House of Royals(68)

Cameron suddenly gives a choked off cry and crumples to the ground. A tiny needle sticks out of his neck.

I hear a tiny whistling sound and then Micah goes down, as well.

“Enough!” Jasmine screams like a maddened woman. I watch in horror as she draws a long-blade knife from the folds of her dress.

“No!” I scream, trying to jerk out of Trinity’s hold. But she’s yanked both of my arms behind my back. Her sharp fingernails dig into my skin, but I don’t feel it.

Moving faster than I can see, Jasmine is standing before Ian. She leans in close, whispers something into his ear.

I think Ian mutters something. But it’s cut off.

Jasmine shoves the knife up through Ian’s stomach, the length of it disappearing inside him.

A demented scream rips its way from my body. Except I feel nothing. Only the sharp sting of the blade I cannot see. I jerk against Trinity’s hold and everything slows.

I see every millimeter of steel as it slides out of Ian’s body. Blood gushes from the wound. Ian’s face. His face... It’s frozen. Not in terror. Not in pain. Simply in shock and disbelief. His eyes stare at Jasmine. He blinks. Slow. So slow. And when he opens his eyes again, he’s looking right at me.

I think it’s his name that is pouring from my lungs into the lightening morning.

And suddenly I’m free. My feet are flying down the final step, across the gravel. There’s a flash beside me, and I think it’s Lillian who rips the ropes from Ian’s body and flies at Jasmine.

But all I can process is catching Ian’s falling form as he collapses out of the chair. I’m soaked in his blood when his torso crashes into mine and we both go down into the gravel.

“Ian, Ian,” I’m whispering, over and over. I press my hands into his bleeding, gushing wound. There’s so much blood. Just pouring out of him like a river.

“Li…Liv,” he manages to get out in a breath. Blood bubbles up in his mouth, staining his teeth and lips. His hand shakes as he raises it up to my face.

Blood smears over my cheek as he brushes his thumb over it. “Tell me what to do,” I finally manage a coherent thought. “You could save you. Tell me what to do.”

He tries to say something. But he’s drowning in his own blood.

So much blood.

“Ian,” I call desperately. His hand falls away from my face. “Ian!” I press my hands harder into the wound with one hand and try to sit him up with my other. If I could just clear the blood from his throat. If I could just make it easier for him to breathe.

But I’m sitting in a pool of Ian’s blood. And it’s leaking from his mouth. And he takes a gurgled breath.

“Ian,” I whisper.

And his body goes limp.

“Ian?”

My hands shake. Realizing that there’s no more breath being pulled into his body, I pull my hands back. My mouth hangs open, not pulling in any air, either.

The sound of a body dropping behind me pulls me back into reality. And I jump when the growl of a motorcycle rips through the morning.

I turn to take in the scene. Micah, Cameron, and Samuel all lie on the ground, immobile. The rest of the House members cower in a semi-circle, retreating into the house.

“Get on.”

My eyes dart up when the motorcycle comes to a screeching halt beside me. Rath extends a hand down and grips my forearm. “Get on.”

He doesn’t wait for me to react. He hauls me onto it. “But Ian!” I scream as he starts to drive away.

“He’s dead,” Rath says as he wraps one of my arms around his waist. “There’s nothing you can do for him now.”

I look back toward Ian as we start speeding down the driveway. Instead, I see Jasmine, darting after us.

Like he knew exactly where she was, Rath turns in his seat, gun extended, and shoots. He catches her in the chest, on the right side, and she goes down. Rath guns the gas, and we rip through the pale light.

We’re nearly back to the Estate before I realize that Rath is covered in blood. And it isn’t just Ian’s blood—Ian’s blood—transferring from me to him. Rath is bleeding everywhere.

The gates to the Estate swing open as it comes into view. Gravel spits everywhere as we race up the drive. We pull straight into the garage and it shuts behind us.

“Come on,” Rath says in the dim light. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He has to help me off of the motorcycle. I’m a frozen, in shock statue. And my dress is tangled around me. Everywhere. Rath places one hand under my elbow, the other on my waist and half drags me off of the bike. With stiff, shuffling steps, we walk into the house.

Two of the staff members wait for us in the kitchen. They stand there, hands folded in front of them, at attention.