House of Royals(60)

“Stop being so noble,” I say, taking a step away from him. “You need to leave town. I will go to the House today and tell them they can take me now. That I’m ready to die today. It’ll distract them. Hell, I’ll tell Markov to kill me now and he’ll be happy to do it in an instant just for sport. I’ll resurrect, and they’ll be so distracted by the King coming, they won’t think twice about coming after you.”

“Don’t say those things, Liv,” Ian says between clenched teeth as his eyes go wild and desperate. “You can’t say those things because if you’re willing to do all that, then you’re breaking your promise.”

I slap Ian. Hard. Right across the cheek.

“Don’t you dare,” I breathe, my breaths coming in hard and fast. “I am not in love with you and there’s no way in hell you’re in love with me or you would already be gone. So I guess this really is you keeping your promise, Ian.”

“How can you say that, Liv?” Ian asks. His entire countenance is pained. His eyes, his expression, the downturn of his shoulders. “You’ve been there every day of the past three months that I have, too. I think you know damn well I was breaking that promise from the day you made me make it.”

“Don’t say that, Ian!” I scream. Tears are streaming down my face and I don’t care. “You promised. We had an expiration and now, because of your choices, that date has been moved up to today. And you’re not going to stop me.”

I walk away from Ian right then. I take five steps before he pulls me to a stop.

“Alivia,” Ian says as he grabs my wrist. “We will figure this out. I will find a way to stop this without running.”

“You’re so stupid,” I whisper in anger as I turn back to him. The tears roll down my face freely. “Why’d you have to go and do…everything?”

“I never claimed to be a smart man.” He takes a step toward me, closing the distance between us. He brings his free hand up to my face and touches his forehead to mine. “And I tend to do unexplainable things when it comes to you.”

“Ian,” I breathe as tears slip down my face.

Then his lips are on mine.

Our kiss is full of pain and fear. Our lips hover on each other, our mouths parted, breathing in all the weight of the situation and our lives. And then Ian’s hand slides from my cheek to the back of my head and into my hair. His other hand slips around my waist and he closes the distance between us.

My body reacts without my permission, Ian has that power over me. One hand fists in his hair and the other clings to his chest.

We kiss like there’s no tomorrow, which there isn’t.

This is it.

This is the end of Ian and Alivia.





THE SUN IS ONLY SLIGHTLY warm on my back. It’s mid-December, and while it’s nothing like a Colorado winter, it’s still winter here.

I lie with my head in Ian’s lap. He traces his fingers down my back, sending currents of electricity racing through my veins. The blanket beneath me is growing slightly damp as we lie on it. But we’re here, in this little world of no words and complete ignorance.

Because we’re not talking. I can’t say the words that need to be said, and Ian won’t go like he should.

So we’re here. Lying in front of the river. Touching. Kissing.

It’s a final, bittersweet goodbye. Even if Ian won’t admit it.

I roll over so that I’m looking up at him. Ian stares down at me, his eyes reflective of everything that’s being cut so short. I reach up and place my hand on his cheek. It’s rough. He hasn’t shaved in a few days. The dark hair dots his face, darker than the wild hair on his head.

Ian really is a handsome man. Strong jaw, deep, hazel eyes. Hands that can kill and hands that can send goosebumps flashing across my skin with a feather-soft touch. Lips cut to the perfect shape. Those arms and that glorious chest.

I study him for a long time.

I’m going to miss this.

“Katina thought you all might be hungry.” I sit up to see Beth walking out with a big silver tray. On it is a mix of cheeses, fruit, little sandwiches, and two glasses.

“Thank you,” I offer. My voice sounds rough.

She sets it on the edge of the blanket. With a little nod of the head, she walks back into the house.

“That was thoughtful,” Ian says. The first words we’ve spoken in an hour or more. Our make-out session made its way out here and neither of us has dared break the spell with reality. We’re at an impasse.

“They’re always taking such good care of me,” I say, trying to smile and probably failing. “It’s a small miracle that I don’t weigh three hundred pounds after living off of Katina’s cooking for the past four months.”