Garden of Graves

  GARDEN OF GRAVES

  Copyright © 2017 Keary Taylor

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

  First Edition: June 2017

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Book design by Inkstain Interior Book Designing

  Taylor, Keary, 1987-

  Garden of Graves (House of Royals) : a novel / by Keary Taylor. – 1st ed.

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  About Keary

  The House Of Royals Series

  The Fall Of Angels Trilogy

  The Eden Trilogy

  The Mccain Saga

  What I Didn’t Say

  To view all of Keary’s books, in series order, click HERE.

  Even I can hear Ian’s heart pounding, and I’m just a normal human girl.

  “This is…” he murmurs. “This is insane. Elle, why-”

  “Cut her some slack, Ian,” Duncan cuts him off. “You know there weren’t many other options.”

  “Many is the key word,” my brother growls. “There had to be some other options that didn’t lead to inviting that psychopath over.”

  The night is dark and only a few lights dot the ground and buildings around us. The air is warm and humid, never once letting us forget that it is the middle of July. I stand off to the side of the runway wearing only a thin t-shirt and pleated shorts.

  Beside me are the brave and even-keeled: Ian—always, Danny, Duncan, and Julie.

  “You don’t know, Duncan,” Ian says as he clenches his teeth tight. “You’ve never met the madman. Never suffered through any of his games or a trial. What he did to my wife…”

  “Calm down, Ian,” I say evenly.

  “Calm down?” he gapes at me, giving me a harsh look. “Have you forgotten that the man kidnapped you once and forced you to stand as a Judge?”

  “King Cyrus never hurt me,” I say as I spot some lights cutting through the sky.

  “And you don’t know the half of what he did to Alivia,” he says. He’s pacing like a cornered animal.

  “He’s not the most pleasant company,” Danny adds through the dark in his gravelly voice. “But I gotta say, I don’t think she was wrong. These times call for some desperate measures.”

  “It’ll be okay,” Julie says as she steps to my side and clings to my arm supportively. “She has all of us. We’ve got her back.”

  Ian makes a little scoff sound, which says he thinks that’s ridiculous, and all of them certainly won’t be enough to stand up to the King of vampires. But he’s finally out of words for the moment.

  The set of lights drops lower and lower. They line up with the runway and just moments later, the wheels of the small jet are dropping. They touch down on the concrete, and it quickly slows.

  Ian lets out a foul curse, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

  His anxiety is causing my own heartbeat to jump just slightly.

  A little sweat prickles on my palms.

  The plane reaches the end of the runway and makes a turn, heading toward us and the parking apron where our group waits.

  Even though Duncan and Julie have never met King Cyrus, I feel the air swell thicker around them. Feel the oxygen grow thinner. Julie’s grip on my arm tightens.

  “I can’t believe I’m about to actually meet the King,” Duncan breathes. He’s fidgety, constantly fixing his clothes, wiping his hand down his face. He’s more nervous than fearful.

  “You should have hoped it stayed that way,” Ian says quietly as the plane stops in place.

  We wait for an anxious minute, and finally, there’s the sound of the door unlocking.

  It lowers, revealing the stairs, and from the dark interior, a figure emerges.

  He steps through the door, meeting each and every one of our eyes in turn as he descends the steps.

  King Cyrus stops at the ground level, standing tall and straight, power and confidence radiating from him, matching the little smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

  “Well, well, Ward family,” he says as mischief alights in his eyes. “We meet again.”

  “Welcome back to America,” I speak first. I step forward, reaching a hand out, which he takes and gently shakes. “I hope your flight was comfortable.”

  “It was, thank you,” Cyrus says with a somewhat surprised looking smile. “My pilot is nothing if not the very best.”

  A thin man steps out from the plane and descends the steps. He’s tall, but can’t weigh much over a hundred pounds. His hair is stark white, though he isn’t old. His eyes have an unhealthy redness to them.

  It takes me a moment, but I realize, this man is albino.

  “This is Fredrick,” Cyrus says. “My assistant.”

  And he gives no more explanation than that.

  “I expected you to bring more company with you,” I say.

  Cyrus’ smile grows fractionally bigger. “From what little you told me, I did not think I was in need of an entourage. Besides, I do indeed have some of my people who have already been in your area for some time.”

  “Ah, of course,” I say, feeling stupid that I didn’t count Killian and his soldiers immediately.

  “But we will get to that matter shortly,” Cyrus moves on. “For now, I say we depart to somewhere a little more comfortable and discuss what you so urgently begged me to cross continents for.”

  I give a little nod and hold my hand out toward the huge SUV Ian rented for the time Cyrus is here. Without another word, the King heads toward it, snapping his fingers at Fredrick to retrieve the bags the pilot set on the ground outside the plane.

  I meet Ian’s eyes briefly, and see the wild beast that’s threatening to go rabid in them. Knowing there’s nothing I can do about that, I turn and head for the vehicle, Julie practically glued to my side.

  “No one warned me he’d be so easy on the eyes,” she says with a little girlish smirk.

  Cyrus looks over his shoulder, giving her a little half-smile, immediately followed by a wink.

  Julie blushes as red as her hair.

  Danny takes the wheel and the rest of us pile in, Cyrus riding shotgun.

  “How long has it been since you last came to the New England area?” I ask Cyrus as Danny takes off.

  “I came shortly after Peter Allaway arrived,” Cyrus says. “The idea of the New World was quite fascinating. Though the journey was much, much less comfortable back then.”

  “I can imagine,” I say, looking out the window. We head out of the airport and toward the tunnels, which will lead us back into the city. “Charles told me Peter came in 1608. So it’s been, what, over four hundred years, since you were last in this area?”

  “I suppose,” he says distractedly. “You’re still far too young to understand
that time has little meaning for me anymore.”

  I don’t say anything to that, because he’s right.

  “Time is interesting, though,” Cyrus muses. “It certainly has a way of changing things. People. The landscape. Culture. Being in Roter Himmel has a way of freezing everything. It is easy to forget that it’s the twenty-first century, and not the eighth, or the sixteenth. So I’m grateful that occasionally things go awry, demanding my attention and travel.”

  “I certainly appreciate you arriving so quickly,” I say quietly.

  And no more words are spoken as Danny darts through the dark city. A city as big as Boston never truly sleeps. But at this hour, nearly three in the morning, things are quiet. The freeways are nearly empty. The skyline is darker. There’s only a quiet hum in the air instead of the constant rushing howl that makes up the rhythm of the city.

  We finally cut into the city and Danny makes his way through the narrow one-way streets. We loop the entire downtown area, hugging the water, and finally, we cut inward.

  We enter from the backside of the block and a garage opens, tucking us inside and closing us into the dark.

  “I hope you’ll be comfortable here,” I say as we all climb out. “It was the best we could get on such short notice.”

  They all follow me inside, and I hope and pray it’s as worthy in person as it looked in the pictures.

  A set of stairs leads us up three flights. And when we enter, a grand, spectacular living room greets us.

  Ornate trim and wainscoting decorates the area. Grand furniture and an even more spectacular kitchen dominate this level.

  But it doesn’t touch the view.

  Four great windows look out over the Boston Public Garden, granting a rare view of one of the only green spaces in the middle of the city.

  This very costly vacation rental sits only three blocks from my own home, and only eight blocks from Oleander Apothecary.

  “I will admit, it’s been a very long time since I’ve had to stay in accommodations when visiting a House,” Cyrus says as he takes the space in before going to stand beside the window. “Generally my generous support of them means a far more suitable home to stay in, rather than a place that houses a revolving door of unknown, questionably clean guests.”

  “And I think that’s part of the reason you understand why you are here,” I say, going to stand beside him. “I would have invited you to stay at my home, but the entirety of it would fit in this room.”

  Cyrus chuckles. “I do have to say, Miss Ward, I’m still impressed. The fact that you have a home, in one of your country’s most expensive cities, is no small feat.”

  I look over my shoulder at my brother, whose expression is of utter disbelief and shock, and give him a little smirk.

  In the background, Fredrick scuttles about, unpacking, checking the building over. Danny, Duncan, and Julie watch him.

  “Thank you,” I smile.

  “But you do bring up part of why I am here.” He turns to fully face me. His hands are grasped behind his back. He stands straight. Regal. I turn to face him, as well. His dark eyes burn intensely in the dim light. His thin lips are set hard. Those are lips that have ordered the deaths of thousands of individuals.

  “Where is Charles Allaway?” Cyrus asks, no more beating around the bush.

  I drop my shoulders, standing tall and confident, because when it comes to Cyrus, he takes no prisoners if he senses weakness. And I am not afraid of him.

  “He’s been in hiding for the past seven weeks,” I say.

  “Killian has told me as much,” Cyrus says, challenging me. “He also told me that you, Mr. Ward, told him that you volunteered to hunt him down and bring him back for trial. I must say, after your demonstration at your wife’s own trial, I expected more from you.”

  “I’m not gonna lie,” Ian says. “It’s been quite the blow to my ego that I haven’t tracked him down yet.”

  Cyrus glares, a dark, yet amused look in his eyes. “Yes, well, Charles always has been a slippery little snake. I suppose it was my mistake to give him a year’s time to redeem himself.”

  “How much has Killian told you about the last seven weeks?” I ask quietly, drawing Cyrus’ attention back to myself. “Has he told you how Charles has completely abandoned his House? How he doesn’t have a single House member? How he walked away from the three remaining members he had?”

  Something ignites in his eyes that tells me he doesn’t know all the details. He looks away and crosses the space to sink into a couch. He stretches an arm across the back of it, crossing one ankle over his knee.

  “Killian has informed me that Charles has been impossible to coordinate with,” Cyrus says, studying me carefully from head to foot. “That he’s seen him only one time since his arrival here. And that was the day before yesterday. Just hours before you called me so unexpectedly.”

  I cross the room, sinking onto the chair next to his couch. “The things I’m about to tell you will change things. Some of them might make you angry. You might want to kill me for some of them. They’re going to mean changes. But they’re things you will want to know.”

  I feel everyone in the room tighten around me, deep breaths being sucked in, knowing all of the information that is about to be revealed, and the possible consequences of some of the actions. They’re all scared.

  But all I feel is focus.

  Cyrus looks up at those that surround me. My brother. My sister-in-law’s second best hunter. The leader who stepped up to my plan. The kind woman who doesn’t really fit into these politics.

  His eyes slip back down to me.

  “But first I need you to make a phone call,” I say, holding his gaze. “I need you to make Killian promise not to kill Lexington, because he is innocent in everything. You can keep him prisoner until everything is explained, if you like. But I need you to promise me that no harm will come to him.”

  He keeps staring at me, and I can see the play of emotions behind his eyes. The struggle he’s having over being told what to do by a fragile human girl.

  “I know how you like to play games, Cyrus,” I say, not wavering. “This is mine.” I grab the cell phone from my back pocket and extend it to Cyrus. “Call Killian.”

  And I know I’ve made all the right moves when a smile cracks his lips. When a laugh erupts from his chest, so entertained and proud. When he reaches for the phone and takes it.

  “You surely have evolved into something truly impressive, Elle Ward,” he says with a twinkle in his eye.

  I watch him as he dials a number and presses the phone to his ear. As he murmurs greetings to Killian in German, speaking quickly. I hear Lexington’s name and he pauses for only a moment, getting his Hunter’s reply. With a quipped and quick response, Cyrus hangs up.

  “Done,” the King says, handing my phone back. “I’ve told Killian to wait seventy-two hours before killing your husband. And now you know your timeframe to give me very good reason for traveling all this way.”

  Kill Lexington. Not take him away for trial.

  I should have assumed. Lexington is a nobody in the King’s world. He has no influence, no power. Why would he waste time on a trial for someone he doesn’t care about at all?

  “Fiancé, actually,” I correct him. I look down at the ring on my finger. “He proposed only two days ago, actually.”

  “I see,” Cyrus says, his tone thoughtful. “It is indeed a modern age, where conceiving a child out of wedlock is acceptable.”

  The tension in the air tightens, because everyone in this room but the King knows the truth about the child in my womb.

  But I have to play my cards in exactly the right order.

  “I asked you here because we need your help finding Charles Allaway,” I say, though I can’t meet his eyes. I can’t give away the truth before it is time. “For the past year he has failed to do his job. A House’s responsibility is to keep the secret, to control their region and deal with all the problems.”

  “And Char
les has utterly been failing,” Cyrus states the problem.

  I nod. “It’s becoming an issue. In this very city I’ve seen Born feeding in the open. I’ve met hoards of Bitten, their creator facing no consequences at all. And I know of a man with terrible plans.”

  My blood runs cold at the thought of Jonathan Harper and his plan to end all vampires by exposing them to the mass population.

  “This should be dealt with by Charles,” I continue as Cyrus studies me with unrelenting eyes. “But instead, he’s been on a crusade to avenge the death of his sister.”

  Ian suddenly tosses something into Cyrus’ lap. His eyes flare red momentarily, his fangs lengthening as he looks up at my brother. But he looks down at what rests in his lap.

  Two rag dolls whose heads dangle unattached from their shoulders by a length of string. One was crafted in the likeness of Charles’ sister, Chelsea; the other, to look like me. Accompanying them is a piece of cardboard with the words A sister for a sister scrawled across it.

  “Charles wants me dead, and that’s all he’s been focusing on.” I sit straight, looking at the doll created to look just like me. The blonde hair, the pale skin. “Charles had all that delivered to me Christmas Day.”

  “Why?” Cyrus asks, and I think I hear a hint of horror in his voice. He studies the dolls.

  “You may recall that it was my mother who lead the Bitten in that battle seven years ago. The night of Alivia’s introduction, the House of Allaway left and my mother’s army slaughtered most of them.”

  “Including Chelsea,” Cyrus fills in. He nods, as if recalling the event.

  “A sister for a sister,” Ian repeats.

  “Your death, to equal Chelsea’s,” Cyrus says as he looks up at me.

  I nod. “So, for the past year or more, that’s what Charles has been doing. Plotting his revenge, instead of doing his job.”

  Cyrus shakes his head. “I warned the snake. Told him that if he didn’t get his act together that I would kill him and replace him. Apparently he doesn’t much care to take advantage of second chances.”

  “He’s obsessed.” I’m not sure if I say it as an excuse for him, or just echoing a fact he told me himself. “He can’t move on until I’m dead.”