Garden of Thorns

  I pull out the lavender essential oil. Dropping four drops into the blender, I turn it on low and add the rest of the ingredients.

  “You want it to be the texture of buttercream,” I tell Julie, showing her the way it grows fluffy and white. “Usually takes just two minutes. See? It’s just…about…there.”

  I shut the blender off and Julie claps her hands excitedly. I can’t help but smile a little as she slides over the glass jars and scoops the cream into them.

  “Thank you,” she says as she dips her finger in the still fluffy cream and rubs a small bit onto her cheek. “I’ll get all this cleaned up.”

  “Thanks,” I smile, stepping aside to let her finish. I pull one of Lexington’s hands away from the computer, dragging him after me into the sitting room, staring out the window.

  I don’t have many supplies right now, despite the constant parade of boxes I’ve had delivered to the House. I’m finding it’s the only way I can remain sane while on lock down, when I haven’t left the House in two full weeks. Not even one toe outside the door.

  “I’m worried about Shada,” I say, watching the snow gently fall outside, a thin coat of it covering the streets of Cambridge. “I’m sure she got into the bag of food, but she’s probably running low by now.”

  Lexington sits at my feet, tracing patterns into my socked foot. It takes everything I’ve got to not flinch away from the tickle.

  “Everyone except Julie and Duncan are out on patrol right now,” he says, resting his chin on my knee and looking up at me in a very adorable way. “It’s been pretty quiet, though I think we learned our lesson about letting our guard down. But maybe I could dart over there real fast and get her.”

  “Really?” I ask hopefully. I feel my entire face light up, and didn’t realize just how much I’ve missed the dismissive feline until now.

  Lexington chuckles, shaking his head. “What I wouldn’t do to see you smile like that all the time.”

  Heat flushes my face, but I don’t care. Lexington rises to his knees, wedging himself between my knees, and leans forward to kiss me.

  “Is she going to claw me to death the second I pick her up, though?” he asks against my lips, and a laugh bubbles from my chest.

  “Possibly, but I think you’re a little tougher than most,” I tease him, pressing one more quick kiss. “She has a carrier in the laundry room.”

  Lexington pushes himself up to his feet and gathers some supplies. Fully armed, he heads for the door, me following behind him. I push my hands into my pockets, leaning against the wall.

  “I should be back in thirty minutes,” he says, looking over his shoulder.

  “Thank you,” I say, my chest glowing with the truth of the words. “I love you.”

  The smile he offers could melt me into a puddle. “I love you, too.”

  With a wink, he closes the door behind him, and he’s off on the rescue mission.

  “You sure have him wrapped around your little finger,” Julie says, walking out, waggling her eyebrows.

  I only blush hard and laugh.

  I head up to my room where I open up a new book I got this morning and curl up into the bed.

  It’s a historical tale, set in the colonial era of the States. Full of damsels in distress and muscular heroes who have a tendency to lose their shirts.

  The sound of the door being kicked in rocks through the house. There’s a yell and feet pounding before I can even leap to my own feet. I grab my blow dart from the bedside table when I hear the sound of what I’m afraid is a body hitting the floor.

  I yank my door open, ready to fight with every bone in me, when I stop short, nearly plowing into a body standing there.

  “Hello, Elle Ward.”

  Lips curl into a smile. Freckles line a face crinkled with a wide smile. Fiery red hair dances in the afternoon light.

  “Charles,” I breathe. He steps forward, forcing me to take an equal step backward. I bring the blow dart up to my lips, but before I can fire, he swings up a cell phone.

  “Uh uh uh,” he says, waving a finger back and forth. “I suggest you not.”

  My eyes focus on the screen of his phone, and I immediately recognize the broad shouldered man who walks in through the front door of my house.

  Lexington.

  “You had someone follow him,” I say as all the adrenaline raging through my system turns cold.

  “You lot here may be doing some good work, but you really don’t understand how politics and a vendetta work,” Charles says while my eyes continue to study the streaming video of slight movement inside my house. “Me and my remaining House members have been here in Boston for a month now. Watching. Learning. Waiting.”

  My eyes widen and flick up to meet his. They aren’t quite green, not quite blue. And they’re full of pride in finally having caught me.

  “Julie and Duncan?” I ask. The house is silent, save for the sound of two sets of feet walking around.

  “They’re in quite a lot of pain right now, I do believe,” Charles says, and one side of his face curls up in a smile. “You have quite the interesting selection in that little shop of yours. Some very sinister creations coming from one so fragile.”

  My eyes darken and my fingers roll into fists. “What do you want, Charles? If you’re here to kill me, leave Lexington out of this, and give it a try.”

  Charles laughs, a barking and startling thing. “Oh, so much spunk! You are certainly not the little mouse brought to be judge at Roter Himmel!”

  My heart pounds and my mind is racing. I could try to take Charles out, but if he doesn’t give word to whoever is following Lexington, he could and I’m sure will, get hurt. Or worse.

  I’m not left with many options.

  All because I missed my stupid cat.

  “Don’t try to logic your way out of this one,” Charles says with a smile. He begins a circle around me, reaching out and running a single finger through my hair, brushing it over my shoulder as he makes a track around. “You’re going to cooperate with me, and from the looks of it, we need to hurry.”

  He holds up the phone again, and I see Lexington lock up my house, the cat carrier in one hand.

  “What do you need me to do?” I ask as I swallow, my eyes fixed on the screen as the spy follows Lexington down the block.

  “You’ll follow me out to the vehicle waiting in front of this house, and you’ll not cause a problem on the little drive ahead of us.” Charles stops in front of me again, looking very smug and satisfied. “If that is too difficult, well, Harrington carries quite a big blade with him, and it has been known to sever bone and spinal cord.”

  “Let’s go,” I say immediately. I set my blowgun on the dresser and walk past Charles, who bears a look of surprise on his face.

  “You said we need to hurry,” I say, as I look back up the stairs to where Charles stalls in shock. “We better get moving.”

  In the living room, next to the Christmas tree, convulses Julie, her eyes squeezed closed in agony. Duncan lies face down in the hallway, one of his hands outstretched toward me. He looks at me, anger and regret and death in his eyes, but he’s completely immobilized.

  Two women and one man stand waiting in the hallway, wearing sun goggles.

  Without another word, I push aside the door that hangs broken on its hinges and step outside. A black SUV waits across the street.

  “Let’s go,” I call back to the crew that hesitates in the doorway, costing us precious moments before Lexington returns home and gets himself killed because he’s outnumbered.

  One of the women climbs into the drivers seat, and I let myself into the back seat. Sliding to one side, Charles sits beside me, the man in the very back, and the other woman taking shotgun. Each of them fiddles with their sun goggles, making sure they’re securely in place against the harsh light.

  “I’d appreciate it if you hurried,” I say calmly. “There’s no reason to make a scene, and I don’t think it will take Lexington very long to get back.??
?

  Charles chuckles, though it sounds uncomfortable. “You heard the woman.”

  We pull forward, and I hear the doors automatically lock.

  Down the road we roll, toward the mess of freeways that stretch all throughout the Boston metropolitan area.

  “I must say, I didn’t expect this to be so easy,” Charles says, not quite looking at me.

  “It doesn’t have to end in dramatics that just get more people killed,” I say, staring out the window, and never once granting Charles the pleasure of making eye contact. “You’re here for me. Not anyone else. A sister for a sister is easy enough to understand.”

  He’s quiet for a long few minutes, and I feel him studying me. We cut through town, and then pull onto a freeway, the one to head northwest, up toward Vermont, I’m sure.

  “Why aren’t you afraid?” Charles asks finally.

  I take a deep breath, looking out at the city that begins to fall behind me, turning into a new one. “I think I’ve been waiting for my death since I was two years old. In the world I’ve always lived in, it was just expected that the end would come too early.”

  He doesn’t respond, but I feel his eyes continue to study me.

  I know very little about the House of Allaway. Just that it is located somewhere in Vermont. That Charles now rules it on his own. That it’s small in numbers.

  And Charles is supposed to be a spastic nut job.

  Ten minutes into the drive, my phone starts ringing. I pull it out to see a call from Lexington, the phone displaying a picture of him. Charles rips the phone from my hands and throws it out the window.

  As we cut down freeway after freeway, it’s hard to find any comparisons between this man and Alivia and Henry, the only other Royal Born I know.

  Alivia exudes leadership and grace. She’s sure and confident, she knows how to get people to love and follow her. Henry is the definition of a Royal. The way he holds himself. The legends he’s created.

  Charles, on the other hand…he just seems weak. He seems juvenile. Despite the fact that he’s led a House far longer than Alivia has.

  The members of the House of Allaway speak a little here and there over the course of the next two and a half hours. We cross state borders into New Hampshire, and then into Vermont.

  The sky grows darker as we pull off the freeway and start down a narrow highway. Cutting through hills and gorges, over bridges and between a million trees that have long since lost their leaves, and evergreens that stand as shadows in the dark, we drive.

  We pass through a small town fifteen minutes after pulling onto the highway. For another ten minutes we drive through more trees, the night growing darker by the second as the sun falls behind the horizon.

  Finally, I spot a sign on the side of the road, welcoming us to Woodson, Vermont.

  A few little shops pop up here and there, another stretch of trees, and then we seem to hit town. It’s a short strip of the highway, dotted with old buildings that look like they were built in the early eighteen hundreds. A library, city hall, two churches.

  There’s certainly some history to this town.

  Just before we reach the end of the shops, we turn north, onto a small and narrow road. We drive for ten minutes, heading into dense trees and up a hill.

  Finally, so deep into the woods you’d never have hope of finding it unless you knew exactly where it was, a huge house comes into view.

  Rock walls rise high and wide, a mix somewhere between a stone cottage in the woods, and a castle. Our vehicle pulls to the left and rounds into a garage.

  “Come,” Charles says, offering a hand to assist me. Everything in me recoils as I take it, stepping out of the vehicle.

  He leads us through the garage and to a door that opens inside. When we step through, we enter a mudroom, which cuts into a kitchen that’s beautiful and grand, but still reasonable. From there I can see a dining room. Charles cuts to the right, and the woman behind me shoves me forward. I follow behind him and we enter into a great room.

  A huge fireplace dominates one wall and comfortable, overstuffed furniture is spread throughout the large space. Big windows are scattered along the wall to my left, though it’s pitch black outside and I can’t see a thing out there.

  The house certainly is nice and comfortable. Big and well taken care of.

  But it’s not what I pictured when I imagined the House of Allaway.

  “You’d better hurry and get killing me over with,” I say as I look around. Everything seems too new, too…unused. “Because this is the very first place Lexington is going to come looking for me. I wouldn’t call this a good hiding place.”

  “This is the perfect hiding place,” Charles says with a coy smile curling on his lips. “Because this isn’t the House of Allaway, and your irritating boyfriend has never been here before. We’re still some distance from the official House.”

  Cold adrenaline burns down through my veins.

  I didn’t see that one coming.

  And the smug smile on Charles face tells me it’s obvious on my face.

  “Throughout the years, many of the Houses have established secret, secondary Houses, in case they ever needed escape from the official residence. Chelsea and I picked this one out together, about nine years ago, and until today, none of my other House members have been here.”

  That explains why the four of them are looking around the place like they’ve never seen it before today.

  “Lexington, your brother, and your sister-in-law might come looking for you, but they’ll never find you out here,” Charles says with that creepy smile of his.

  I raise my chin just slightly. “What does it matter anyway, you’re just going to kill me and send my head back to Ian.”

  A low chuckle bubbles up from Charles’ chest. The glint in his eyes darkens. “Oh, I do plan to have your head, but I have other devices to execute first.”

  He nods his head toward the stairs, which lead down, and both of the women grab my arms, shoving me toward them as we follow Charles.

  Darkness steals my vision as we walk down them, until finally, a few lights here and there grant enough to make out a hazy picture as my eyes adjust.

  The center of the space is finished roughly. There sits a couch and two chairs, a fully stocked bar off to the side. Along one side is a row of doors with windows looking into them, on the other side, another similar row.

  Straight forward is a narrow row of windows, each of them covered in steel bars.

  “So you’re just going to keep me prisoner here?” I ask, faking unimpressed when really I’m doing everything I can to keep my heart rate under control.

  “No, my darling,” Charles says, his smile growing. “It’s going to be a little more complicated than that.”

  “Aw, shit.” A familiar voice calls from behind one of the doors. My eyes strain through the dark, and through one of the barred openings, Michael’s face appears. His hands grip the bars, resting his forehead against them. “He finally caught up to you.”

  “Michael?” I gasp, taking a step toward him, but one of Charles’ women grabs my arms with a vice grip. “Have…have you been here the whole time?”

  “I knew eventually that fool Lexington would let down his guard, and once I brought you here, I figured you would like some company,” Charles says as he walks to the bar. He pours himself a drink, and raises it up to his lips, staring at me over the edge of his glass.

  “You shouldn’t be here, Elle,” Michael says, and the look in his eyes tells me he knows something. “This isn’t going to be good.”

  “I’ll do the talking, lumberjack,” Charles spits at him.

  “Oh, but I highly doubt you’re going to tell the whole story,” Michael taunts, that smile of his curling on his face. “Elle, make sure you ask him about the part that involves his impending death in the next year.”

  “That’s enough!” Charles bellows. He hurls his glass at Michael’s cell, shattering the glass just inches from his face.
br />   Instantly, Michael’s eyes turn yellow and he bares his fangs with a roar.

  “You may as well tell me what’s going on,” I say, folding my arms over my chest. “It sounds like I’m here for the foreseeable future, so I’m good with a long story.”

  Charles’s red eyes glare at Michael, but slowly slide over to me.

  “The House of Allaway is an old one, generation after generation reproducing and then killing their predecessor if they don’t agree with the way things are run. Father and child, creating an established rule.”

  Some cold creature is spawned in my lower belly. I feel it send shots out to every part of my body, the muscles in my face growing weak.

  “The death of my sister has brought to my attention the weakness of our family,” Charles says, but there’s something hesitant there, uncomfortable, in the tone of his voice. “I need an heir.”

  “Tell her the truth, Charles,” Michael taunts, his expression somewhere between disdain and a smile. “Tell her what good ol’ Cyrus told you.”

  Charles’ expression grows sour, and he very much looks like he’d prefer to kill Michael rather than let him live to keep me company.

  “Word has gotten to Cyrus that my House is weakened,” Charles says, still staring death at Michael. “He’s not happy.”

  “Keep going, Lord Allaway,” Michael growls when Charles stalls.

  “The event of my death could happen at any time, just like any of us,” Charles says, turning away from Michael to return to the bar. “Establishing a new family to reign is an inconvenience to the King, but he also doesn’t care for the way I’ve been running things on my own.”

  He pours another drink, this one filled to the brim. He doesn’t raise it to his lips though, he simply stares into the depths of the dark liquid. “King Cyrus commanded I produce an heir within the next year, or he’ll replace me.”

  I swallow hard, a chill running down my spine.

  By replace, Cyrus means he will kill Charles. And let another family take over the North East Atlantic area.

  “If I produce an heir, he’ll let me live until the child is old enough to take over, and perhaps give me a chance to redeem myself in his sight.” Charles brings the glass to his lips and tips his head back, downing all of the contents.