by Keary Taylor
“Nothing,” I squeak. “But I don’t think you all want to wait until I’m an old woman.”
“No,” Jasmine says. “January first is just over three and a half months away. That’s long enough.”
“It gives us both time to prepare,” I say. “You make whatever preparations you think will be helpful in protecting yourselves against the King. I get to say goodbye to being everything that makes me, me.”
I look over at Lillian. She stares at the floor, and her eyes are haunted. I realize something then. Lillian resents being a vampire. She didn’t ask for this. And I wonder if she got a nasty surprise when she woke up inside a grave. Not all Born can know what they are before they die.
“And what would you like in the meantime?” Jasmine asks with weight and hesitance in her voice.
I look back at her. “Nothing,” I reply simply. “I will claim the House for you. We will say it’s mine. But I don’t want anything to do with it. My father didn’t feel the need to be involved and neither do I. I won’t forsake you, but I don’t want your throne. And until my birthday, I just want to be left alone.”
“That’s fair,” Lillian says. “You should take her up on her offer.”
“You lack ambition, my child,” Markov says. I look over at him. He’s staring me down with that sly, scary smile of his. “You’ve been given the world on a silver platter, but you do not wish to partake.”
“I agree to your terms,” Jasmine quickly cuts him off. She doesn’t want anyone planting any seedling ideas of power in my head. “The House will leave you be until January first. In exchange, you will claim the House and leave me to continue doing what I’ve been for the last fifteen years.”
I step forward and extend a hand toward her. She stands, as well. Her eyes are cold and serious and she searches me. It’s not hard to tell she’s a woman who’s been betrayed and stabbed in the back, and she’s done the same to others. She’s evaluating if I’m the same kind of person.
She takes my hand and shakes it.
When she releases it, I turn and head for the doorway. I pause though, turning back. “How are Trinity and Christian?”
“They’re fine,” Lillian says. She stands, as well, and crosses toward me. “It was a rough couple of hours, but they’ve both fully recovered.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I’ve been worried about them.” I look at Jasmine when I say this. And she’s trying hard to cover the annoyance under her skin with a pleasant smile.
“Goodnight,” I say, smiling back at her. Without another word, I turn and walk back out the front door.
Jasmine may be a tri-polar queen with an iron fist, but I won’t be pushed around.
I’VE GOT THREE AND A half months until my life changes forever. Literally. I could sit here and wait for it. I could worry my time away over it. I could have sleepless nights as I think about saying goodbye to the sun, how blood is going to taste, how sharp my fangs will be.
Or I can keep living, right up to the very last second.
“You’ll be here every mornin’ at four?” Fred asks.
I nod. “I’m already used to the schedule,” I say as we sit at the back of the bakery. The floor is covered in a fine dusting of flour. The air is heavy with the scent of dough. Fred, the large man with the darkest skin I’ve ever seen, has dried and cracked hands from the constant exposure to baking elements and endless washing. “So I promise it won’t be a problem.”
Fred, the owner and namesake of the bakery and coffee shop—Fred’s—nods. “I need someone to help me Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. If that’s good for you, I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
A huge grin breaks over my face and I nod. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate the opportunity.”
He just chuckles at me and shakes his head.
I show up the next morning at five minutes to four, bleary eyed, but ready to bake. Fred doesn’t waste one second putting me to work.
And I’m happy to find that I’ve lost no skills in the last month that I haven’t been working. When Fred sees that I can handle myself, he assigns me the scones, the cookies for the afternoon, and of course, the dishes.
At six-thirty, when the shop opens, a few people start trickling in. Getting their breakfast on their way to work. Grabbing coffee, brewed by the self-proclaimed master, Tina. Fred helps the customers while I work in the back.
At ten, I’m just bringing out the sheet of snickerdoodle cookies when I hear my name called from the door. I look up to see Sheriff McCoy walking in.
“Are you workin’ here?” he asks with a look between a scowl and confusion.
“Yeah,” I say as I slide the cookies onto the display rack.
“Why?” he asks in bewilderment.
“Because why not?” I resist spitting the words out. Barely.
More customers wander into the shop. I’m surprised at how busy it is in here, considering how small the town is. I haven’t been up front until now, but I’ve been hearing the foot traffic all day.
“Fred, who’s this lovely young woman helping you out today?” a man in construction garb asks with a flirtatious smile as he walks up to the counter. He’s followed by a whole crew who starts ordering coffee.
“This is, uh…” Fred says as he takes money from a customer and checks them out. “Alivia Ryan. She’s new in town. And one hell of a baker.”
“New in town,” the man says with an approving smile. “Don’t get too many of them types here.”
Luke gives the guy a disapproving look. “Leave her alone, Dallas.”
“What?” Dallas says, with an innocent expression. “I was just bein’ friendly.”
“You look familiar,” one of Dallas’ buddies says as he squints in my direction, coffee cup in hand. “You related to someone here in town?”
My eyes dart uncomfortably from the guy to Luke. Who just gives me a little I told you so look back.
“Wait a second,” the guy says, still studying my face. “You’re that girl who moved into the Conrath Estate, huh? You’re that freak’s daughter.”
“Now, Corbin,” Fred says, fixing the guy with a cold stare, even as my stomach settles somewhere in the vicinity of my feet. “You’s a grown man now and should know words like that isn’t nice. I think you ought to apologize to this nice young woman.”
But I’ve been outed. And there are two other people in the shop looking at me now like I’m about to tear into their necks at any second.
“I’m sorry,” I respond snarkily. “Did you think you know who I am?”
Dallas gives an “oh!”—fist to the mouth and everything. I offer Corbin a peeved off smile as I walk back into the kitchen.
And it’s like that for the next week. People talk about me in low voice like I can’t hear them. They speculate. There’s constant talk about the House. About the year 1875. About blood and missing or dead loved ones.
But never once do I hear the actual word vampire.
My shift is from four to eleven. It’s not many hours or days, but I don’t need the money. Not at all. I need the normalcy. But this is hardly normal. When everyone looks at you with disdain or fear. When you’re constantly judged for the sins of your father.
I’ve just finished putting the cinnamon rolls in the display case at six-fifteen when the little bell above the door rings. I look up, dusting my hands off on my apron. In walks a woman, maybe in her upper forties. She’s rail thin, almost skeletal. Her cheekbones are sharp and prominent, her lips too full for her face. But it’s instantly her eyes that draw me.
She wears sunglasses, but behind them, I can see hollow eye sockets. Her blindness explains the walking stick.
“Good morning,” I say to her politely. “You’re up and about early.”
“I’m afraid I don’t get much sleep these days,” she says with a pleasant smile. “I’ve been up too long already this morning.”
She bumps into a table, nearly knocking a chair over. I duck around the counter and help guide her to the displa
y case. “Sorry about that,” she laughs at herself. “I’m a lot clumsier than I used to be.”
“It’s okay,” I reassure her. “We’re not quite open yet, but we’ve got some stuff out. What can I get you? I just brought out the cinnamon rolls. We’ve got raspberry scones, bran muffins, fritters. Just about any breakfast pastry, we’ve got it.”
“Mmm,” she says in delight. Her accent is heavily Southern Belle. “It all smells heavenly. How about a cinnamon roll?”
“Excellent choice,” I say as I scoop one out for her onto a little glass plate. “That’ll be two dollars.”
The woman digs around in her bag and pulls out a wallet. When she opens it, I see different bills folded in different ways. Smart. She hands me a five and I make change for her.
“Thank you, my dear,” she says as I take her plate to one of the tables and guide her to it. “I just moved in to the edge of town and hoped I might find somewhere comparable to my old regular. Y’all are very sweet here.”
“I haven’t been in Silent Bend too long myself,” I say, sitting at the table for a minute because I don’t have much else to do in the back at the moment.
“That right?” she says with a smile and manages to fork some of the roll off.
“I’ve only been here at Fred’s for a week,” I say. It’s nice, having a normal conversation.
“How do you like the town so far?” she asks.
“It’s…” How the hell do I answer that question? Dark. Manipulated. Totally crazy. “It’s a town that will keep you on your toes.”
“Good to know,” she says.
“Well, I better get back to work,” I say, standing from the table. “You have a nice day.”
“You too, Miss…?” she asks.
“Alivia, Alivia Ryan.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Daphne, and I’m sure you’ll be seeing a lot more of me.”
“I hope so,” I respond politely. Fred calls for me from the back, and I go to help him.
Flour. Sugar. Eggs. Chocolate. Berries.
All of this is normal. And when I have my headphones in, listening to my old playlist, it’s like I’m back in Colorado and life is what it used to be.
Until just after eight, Fred comes in the back where I’m putting the peanut butter chocolate chip cookies in the oven. “Ian Ward is at the counter askin’ for you. You two even know each other?”
I blush, even though Fred has no idea of the truth. Boy, do we… “Yeah,” I say instead, tucking my hair behind my ear. Fred takes over, and I walk out to the counter.
There are two ladies drinking coffee in one corner and enjoying scones. And standing at the counter, hands in the pockets of his EMT uniform, easy as always, is Ian.
“I have to admit, I didn’t really believe Rath when he told me you’d gotten a job at Fred’s,” he says with the classic Ian smile. “This seems too mundane and normal for you.”
“Well, this girl doesn’t have bills to pay like some people,” I say, recalling the conversation we had that first day we met. “But I needed something to keep me busy and from going crazy.”
Ian just nods with a smile and studies me for a moment. “You look good.”
And he means it. Which is a surprise, since I’m wearing a maroon apron covered in flour, my hair is in a crazy, messy bun on top of my head, and I probably have foodstuff on my face somewhere.
“Thanks,” I say with a blush. “You just get off work?”
Ian nods and I instantly notice the tiredness in his eyes. “Yep, should be my only graveyard shift this week, though. Worked the last six days straight. I’m going home now to catch a few hours of sleep, but…maybe I can come by later this evening?”
He looks hopeful, like he isn’t sure what my answer is going to be. Which is incredibly adorable. And I’d almost never use that word in relation to Ian. Strong? Yes. Assertive? Yes. Adorable…?
“Yeah,” I answer with a smile as another customer walks through the door. “I think you can.”
He just laughs and his eyes grow brighter. “Well, how about three scones for the family while I’m here? Lula loves Fred’s heart-stopping pastries.”
“You got it.”
“DON’T TAKE OFFENSE BECAUSE I genuinely want to know,” I say to Rath as we eat dinner on the veranda. The cook has outdone herself today, and the girl who serves us won’t look me in the eye, as usual. “But what do you do all day?”
Rath looks up at me, and I can’t read his eyes because he’s wearing sunglasses, which only makes me wonder about his species all the more. “I manage the affairs of the Estate.”
“Yes, I know,” I say in exasperation. “But what does that mean?”
Rath sets his wine glass back on the table. I’ve notice that he drinks one glass with dinner every night. Never more, never less. “I manage the crew that takes care of the grounds. I order supplies. I handle the financials involved with the Estate. That occupies most of my time.”
I take a sip of my sweet tea, something I’m coming to like. “Henry should have left the Estate to you, not me. You deserve it. It’s easy to see you love this place.”
“I do love it,” Rath says as he leans back in his chair and overlooks the grounds. “But my devotion has always been to the Conrath family. I don’t need money or the esteem. I am here for you, Alivia.”
I observe Rath for a moment. His expression is sad, regretful. “You miss Henry, don’t you?”
Rath doesn’t look back at me when he says, “I do.”
“You more than just worked for my father,” I say as I pick up a roll and pick at it. It’s dry. Mine are better. “You two were best friends.”
Rath sits back up and begins cutting his steak again. “Bonds run deep when loyalty is proven in both directions over and over again. When you’ve been through trials of fire and still stand by one another’s side. Your father was my brother.”
It’s hard for me to imagine such loyalty and love. And not the romantic kind of love because I don’t think that’s what this is for one second. Which is what makes it so strange. I never knew Henry, never saw him with Rath. But I can see what Henry’s death has done to Rath, it’s there in his face, in his very countenance, every day.
“Thank you for being here for me,” I say, reaching out across the table and resting my hand on Rath’s wrist. “I know we don’t know each other well, but it’s comforting to have you here. Like…there’s still a small part of my father that’s lived on through you. It’s far better than having nothing. And thank you for your loyalty. That isn’t lost on me.”
Rath looks up at me and with his free hand, removes his sunglasses. His eyes are so dark that I can’t tell iris from pupil. “You are always welcome. And my loyalty will always lie with your family, even after you resurrect.”
In three and a half months. I should tell him that. But somehow it feels like a defeat.
We finish our meal in silence, but it’s comfortable. A new bond has formed between us. Not many words were spoken, but the meaning runs deep.
Just as Angelica has come to clear our plates, there’s a knock on the glass window behind me. I turn to see Ian’s eyes searching the property behind us.
“Excuse me,” I say to Rath, who simply goes stony-faced and nods.
I walk back into the ballroom and find myself looking over my shoulders, checking for Bitten spying on us from the shadows of the trees.
“I parked off the main road and walked in,” Ian says quietly for some reason. “Why is your driveway so damn long?”
I laugh and slip my fingers through Ian’s. “Don’t blame me, that was all Henry.”
Without thinking about it, I lead us upstairs because the staff is still going about their duties on the main floor. They all usually wrap up around seven, and it’s just past six-thirty.
We slip into my bedroom and close the door behind us. And the second it is, Ian wraps his hands around my waist and brings my lips to his.
“I’ve missed you,” he growl
s into my mouth.
“It’s only been a week and a half,” I tease him. He backs us into a wall and that sends an explosion of sparks shooting through my body. My hands snake under his shirt, tracing over his muscular back.
“A veritable eternity,” he breathes as he lets me slip his shirt off over his head.
“You shouldn’t go getting ideas in your head about this,” I say as our lips reconnect. “I just really need some of…this.” I run my hands up over his abs, over his very defined chest muscles.
“It’s all yours,” he says with a smile against my lips.
Ian hoists me up and I wrap my legs around his waist. Like I weigh nothing at all, he turns and crosses the room to the bed. He topples us onto it.
“It really has been a long ten days,” Ian says as he runs a hand along my cheek and looks down at me. “I couldn’t get away from work and Lula was in a bad way for a few days.”
“It’s okay,” I say, absentmindedly tracing a finger up and down the valley between his abs. “I’ve been busy, too.”
“I can’t believe you went and got a job at Fred’s,” he says with a chuckle.
I smile back, because working in the bakery is the most natural thing in the world for me, but then I also come home to this house every afternoon. “Well, I’ve not just been busy with work. I went to see Jasmine last week.”
Ian’s face turns a shade whiter and his expression falls. “What?”
I swallow hard. I’m an adult, I don’t have to justify anything. This is my decision. But I do know how Ian feels about me mingling with the House members.
“I wasn’t just going to wait around again for the House to decide what to do with me,” I start. Ian rolls onto his side and we lie there facing each other. “I made a deal with her.”
“A deal with the House is never good,” he says, barely suppressing a hiss.
“Hear me out, please,” I ask softly.
Ian looks away from me for a moment. His jaw is tight and he looks a bit like he wants to hit something. There’s rage and fight and darkness in Ian. So much of it. But most of the times he looks at me, I see something different. Something softer.