House of Kings(16)

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?”