House of Royals(11)

Too late for modesty. Ian’s seen me in all my glory.

“Rath was going to let you sleep all day, but we’ve got stuff to talk about. Training to start,” Ian says as his eyes linger on my exposed legs for just a moment longer. When his eyes come back to mine, I notice how beautiful they are for the first time. They’re hazel, but bright and dark at the same time. And bear no shame in staring.

“Training,” I repeat. “What are you, some kind of sensei?”

“I won’t object to it if you want to call me that,” he says with a lopsided little smile.

“In your dreams,” I say with a raised eyebrow. He’s staring at me and I’m staring at him, thinking how unbelievable he is considering he wanted to kill me last night. I take a step around him and head for the massive closet. The housekeeper hung my clothes up next to Henry’s. She had asked if I wanted them put away, and I told her no. I didn’t have a reason for leaving them, but I didn’t want them to disappear, too, just like Henry did.

I pull on a pair of sweat shorts, feeling Ian’s eyes on me the entire time.

“How old are you?” Ian asks as I turn back to face him and lean in the doorway.

“I turned twenty-two on New Year’s Day.”

“So everyone parties the same day you do,” Ian says, crossing his arms over his chest with a small smile again.

I shrug. “And how old are you, master vampire slayer?”

“Twenty-four,” he answers.

Someone knocks on the already open door, and we both turn to see the cook. “Breakfast is ready, if you’re hungry.” She doesn’t meet either of our eyes when she says it.

“Great, I’m starved and the day’s already half gone.” Ian walks out the door without a second glance.

The stairs creak just slightly as we both descend them. For the past ten days I’ve been here, I’ve insisted on eating my meals in the informal dining room adjacent to the kitchen. But helpers walk in and out of the formal dining room.

“Pretty swanky place you inherited,” Ian says as we both slip in behind them. Rath is already seated at the table, a cup of coffee and a newspaper before him.

“What, you don’t live in a mansion, too?” I ask Ian sarcastically as I slide into a chair, one leg bent up. My manners are shocking here in the South.

Ian gives an awkward chuckle and his eyes drop away as he sits, as well. “Not exactly.”

And for some reason I feel embarrassed for my response. There’s something about Ian that brings out a sharp edge I didn’t know I had to me.

“I hope you got some rest,” Rath says as he folds his paper and sets it on the table. He looks up at me as he takes a sip of his coffee.

“Eventually, yeah,” I say as I reach for a scoop of fresh fruit and a biscuit. “Pretty sure I had some crazy dreams last night, though.” All of last night felt completely insane.

“Understandable,” Rath says with a little nod of his head.

“Enough with the formalities,” Ian breaks in. His table manners aren’t any better than mine. He’s got one leg swung over the arm of the ornate dining chair, his dirty boot hanging in the air for all to see. “Can we get down to business?”

“For being from the South, your manners are atrocious,” Rath tells him through clenched teeth. “Most would find it inappropriate to discuss the intricacies of the vampire world over breakfast.”

“Breakfast seems as good a time as any to talk insanity,” I say before I take a huge bite out of the biscuit. I then see the gravy that was supposed to go over the top of it.

I have so much to learn about my new world—and not just about vampires.

“See, she gets it,” Ian says. And he freaking winks at me.

“Very well,” Rath says, wiping his already spotlessly clean hands on a napkin. “I suppose we’ll start from the very beginning.”

I pop a few grapes in my mouth and angle myself toward him.

“Some several thousand years ago, a man named Cyrus was a bit of a scientist, you could say. Not many details have survived the millennia, but somehow he found a way to make himself the ultimate predator—and immortal. The very first vampire. He was stronger, faster, better than everyone around him. At first he thought himself the pinnacle of human perfection. But he also craved blood, from his own past kind. Ignoring the horror of the last fact, he desired that his wife become like him.”

I take a drink of my orange juice, but it doesn’t taste right. I swear I taste a hint of copper and rust. I look down in my cup to make sure it hadn’t changed to blood.

“His wife, however, was afraid of what her husband had become. While he was strong, healthy, and incredible, a more enhanced version of his previous self, but he was also brutal, a more enhanced version of his previous self. He’d attacked people, killed them as he drained them of blood.” Rath’s eyes have drawn inward, as if seeing the story he’s painting. “She loved him, despite his flaws. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to be like him.”