflective moment.
“I know my reputation precedes me,” he says quietly. His voice is once again low and with that sensual edge to it that I don’t think he means to be there. But it is. And it’s undeniable. “But I want you to know, I would not hurt you. I do not want you to be afraid.”
I still face the ornate wooden door. And I make an honest confession. “A few weeks ago, I was not afraid. I’ve prepared for my death that I have been warned about. But the reality of its arrival is stark.”
I do not hear his footsteps crossing the room back to me, but I do feel the heat of his body warm my exposed back.
“I do not wish for you to be afraid,” he says as he brushes his fingers from my shoulder, across my back, moving my hair over my shoulder. Exposing my neck. “But I must be sure your blood is Royal.”
My heart thunders. My palms sweat and my vision swims.
His lips brush over my shoulder and I can’t seem to help it when my eyes slide closed. One of his hands slides over my hip, around my waist, pulling me closer toward him. “The bite will be quick.”
He doesn’t wait for my response. His fangs sink into the flesh of my neck. And instantly, my mind goes numb and my body goes lax. I feel him take several long pulls.
Just as he promised, it’s over as quickly as it began.
He holds me close and secure as my mind clears and my body tries to recover. He licks the wound closed. Gently, he helps me to my bed, where he helps me to sit. I note the small drop of my blood that escaped onto his lip.
“Did you get the confirmation you needed?” And suddenly, there’s a tiny spark of hope. That Henry was not my father. That I am not his daughter and I have nothing to do with this paranormal world.
“There’s no doubt,” Cyrus says as he pushes a stray lock of hair form my eyes. “You are the descendant of Dorian, a Born Royal.”
I let my eyes slide closed as the weight of everything that means settles onto my chest, never to be lifted again.
I shouldn’t have hoped. Shouldn’t have imagined. I knew.
I knew.
Without a doubt.
My eyes are still closed when I feel a warm, soft hand run up the side of my neck to caress my cheek. Cyrus’ breath warms my neck as he runs his nose up the other side of my throat. Softly, gently, I feel his lips brush behind my ear.
“You have no idea how painful it is,” he breathes as he again kisses the side of my neck. “Hope. Every time a new woman is born into the tree. Clinging to a small spark that I might find her again. It’s been…” he takes a deep breath in and his pain is palpable. “So long this time.”
“I’m so sorry you have to go through this,” I say as my eyes roll back in my head. This is wrong. So very wrong. This demented man who only wants me if I’m someone I’m not. But touch. I didn’t realize how much I’ve craved and needed it until it’s here in my bed. “I cannot even imagine.”
He slowly unwraps himself from me, sitting beside me on the bed, and it leaves me feeling cold. “It was my own doing. And if I could take it all back, I would.”
His honest confession is startling. It’s so big there isn’t a word for it.
This man created a race. An entire new species. In reality, what he was able to do, thousands of years ago, it’s incredible. But even with all this, everything that we are, he would take it back, for the woman he loves.
I reach up, placing a hand on his cheek. There’s a tenderness to his eyes that is so deep and profound.
Thunder rips through the air, startling me.
“Who is that curse gathering for?” Cyrus suddenly asks. He stands and crosses to the window that looks out over the river. He pulls the curtains back, and I’m shocked when he stands there in the light, as if it causes him no pain whatsoever.
“I don’t know who it could be for, other than me,” I say as I stand and walk to stand by his side. “It started a few days ago.”
Cyrus folds his arms across his chest, studying the gray day outside.
And in the full light, he really is an intricate specimen.
He’s not overly large, not hugely muscled or overly tall.
But his features are all perfectly arranged.
Everything about him draws me in. Maybe that’s just one more way he is the perfect predator.
I must not forget that.
“What do you understand about curses?” I ask. I shiver, realizing just how cold it is in the House.
He takes a breath, not answering me right away. He blinks out at the day twice, before suddenly yanking the curtains closed.
Maybe the light bothers him, after all.
“Nothing,” he says as he turns from the window.
He walks to a painting on the wall. “I’ve lived thousands of years, yet I do not know where they come from.
If it’s a person who creates them, a race like ourselves, or the universe.
They come and bring justice to a system unlike any in visible society. ”
I swallow hard.
“But my dear,” he says without looking back at me. “I am quite sure you could not have done anything terrible enough yet in your young life to warrant a curse. I would look closely at those in your House and those in your quaint little town.”
I hadn’t considered that. The possibility that maybe this curse wasn’t about me. That there was someone else who had brought this storm upon Silent Bend.
Who could it be?