House of Ravens
Authors: Keary Taylor
Tags: #keary taylor, #pg13 romance clean, #southern gothic vampire
Copyright © 2016 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: September
2016
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.
Taylor, Keary,
1987-
House of Ravens (House of
Royals) :
a novel / by Keary Taylor.
– 1st ed.
Formatting by
Inkstain
Interior Book Designing
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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
.
MY BRAIN CAN’T MATCH WHAT I’m seeing to the
very simple facts I’ve known to be true for the last ten
months.
My father, Henry Conrath, was a docile man
who just wanted to be left alone.
My father, Henry Conrath, was killed last
summer.
He’s supposed to be dead.
The breath rips in and out of my chest as my
eyes dart from one end of the space to the other, trying to make
sense out of any of it.
The platform of my family’s crest finishes
lowering to the ground, and the moment it does, a very dim, gentle
light flicks on.
The room is massive. Just as large as the
ballroom that resides above it. Endless shelves line the sterile,
clean, cement walls. Clear boxes of equipment rest on them. I see
various tools. Things I don’t have names for. Dominating another
wall is a line of bookshelves, stretching long, filled to the brim
with thick spines. I step off the platform, and my eyes trace the
titles.
Educational. Every one of them. The titles
have words like microbiology, evolution, and synthetic DNA mixed
into their names. There are enough books here to make you a
brilliant master on—what, I’m not sure. But this is a room of
learning and science, no doubt about it.
A table rests in the middle of the
bookshelves, pushed up against the wall, with a laptop resting atop
it, the screen asleep.
I turn back to the rest of the room, and I
truly can’t process it all.
There are tables everywhere. Seven of them
are laid throughout the room, all set up in a grid-like pattern.
They bear scientific equipment. Projects seemingly only halfway
finished. A file box rests upon one, and five books on another.
