Page 73 of House of Royals

“He pulled a blade on me before I could react. He caught me off guard, and I’m ashamed of that,” he looks away from me.

I should comfort him. Tell him that there was no way he could know. That he should be able to trust his own staff. But I’m too angry. Too full of everything, that if I open the doors, it all with come pouring out of me and then there will be nothing left but an empty skin bag full of bones.

“I went down and couldn’t even fight him off—or the Bitten that Juan then let in through the damn front door. The Bitten grabbed Ian from his room and was out the door in less than ten seconds. But Juan can’t move as fast as a vampire.”

I imagine the scene. Rath on the floor of the library, bleeding out. But grabbing a knife from somewhere on his person, I have little doubt, and embedding it in Juan’s back. Ending his life right then.

“I failed this family,” Rath says in a cool and even voice. His eyes fall to the marble floor. “And for that, I am truly sorry.”

Rath is strong. He’s a rock. He doesn’t make mistakes.

So seeing him,himlike this. It’s what finally breaks me.

I reach over, take his hand in mine. And let the tears consume me.

DURING THE BRIGHTEST LIGHT OF the next day, Rath goes with Elle to collect Ian’s body. I ask him to go, and he does with shame in his eyes.

No police will be called. There will be no murder investigation. There will be no trial and no prison time.

There will only be a devastated grandmother and little sister. There will only be a body in a box and a hole in the ground.

It all happens very quickly, and I can only figure it is with Rath’s taking control. A burial plot is arranged, right next to George and Cora Ward’s headstones. The following morning, a hearse drives Ian’s body to the grave.

I lock everything up. I put my pain in a box and hide it in the darkness of my soul. It won’t be let out until the time is right. But right now, I simply need strength. I stand beside Elle, holding her hand. Lula stands on the other side of her. She mutters things under her breath every once in a while, shaking her head. About every two minutes, she shoots a dark glare in my direction.

A pastor gives a generic sermon on life after death and God’s plan. There’s no hint of Ian in it. It could apply to any John Doe.

Rath watches us all from the shadows. I don’t see him, but I can feel him there. Ready. He’s injured, but I’d still bet on him in any fight. He won’t be caught off guard again.

There are no other attendants of Ian Ward’s funeral.

There’s a stone in my stomach that grows heavier and heavier as they lower Ian’s casket into the earth. He’s all on his own down there and that wet, dark dirt looks so cold.

Silent tears work their way down Elle’s face. She leans her head on my shoulder and I hold her as she silently weeps.

Neither of us speaks a single word through the entire service. It’s short. And cold. Just like Ian’s end was.

I go back to Lula’s house. I want to be with Elle. She needs a sister or a mother in this situation, and since she has neither, I want to be a stand in. But I only last thirty minutes before Lula cusses me out of the house.

I wander slowly across the backyard that leads to the cabin. The stairs creek loudly as I walk up them. It starts to rain lightly when my fingers touch the doorknob. For a moment, I rest my forehead on the door, close my eyes, and pretend.

Ian is on the other side of that door. He’s sitting on the couch, sharpening a knife as he watches some old school action movie. When I walk through the door, he’ll look at me. That lopsided smile will pull on one side of his mouth. His eyes will unabashedly run me up and down. I settle down into his lap and he’ll kiss me and make promises he has no intention of keeping.

I take a deep breath, and twist the doorknob.

The cabin is cold. The fireplace in the corner is dark. There’s a few dirty dishes in the sink. Ian’s bed is unmade. There’s a bag on the table that’s full of weapons. The remote sits innocently on the couch.

It’s like the cabin is just waiting for him to walk back through the doors.

And that’s not going to happen.

The floor creaks under my feet as I cross through the kitchen and into Ian’s bedroom. Springs push back at me when I lie on the bed. And Ian’s scent envelops me as I rest my head on his pillow.

Anger is what keeps my heart from breaking into a thousand sharp shards as I stare up at the ceiling.

THE RAIN HASN’T LET UP as I stare down at the freshly turned dirt. My jacket has long since soaked through. Rath knew better than to offer the umbrella he holds in his hand. He stands back at a distance.

Even when footsteps come up from the side. I don’t turn when someone stops beside me and observes the grave as well.

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