Crown of Bones: Book Four - Crown of Death Saga

by Keary Taylor

  “Eli?” I gasp, sucking in a breath, trying not to breathe.

  His eyes lock on mine, wide and wild.

  But my gaze shifts to the two others who crawl through the door immediately behind him.

  Larkin slaughters one of the guards, instantly followed by Cyrus, who takes out the other.

  A cough draws my eyes back toward the situation I’d found myself in.

  Moab has one hand drawn to his throat, and he coughs again. His eyes are confused, angry. He coughs once more, as if trying to clear his throat. He shakes his head, like he’s trying to shake it off. With an angry growl, he grabs Alivia by the arm, yanking her into his chest, and presses his sword against her throat.

  “Cy…” he growls, but it sounds wheezy, like he can hardly breathe. “Cyrus.” He glares death at my fiancé, even as I see a strange, greenish vein rise from the collar of his shirt, stretching up his neck.

  “Moab,” Cyrus glowers as he steps forward, his sword at the ready. “It’s been some time.”

  Moab coughs again, and Alivia cringes as he coughs all over her. She has a tight grip on his arm, fighting against his grasp. “I had hoped to end this between us, once and for all,” Moab says. His voice grows rougher by the moment. There are now green veins stretching out onto his hands, more climbing his neck to his jaw. “But it seems I’ll just have to lock you deep in a hole somewhere, and let you starve into agony.”

  Cyrus smiles, and oh, if it isn’t the most wicked thing I’ve ever seen. “Oh, you may speak all the threatening words you like, my wayward grandson. But you barely look able to stand, much less attempt to take me to a dark prison.”

  Moab coughs again, and I see his hand holding the sword to Alivia’s throat tremble.

  I take a breath, testing the air.

  It tastes bad. Like there’s too much cleaner in the room.

  But my lungs don’t burn.

  I dare a glance down at my arms. I don’t see any toxic-looking veins rising to the surface.

  As I look around, everyone else looks fine, too. Whatever that chemical was, it only seems to be affecting Moab.

  His breathing now comes in struggling pulls, wheezing and gasping. Alivia yanks his arm away from her, doing a twist and turn, yanking the sword from his hands. She takes four steps away, pointing the blade back at him.

  Moab looks up with confused, panicked eyes.

  It’s the first time that I notice Jersey Adams has turned the camera, making sure to capture whatever is happening to Moab. She watches with wide, fearful eyes, but there’s a little gleam in them. She’s uncovered the most groundbreaking story in the history of the planet Earth.

  Moab makes a hacking cough, and drops to his knees. He spits on the floor, and it’s mostly blood.

  “I have a very dear friend who lives in the charming city of Boston,” Cyrus says as he takes a casual step forward, the tip of his sword dragging lightly against the stone floor. “She’s a fascinating person. Utterly human. Calm and composed as a butterfly. But she has these skills. She understands chemistry like no one I have ever met before.”

  Elle.

  My eyes widen as it all begins to make sense.

  I’ve heard stories about Ian Ward’s little sister. The woman currently taking guardianship of my little brother.

  She has a degree in botany and chemistry. She’s made things specific to vampires before.

  Looking over at Rath, I understand. He and Alivia took forever in arriving to aide because they had to make a side trip to Boston.

  For some very specific chemical warfare.

  “She’s made many fascinating creations before,” Cyrus continues as he closes the distance between him and Moab, who is on his hands and knees, gasping for breath. His entire body is covered in those toxic green veins, his body looking as if it’s bulging, about to explode. “She can even target specific DNA,” Cyrus says as he stops right in front of Moab. “There are genetic differences between vampires and humans. And she even managed to design it to recognize my DNA, Sevan’s DNA, and the DNA of any descendants of Dorian or Malachi. But any foreign DNA? Anyone outside of those specific bloodlines?”

  Cyrus makes a tsk sound. I watch him carefully, noting his relaxed shoulders. The grip he has on his sword. His pursed lips.

  I know what is about to happen.

  What I don’t expect is the sound of a distant explosion. It comes from the direction of the canyon. But Cyrus does not seem worried.

  “That is the sound of all your soldiers dying this same painful death,” Cyrus says, his voice low and intimate. He goes down on one knee beside Moab, who glares death up at the King. Even his eyes are stained now with that sick green color. “Every one of your soldiers within the castle is now lying on the floor, wondering why they ever thought they could betray a system that has been in place for two thousand years.”

  Cyrus reaches forward, cupping Moab’s face. Almost like a father looking into his son’s eyes.

  But even though Cyrus loved our son fiercely, even until the day he killed him, that love was tainted by action. Cyrus never found it in him to love anyone ever again, save me.

  Cyrus does not love his grandson.

  “I have a very good relationship with this incredibly talented chemist,” Cyrus says, his voice clear and steady. “We have more, and I know she will provide us with more once we run out, if it means taking care of the issues you have caused. You may have shifted the landscape forever, Moab,” Cyrus says as he straightens, standing. “But I am still King.”

  With a quick, clean motion, Cyrus swings his sword.

  Moab’s head hits the floor with a small crack. The rest of his body collapses to the ground a moment later.

  A tear breaks free and streaks down my face.

  I can’t identify the exact reason I’m crying. There are a lot of big reasons. All the emotions and fears and the anger I’ve been feeling for days and weeks, months and lifetimes, pushes out that one tear.

  Cyrus turns and looks back at me.

  Relief.

  I see it there in every inch of his stature.

  Moab has been a threat to us since the dawn of our time. Always there in the back of Cyrus’ mind.

  And now he’s finally dead.

  I drop my sword and walk to Cyrus, as more emotions bubble up inside me.

  Pain. Fear. Grief.

  Cyrus lets his own sword fall to the ground and he gathers me up in his arms, pulling me tight to his chest.

  I can’t hold it anymore.

  I cry.

  I sob.

  I let it all go, finally.

  This isn’t over. We may have defeated Moab. But Lorenzo Saint Claire swore to kill me.

  Moab is dead. His soldiers are dead.

  It’s a victory. A battle won.

  But, I’m just so tired of war.

  So I cling to Cyrus, and I let it all out.

  Chapter 13

  It’s proof of the number of lives lost and the exhaustion of war.

  Somehow Cyrus negotiates a forty-eight hour stalemate with Lorenzo. Forty-eight hours of peace. A tiny reprieve until we all once more pick up our swords and race to end lives again.

  We take a count. There were forty-four Royals who came to aide the crown. Only twenty-five survived Moab’s surprise attack. Nineteen died. Are gone. Their Houses will be thrown into chaos.

  Forty-three Court members were killed up the canyon. Our numbers are so severely diminished.

  We can only hope that Lorenzo suffered as many losses as we did, if not more, considering his children were not well trained for war.

  I find myself hovering in the doorway of the Great Hall and the hallway as Cyrus works with Dorian and Malachi, taking stock and making plans.

  My gaze is unfocused. My body feels light and numb.

  My brain has numbed everything out.

  So I jump when a soft hand comes to my back. My eyes dart to find Cyrus, his expression concerned.

  “Come, im yndmisht srtov,” he
says quietly as he takes my hand. “We must rest. Everything else can wait until the sun sets again.”

  I feel guilty. There’s so much to do. So much that I know needs to be done. Even as we turn and head for the stairs, I see bloodied and wounded Court members and Royals working to clean out the bodies from the castle.

  But I just can’t help them.

  I’m empty.

  I’m so, so tired.

  So I let Cyrus take me by the hand and lead me to the stairs. I take advantage of the fact that he is King and I am Queen and that these people serve us as such.

  We rise up to the top floor, and my chest loosens just a little when I see our door down the hall. I breathe just a little easier as we get closer, and the tightness releases from my shoulders when Cyrus pulls the door open.

  I go straight to the bathroom and start the shower, turning the water as hot as it will go. Without even bothering to close the door or consider what Cyrus might be seeing, I strip my blood stained clothes off, letting them slop into the grand bathtub so the blood doesn’t get everywhere, and slip into the shower.

  It feels like it takes two lifetimes to wash all the blood off of myself. It’s stuck in my nail beds. It’s in my ears. It’s caked into my hair. My wounds have closed up and healed by now. But I slaughtered dozens today, and their blood soaked me down to the bone.

  With my skin bright pink, shiny and clean, I turn the water off, wrap a towel around myself, and step out of the bathroom. Cyrus presses a gentle kiss to the side of my head as I let him by to go shower.

  I find a white nightgown on the bed, a soft and shimmery thing Cyrus laid out. It has narrow straps, hugging my bust, cinching under my waist, before flowing down to my knees in pleated soft, sheer fabric.

  It feels like heaven.

  Ten minutes later, I hear the shower turn off once more, and another minute later, Cyrus walks out of the bathroom wearing soft white linen sleeping pants.

  I watch him as he runs a towel over his hair. And I nearly laugh, but I’m too tired.

  It’s insane. Just a few hours ago, we were both fighting for the lives of our kind, our family of vampires. Being broadcasted to the world and having a secret we’ve kept hidden for thousands of years exposed.

  But here we are. Me in bed, him drying his hair after a shower.

  “Come here,” I say softly, shifting on the bed so I’m lying flat, my head supported by the pillow.

  It isn’t just heat that alights his eyes. That’s love. Devotion. Caring.

  They’re all there when he steps forward. They tone his shoulders as he braces his hands on the edge of the bed and crawls up. He balances with a knee between my legs as he climbs up. He settles his weight on top of me. Balancing his elbows on the bed, he holds up something that gleams in the dark room.

  My engagement ring.

  I’d taken it off in the bathroom. I don’t even remember what day that was now, they’ve all blended into a wash of chaos. I didn’t want it to get ruined or lost.

  Cyrus takes my left hand and slips the ring onto my finger. He closes his eyes, pressing a kiss to the area in general.

  There’s so much reverence on his face. And so much exhaustion.

  I wrap my arms around his bare back, and he lays his cheek down on my chest.

  We’re both quiet. No words are spoken, because we’re both just tired and exhausted and beaten for the moment.

  It’s such a familiar position. The two of us tucked together tight. Arms and cheeks and legs pressed together.

  But…

  A little voice in the far back part of my brain says, no, this isn’t that familiar.

  I’m nine different people.

  But as I think about it right now, I realize—I am Sevan. I’ve been no one but Sevan for days now. Maybe weeks.

  I’m the woman who walked through the marketplace two thousand years ago. The woman betrothed to a terrible man. I’m the one who chose a man no one believed in. I’m a woman who was turned against her will, and somehow found it in her to forgive that man.

  I’m a woman who formed a kingdom. Who ruled.

  I am Sevan.

  My chest tightens. Antoinette. Edith. Shaku. La’ei.

  They all begin to blur eventually. I would start to lose them. And I would return to Sevan.

  I don’t want to lose Logan.

  I need her strength. I need her fire.

  And Cyrus loves her.

  He loves her.

  Emotion pricks my eyes. I’m a tangled web of emotions. I know Logan is me and I am Logan. But it stings, knowing Cyrus could fall in love with someone else. And I also rejoice over that knowledge. Cyrus let his heart open again. He found the hole in his heart and filled it.

  Cyrus loves Logan.

  And despite everything Cyrus is, despite being a difficult person, Logan fell in love with him.

  I died for him, a voice in the back of my head says.

  And I let myself fall back into that memory. Of days back in Colorado. When I was a mortician’s apprentice. When I spent my days in the basement of the mortuary taking care of the dead.

  And then it all changed when Eli and I came across a scene we were never meant to see. It all went sideways when Edmond Valdez recognized my mother in my face. When he knew Eli was actually Rath and that he served the House of Conrath.

  And then there was Cyrus. He tested my blood and knew I was Royal through both lines.

  Our bargain.

  I was desperate to live. To find a way to change his mind. I wasn’t ready to die. So I told him he had to get to know me for a month.

  A month filled with secrets. A month of close watching. Side looks. A month where I began to see the broken and lonely man that was in Cyrus. A month where he took care of me as a woman, a human being. Where we saved each other.

  And then I gave it all up to try to save his life. I didn’t know that Cyrus was truly immortal. I didn’t know the assailants were actually there for me, to try to get to the King.

  I just gave up my life so he could live.

  Because over the course of our month together, I had fallen in love with Cyrus.

  I am in love with Cyrus.

  He gets my acid. He knows my shit. He pushes me to my limits and pulls me back in with those wicked lips and possessive hands.

  I’ll hold on to this man until my last damn breath.

  My hands fist into his hair, and he must feel my shift. He raises his head, his eyes turning from exhaustion to desire in the space of one second. He shifts forward, and one of my hands cups his face, just before he claims my lips.

  A little groan pushes past my own as his right hand comes to my waist and roughly grabs my hip, puckering the fabric there. It slowly works its way around to my back, possessively pulling me into him.

  I part my lips, letting his tongue inside of my mouth. It doesn’t hesitate.

  Greedily, my fingers work their way down from his hair, to his back. I take my time feeling each muscle in his shoulders. His back. The rises and valleys. I find the scars on his skin and the evidence of the wars he’s fought in.

  Instinctually, my left leg wraps around his waist, and he lowers himself further, grinding his hips against mine.

  Oh shit, that’s amazing.

  “Cyrus,” I moan against his neck. My eyes close, my head falling back as he works his way from my lips, down over my jaw, to my neck. He finds my favorite spot, just below my earlobe. But he doesn’t stay long.

  “Logan,” he pants as he continues kissing his way across the front of my chest. And lower, lower, until his lips are between my breasts. He sucks there, and every nerve in my body goes haywire.

  I want to claw my clothes off. This thin little fabric is just too damn much. But Cyrus reaches up, taking both my wrists in his hand, and pins them to the headboard. Rhythmically, he kisses his way back up my chest, back to my throat.

  I love this moment. I love this bed. I love his skin and my skin and I love them together.

  I love this
man.

  “Be my wife,” Cyrus groans into my mouth as he takes possession of it once more. He grinds his hips further into mine, and I’m pretty sure my brain has been lost into oblivion. “Be my wife, Logan. Tonight.”

  He releases my wrists and I reach up to cup either side of his face. I look into his eyes, and there’s so much fire in them. But I see the love there. The promises.

  “That’s all I want,” I breathe.

  Cyrus never breaks our gaze as he rocks back, onto his knees. He pulls me up to my knees as well. He holds my hands in his, trapped between our bodies, chest to chest.

  “It isn’t a grand wedding,” Cyrus says. “There aren’t family members here. There is no aisle for you to walk down. There are no flowers. There wasn’t a moment of preparation put into it, or a single dollar spent.”

  I smile, my heart fluttering. And Cyrus smiles as well.

  “But a marriage isn’t any of those things,” he breathes. “It’s two people who love one another, who vow to never give up on each other. It’s you and me Logan. Is it enough for you?”

  His last words bring emotions to the back of my eyes. But I’m too damn happy right now. I push them back, and I smile.

  I’ve led a bitter and snarky life since I was in high school. I’ve had shit luck.

  But right here I know I’m the luckiest woman in the world.

  “It’s enough, Cyrus,” I say quietly, reaching up and placing a hand behind his head.

  He smiles, and I swear he could melt me and kill me with that smile. I love it so damn much.

  “Logan Pierce,” he says, and the moment he says my name, my heart breaks out into a fluttering sprint. “I admired your spark since the moment we met, and I respected your determination from the time you drove that bargain.” He lets one of his hands slide down to rest in the small of my back. “And I have loved you since you put me in my place at the House of Valdez. I vow to love you and cherish you and be by your side until the day I take my last breath. I want nothing more than for you to be my wife, and I promise to be the husband you deserve.”

  The intensity in his eyes makes my knees feel weak. “Will you take me as yours, forever?”

  My body feels filled with air, like I could rise up to the sun and never come down. “I do,” I breathe. Because he told me once, how he dreamed I would say those words.