“So, what’s on the agenda for today?” I ask around a mouthful of sweet goodness.
“These are so much better than Lula’s grits,” Ian actually moans in pleasure. I just smile in pride. He swallows his bite and licks at a bit of syrup on his lip. “So, I thought we could start with some basic defensive skills. We can talk more as we do that. But I do have to take Elle into town sometime today, and I have work tonight. I’ve got the graveyard shift that starts at ten.”
“To be honest, it kind of surprises me that you leave your family at all,” I say. “No offense, but you seem a little over protective. How do you ever leave?”
He gives me a little annoyed look, but it doesn’t linger. “I may always live on the edge, always ready for something, but I can’t live in fear all the time. It took me a while to realize that. We have to live our lives. And besides, Elle’s pretty damn dangerous, even if she doesn’t look it.”
“Your fluttery, soft-spoken little sister?” I challenge. “Sorry, but that’s kind of hard to believe.”
“Don’t underestimate her,” he says with a lopsided smile. Another drip of syrup clings to his lips. “You see that garden out there?”
I glance out the window. To the side of the house, on the opposite side of the driveway, is a huge garden.
“Everything in that garden is deadly poisonous. That’s my sister’s baby. She started it three years ago. Kind of a morbid fascination, but hell, I thought it was pretty cool. Elle is, as far as I know, the only person who’s made a toxin that can paralyze and all but kill a vampire.” Ian smiles, pride flowing out of him. “She’s deadly with a blow dart.”
“No way,” I say with an awed shake of my head. “That’s amazing.”
Ian raises an eyebrow and nods. “So no, I don’t feel too terrible about leaving the property. Now, if you’re finished, lets head outside and get started.”
I finish my last bite and rinse my plate off in the sink.
I slip my tennis shoes back on as Ian puts together a bag of weapons. He gets dressed, which is both a disappointment and a relief. Two minutes later, we walk outside and around back behind the cabin. I guess I should have expected all the targets that are set up on the trees, but I didn’t.
“Here,” Ian says after he sets the bag down and unzips it. He tosses me a wooden stake. “That yellow one there? That’s a softer target, the same consistency as a body. I want you to throw it from here and see if you can stick it.”
I want to say you’re kidding? but there’s no way I’m going to look weak.
The stake is heavy and about ten inches long. I hold it on one end, let out a deep breath, and let the stake fly.
It smacks the target on the right side, but bounces off and lands in the dirt.
“Here, watch me,” Ian says. He shows me his throw, which of course hits right in the middle of the target and sways back and forth. “Your feet should be like this,” he explains as he demonstrates. “Keep your hand like this. And throw it a hell of a lot harder.”
I do as he says. This time, it sticks, just barely on the bottom edge of the target.
“There you go,” he says with a small, pleased smile. “Just keep throwing those for a while until you can hit the center. I’ll do the talking.”
I reach into the bag for another stake.
“King Cyrus had a son and that son had seven sons of his own,” Ian begins recapping. “The King killed his son when he realized how evil and power obsessed he was becoming. But five of the son’s sons rebelled against the King. They thought the way their father had. They tried to start a war against him. They didn’t stand a chance against the King. As punishment, Cyrus cut them off. Disowned them in the gravest sense of the word. They could no longer claim themselves as his decedents, and they were no longer royalty. See, the King at this point had had a few centuries to gain power and money. Cyrus may not have been born a king, but he’d made himself one.”
I throw my fifth stake and it comes within three inches of the center.
“Nice,” Ian says before continuing his story. “Two of his grandsons did not rebel, though, and King Cyrus rewarded them greatly. Power, esteem, everything a vampire cares about. He charged them and their heirs with the keeping of the world. They were the true Royal Born. All those exiled were simply Born, they meant nothing.”
I release another stake, but I’m so engrossed in the story that I miss the target completely. Ian adjusts my arm.
“The King closely tracks those Born through the Royal line. He knows every single one of them. And nearly each of them is in charge of a House somewhere in the world that consists of other Born with no claim to Royalty.”