Controlled by a Fire Demon: The Owl Shifter Chronicles Book Two

by Qatarina Wanders

  Dad, though he was still awkward with her sometimes, was able to surmount all they had been through for the past year and slip into his role as her father. But then again, was she only seeing what she wanted to see? Was she not seeing through his actions and into his heart?

  They hadn’t talked about what happened. Not one bit. All those times she’d had to take him into the bathroom and bathe him. All those times she’d had to feed him. He had bared all before her. Helpless.

  All the things he’d had to survive with her should be traumatic in and of itself. Traumatic to her dad. Why hadn’t she thought of that?

  Emily swore silently under her breath. Aunt Anastacia was right. Dad might be putting up a brave front, but in reality, he wasn’t all right. He was going through a lot of emotional turmoil. Just that, being a Marine, he’d been trained to lock up his emotions and focus on the task at hand.

  However, Emily had to ask, at what expense? Bottled-up emotions were like non-preserved food. Keep it in a locked container and give it time, it would turn rancid and slimy. In other words, bottled-up emotions only became rancorous and potentially explosive with time.

  No wonder the witch had told Emily about Dad’s demons. He might not be fighting them now that they had a more tangible foe. But when the Alfreds were gone, when they were not staring down the barrel of an apocalypse even—when it was just them and their home and a simple life, then the fight for his sanity and his life would begin.

  Unless Emily started to let Dad know she didn’t blame him. She didn’t mind all the things she did for him. She didn’t think he owed her. Or that it was her responsibility to take care of him, that he shouldn’t feel ashamed for all the things the warlock had put him through.

  She had to get through to him, now that he was distracted. At least as he processed his emotions; if it got too much, he could be distracted by enemy fire or the next mission, and not by booze or drugs or a sedentary lifestyle.

  Question was, how should she bring this up? She didn’t want him to become defensive. If she wasn’t careful, all his walls would go up, and he wouldn’t trust her enough to open up to her. And Dad was a proud man. How could she get him to open up to her?

  “Dad, we didn’t get a chance to talk about the time you spent as an . . .” Emily’s voice trailed off as her tongue got stuck on the word ‘invalid.’ She saw Dad visibly flinch then. A wave of uncertainty washed over him as his shoulders went lax and his eyes lost focus. His fingers began to rattle as though he was about to go into seizure.

  Emily’s heart leaped to her throat as she suddenly believed that he was coming under the rove’s spell again. Maybe it was a backup spell that came into effect when his idiot daughter tried to force him to relive his past. She moved to touch him, but he retreated a few inches away, spurning her to think better of it.

  Dad struggled with himself for a while. Then his lips tightened in resolve. His eyes regained their focus. He squared his shoulders. The Marine in him had won this time, and he reared his head, proud of his combative roots.

  Emily watched as Dad’s walls went up, standing tall like barricades. She sighed. This was going to be harder than she thought, but she had to try.

  “We’ve talked about it.” Dad’s voice was a tight monotonous clip. He sounded like a drill sergeant back at the barracks, giving orders to initiates.

  “No, Dad, we haven’t talked about you,” Emily stressed. “We’ve talked about me, and there’s still a lot to talk about. But we’ve not talked about you. We’ve not talked . . .” Emily paused. She was about to cross a line she couldn’t return from. The moment she mentioned the times she’d had to bathe him, see his nakedness, and do stuff that he should normally do by himself, she couldn’t come back from there.

  She would have let it go, if not for Aunt Anastacia’s warning. The question really was, did she want a father who was awkward around her but mentally healthy or a father who was constantly on edge, having horrific episodes and babbling all day long?

  Emily sucked in a deep breath. Dad had stopped looking at the vehicle in the distance and was now looking at her. He had a hard edge in his eyes, as though he was daring her to bring up the issue.

  “We’ve not talked about all the things I had to help you do.” She said it all in one breath. “Helping you use the toilet. Take your bath . . .”

  “Oh, my God, Emily!” Dad retorted, frowning deeply.

  Emily’s anger stirred. “No, Dad, we have to talk about it. It was a traumatic experience for you.”

  “Even if I needed therapy, Young Lady, I wouldn’t go to you. I’d go to a therapist!” he shot back at her.

  She was immediately hurt by his tone and by him calling her Young Lady. He only used that term when he was upset with her. But she knew she was not doing anything wrong. She was trying to help him, and he was resisting her help. It made her angry.

  “Right, Dad, and how many therapists would understand that your wife was an owl shifter and was possibly killed by an evil rove who later ensnared your mind for a year, while your teenage daughter—who, by the way, is also a shifter—had to take care of you in every way for that year?”

  Dad glared at her. He remained silent. He had no reply to that.

  “We need to talk about this, Dad, if not for you, then for me,” Emily said finally. “I can’t keep walking around pretending that everything is fine with us, when for a year, I’ve had to see and do things no teenage daughter should have to see or do. And now you’re back to your right mind, and you’re behaving like it never happened?”

  “I didn’t mean to be like that,” Dad breathed. “I thought you wouldn’t—” His voice wavered. He frowned. She knew he hated being emotional.

  Emily looked away. “Well, that’s what it felt like.”

  Dad was about to say something but never got the chance because the driver’s door opened and out stepped the eldest Alfred sibling.

  10

  The first words to come out of Dad’s mouth were: “Go inside.”

  Emily frowned immediately. “No way. I’m not leaving you all by yourself out here with no backup.”

  “They can’t get to me here,” Dad pointed out.

  “Yes, but you can go to them,” Emily replied in haste. “And that is exactly the type of thing I think you might do!”

  Dad met her gaze. “You think I’m going to do something stupid.” It sounded more like a statement than an actual question.

  Emily refrained from replying.

  “Let me do the talking,” Dad said finally.

  The eldest Alfred gingerly moved toward them. Dad was about to step off the porch to meet him when Emily grabbed his arm and held him back.

  “Hold on,” she said. “We don’t know exactly where the defense boundary is.”

  The young rove came within five yards of the porch and hit an invisible wall of . . . was that electricity? Sparks flew in all directions as he got caught in the field, where he began to smoke and shriek in pain as he struggled to withdraw from the blow.

  It took him a while—and a humongous amount of struggle—to yank himself away from the field. He collapsed on the ground, smoke billowing from his skin so much so that he was shrouded beneath it for a moment. The field of electricity shimmered for a second, outlining the house in a dome-shaped bubble before it flickered back to its invisible state.

  “Well, at least we know where the shield is,” Emily muttered.

  They still hadn’t taken their eyes off the rove on the ground five yards in front of them. Emily, in the back of her mind, wished he was dead, or at least decommissioned. She wished the high-voltage electricity that had been coursing through that guy’s body a moment earlier was sufficient enough to either kill him or take him out of the fight permanently.

  She didn’t want to wish anybody dead. That was too extreme for her. Nevertheless, if his being dead was the only way they were going to be free from the rove, then so be it. Then that was what she wanted.

  Ahead, the inhabitants o
f the Land Rover had not stirred. They had not even attempted to come help their older brother. It must have been obvious that whatever had happened to him could not be fatal. If it was, surely they’d have come out to help.

  Soon, the smoke ceased, expelling itself from the Alfred’s body, and he sat up, revealing the damage.

  His robe was burned in several places: his chest, thighs, and portions of his legs. His skin, however, remained unsullied. He had a playful smirk on his face, and he looked directly at Emily.

  A question popped into Emily’s head, but Dad was already walking down the porch steps. He stopped half a yard from the invisible field. The rove was only two yards away now. Nothing separated them save two invisible things: the air and the magical protective shield around the house.

  “Stand up, return to your vehicle, take the rest of your family, and leave this property.” Dad used his best military voice.

  The younger man jumped to his feet. He appeared unfazed by the veiled threat in Dad’s tone. He just smiled.

  “I’m sorry, Sir,” the young man said. “Maybe if you come outside, we can talk things over.”

  Dad took a single step forward.

  “Dad, no!” Emily shrieked. It drew both men’s attention. The young man’s gaze was so intense that it made Emily shudder.

  Dad gave a slight nod. He wasn’t planning on doing anything rash. At least not tonight.

  “Oh, enough with all the cloak and dagger crap!” The young man flapped his hands in the air in exasperation. “I know you’re not going to come out of your fancy little defense system, and you know I’m not going to leave until I bring down that very same defense system. So why don’t we attempt to see who’s smarter. That only works in the movies. This?”—he gesticulated around him—“This right here is real life.”

  Emily stared at the rove, surprised. That was a mouthful for a rove that was supposed to be evil and all. Even Dad looked unsure of how to respond to that. The guy had just told them his whole plan. If they’d been sitting there in the car seemingly doing nothing, it wasn’t because they were actually helpless.

  The Alfreds probably planned to tear the defenses to pieces and abduct Emily’s whole group, or maybe kill everyone and abduct Emily and Michael. Since Emily saw no way out of this, she found herself becoming very reliant on the fact they had a contingency plan.

  “Why are you doing this?” Dad asked. He had no other threats to issue.

  The young man looked at him, surprised. “Are you serious?” Instead of waiting for Dad to reply, he went on talking. “Like, we’re trying to end the world and stuff. How can you keep asking us what we want?”

  Dad held his tongue.

  The young man growled. “If that’s how you want to play it, no qualms. We want your pretty daughter over there.” He pointed at Emily, who couldn’t help but blush a little. “And we want the vigilante chief’s son, who’s dozing off in one of the upper rooms.”

  Emily instantly saw what the young man was doing. He had just shown them that he knew who everyone was. He knew their families, and he could resort to blackmail if it became necessary. He also revealed to them—whether wittingly or unwittingly, Emily had no idea—that he could see right through the field. He might not be able to pass through, but he could see right through it.

  “You’re not getting my daughter,” Dad snarled. He gripped his gun tightly.

  Emily fluttered. It was not a good idea to shoot someone at point-blank range, even if they were a rove. How were you going to explain to the local PD—or the FBI—that they were threatening you?

  The young man wasn’t bothered by Dad’s gun. Only gave the gun one lazy look and then smirked. “Are you seriously going to shoot an unarmed teenager in front of your house?” Then he paused, his eyes losing focus. His smile broadened. “I have a better idea. Why don’t I call the authorities and tell them you’re hoarding meth in your house?”

  Emily didn’t bother to hide the confusion on her face. What? Where was he going with this?

  “When they come here tomorrow morning, or later in the night, with a search warrant, and find some evidence, they’ll arrest you. They’ll bring you out of the shield, where we’ll be waiting to whisk you out of their arms. We won’t even have to bring down the barrier.”

  He was grinning from ear to ear.

  What a doofus.

  Dad appeared to be unsure of how to answer that one.

  “So, what will it be, Mr. Davies?” asked the young man.

  Dad’s knuckles were already white by now. His anger was as palpable as the smell of smoke that still pervaded the air. Emily half-expected Dad to lunge for the man’s neck, an action that would have cost them dearly.

  “You think this is a joke?” Dad yelled, stumbling another half an inch forward.

  The young man laughed. “Isn’t everything a joke?” But his expression then suddenly became serious. “Aren’t you a joke? Isn’t your little attempt to even converse with me a joke? Isn’t your petty defense system a joke?”

  Emily knew she had to intervene; otherwise, Dad was going to get himself caught or killed, just because he wouldn’t be able to resist throttling this idiotic young magician. “Dad, maybe you should come inside . . .”

  “Yeah, Mr. Davies, listen to your daughter.” The young man . . . Just. Kept. Smirking. “After all, you’re her little bitch.”

  Emily felt the insult tear through her mind like a whip steeped in pepper. What the hell was wrong with this guy!? She moved before Dad had the chance to react. When she got within range, she grabbed her father’s collar and yanked backward. At the same time, Dad lunged forward with his hands reaching for the young man’s neck. She couldn’t even blame him at that point. She wanted to do the same thing.

  The backward and forward motions canceled each other out, leaving Dad standing there in front of the young man, who had unwittingly revealed his plan by stretching forth his hand to pull Dad. Instead, his hands caught in the force field again, and he was roasted by a thousand and something joules of electricity. Ha. Take that.

  Both John and Emily Davies watched in surprise as the young man shrieked in pain.

  “Dad, you need to go inside now,” Emily insisted. “You’re going to get us all killed!”

  Dad glared at her, and she glared back. She wasn’t going to back down. He had to get his emotions in check; otherwise, he was of no use to her. She would not allow him to jeopardize their current safety.

  “I cannot let you risk this temporary haven we have.” Emily’s voice was tight and on edge. She spoke above the shrieks of the young rove who still struggled to free himself from the grip of the defense system.

  “You need to remove yourself from this environment, now.” Emily folded her arms at her chest.

  Dad held her tight gaze for what felt like a full minute. After, he hissed, swiveled on his heels, and stomped back into the house.

  “Very adult of you, Dad.” Emily rolled her eyes and groaned. “Thanks a lot.”

  11

  Just as Dad went inside, the young rove was able to pull himself free from the electric hold of the defense field. He collapsed on his butt again, smoke puffing off his bare skin and shrouding him in a field of white.

  Emily patiently waited for him to recover. During this time, the doors to the Land Rover opened again. Out stepped the girl and Marion.

  For whatever reason, at the sight of Marion, Emily’s heart pounded harder in her chest. The girl was a bit shorter than Marion, but no less elegant. If she wasn’t part of the evil team, Emily might have fawned over her and desired her as a little sister. She was that cute. But not so much now.

  The brother and sister stood by the vehicle and looked at her with grim faces. Marion had an icy edge to his scowl. He probably hated Emily for what she had done to him and to his family’s house.

  Emily wondered if the Alfred Mansion survived the fire. She remembered torching every inch of the building, hoping it would burn down to the stone pillars and the foundati
on. They might have used their magic to stave the fire. Or did the fire not respond to magic just as she was impervious to magic?

  The young man finally stood up. He was bare-chested now, the electricity having burned away what remained of his robes from the previous scorching. But he also wore thick, black pants, which had not been so much as singed.

  The young Alfred had rippling biceps. In the smooth wind, his ebony hair wavered, and he looked like a male model right out of a fashion magazine.

  Emily felt her will waver. A desire to fall into the young man’s powerful arms overcame her, to be stroked by his delicate fingers, and maybe kissed by his soft lips. To look into his precious eyes and capture one hundred percent of his attention. Desired to . . .

  Oh, come off it, Emily! Selena snapped. He’s handsome. I get it. But he’s also evil. Cool your jets.

  Emily cleared her throat and looked away for a moment, trying to refocus her mind. She wasn’t always like this—really, she wasn’t ever like this. Just something about these darn Alfred boys. Maybe it was a spell?

  It’s no spell. Selena interrupted Emily’s thoughts. You’re attracted to him. It’s perfectly normal. He looks like a Greek god.

  Emily rolled her eyes and looked back up to the guy. He was beaming at her.

  “Why so cheery, though?” she asked with a frown.

  The young man smiled even wider. He stretched his hands and said like a master salesman, “What’s not to be cheery about? It’s a fine evening, and the wind is blowing right.”

  Emily looked around, wondering why that was such a big deal. It was regularly a fine evening, and the wind didn’t start blowing just today. So why the fuss? “And so?”

  “And so, it’s a good night to die.” He said it with so much happiness that, for a moment, Emily was confused. How could someone issue such a malevolent threat with such delightful gusto? How could someone be so vile and rejoice in their evilness like that? It didn’t add up.