Page 19 of House of Royals

I wait in the living room as Ian tells his grandmother goodnight. And as I wait, I then realize how there are bars on all the windows in the house.

Ian reemerges and heads straight for the front door. He sets a series of locks that are intense. He does the same for the side door that goes out the laundry room. “Come on,” he says with the tip of his head for the back door. We walk out and he pulls out keys and locks no less than four locks. Finally, he pulls out his phone and taps something. I hear three beeps from inside. A green light flashes on one of the locks.

“That’s one intense security system,” I say as he slips his phone back into his pocket. “I’m guessing that doesn’t alert the authorities if it’s tripped.”

Ian shakes his head. “You’d guess right.”

Poor Elle. Considering all of this, it’s hard to imagine she’s capable of having much of a social life. Or any chance at any form of a normal life at all.

We walk across the lawn and back in to the cabin. I flip a light on and turn to watch Ian lock up six locks, sliding a solid iron bar over the door.

“Will all that stuff really keep out a vampire if they’re determined to get in?” I ask.

Ian turns to look at me. “Not if they really want to get in. But it’ll slow them down. Take a look.”

Ian walks over to his couch and pulls the cushions off of it. Beneath them is a long box, the entire length of the couch. He pulls off the lid.

Inside is a huge stack of wooden stakes. Some of them stained with blood.

“You take being a vigilante seriously,” I say, raising an eyebrow.

He actually laughs. He gets small crinkle lines around his eyes and mouth when he does. It’s kind of ridiculously charming. “You have no idea, baby doll.”

He’s called me that twice now…

He crosses to the kitchen and opens the oven. But instead of delicious baked goods, this one reveals a stash of guns and knives. Ian looks back at me and gives a smug look. He goes on to reveal a mirror in the bathroom that opens to show off more guns. From beneath his bed he pulls out a crossbow and three shotguns.

“Okay, I realize now why Rath sent me off to stay here,” I say. There’s genuine concern in my voice. I’m suddenly very intimidated.

“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 houseonceand 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.

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