House of Royals(18)

“I’m not letting another vamp touch my family again,” Ian says seriously as he slides the shotguns back under the bed. “It’s been pretty safe in this town the last two years or so, but your attack? Henry’s? They were both out of place.”

“How so?” I ask, settling onto the bed. It’s well worn out. I can feel the springs.

“Look, Liv,” he says, rubbing his eyes with a thumb and a finger. “There’s a lot to educate you on and not a whole ton of time to do it. But I’m exhausted and have been up for the last two nights straight. I’ll make more sense in the morning.”

I glance outside. There’s still plenty of light on the horizon, I’d guess it’s not even nine o’clock. But he does look exhausted.

“Okay,” I say. “We can talk in the morning.”

He rubs his eyes again and doesn’t even look at me before peeling off the wall and disappearing into the bathroom. I lie back on the bed and stare at the wooden ceiling, listening to him preparing for bed. A few minutes later, he walks out and back into the bedroom.

“I may be a Southern gentleman and offered my bed, but you’ve got to share the pillows,” he says with an attempt of a smile. But it’s tired.

I grab one and throw it at him.

He catches it, reflexes quick and agile. He offers an appreciative smile and heads for the couch in the living room. Not five minutes later, I hear a faint snore drifting in through the door.

This all seems so overkill. Having to leave the home I just learned I had. Hiding in a cabin in the woods with a guy who has an obsession with weapons and bloodsuckers.

But my hand reaches up to where I was bitten. I’d wandered out of the house once and was almost immediately attacked.

There’s so much more to Silent Bend than meets the eye.

I roll onto my side and feel something hard press into my rear end. Remembering the letter in my back pocket, I pull it out.

My name is written in elegant script, curving and bending in ways that isn’t often seen in this century.

Thinking back to what that book said about Henry Conrath building the plantation house in 1799, I know now that it wasn’t his great-something-grandfather. It was my father.

I slide my finger under the wax seal and break the raven crest. I pull two sheets of paper from inside it, and an ornate, old fashioned key with a raven set in the middle of the handle falls out into my hand.

Setting the key on my chest, my eyes turn to the letter.



My dear Alivia,

I’ve thought about the contents of this letter for over a month now. In my grand perspective of time, it’s really nothing more than the blink of an eye, but still, it’s been on my mind every waking second.

Your mother tracked me down and told me of your existence. I must admit that I couldn’t really believe her at first. You see, it isn’t an easy thing for someone like me to create offspring. And it’s been a long time since I last saw Marlene Ryan. But she sent me your picture and I knew. I see it with my own eyes. I am your father.

And that knowledge fills me with both great elation and solemn regret. I’ve lived a life of isolation for a very long time because losing my only family member has destroyed me in ways I never could have imagined. So knowing that for the past nineteen years I have in fact had family makes me so happy. I wish I had known sooner. I wish we could have had time together. I wish I could have been there for you.

I don’t realize that I’m crying, just a few paragraphs in, until a strangled breath catches in my throat and a tear rolls down my cheek and drips back into my ear. All my insides are shaking, quivering. My chest feels tight and constricted.

I have many wishes for what might have been.

But I am also sorry.

Knowing that I am your father, I know the fate that I have put upon your shoulders. Eventually, you will know the truth about what I am. It may take years, hopefully many, many of them. But what I have is yours, and someday, I suppose, you will learn everything.

I am sorry I have thrust you into this immortal life. My own has been a long one, and the vast majority of it has been unhappy. It’s been full of politics and manipulation and distrust. I never want that for you.

So I ask you this: stay away from the House. Stay away from the King. Stay away from our kind.

I know this is asking for a life of isolation, but I only found peace when I removed myself from everything I’ve just listed out for you. They can bring you nothing but pain.

Should you ever come to Silent Bend and I am no longer alive, I’ve asked Rath to give you this letter. I had hoped that we could meet some day, face to face. But I am a coward. If you’re reading this, it means I never found the courage to seek you out myself and do it the right way. There are not enough sorrys that I can put on these pages for that.