by Anna Rezes
“Oh, my dear, I’m joyful to know you’re fond of him!” Sky bellows. “You see, this is all part of my plan; to find my daughter a proper husband.”
“Daughter?”
“No,” Dad utters, conscious, but too weak to move. Despair crashes over me. My dad is dying before me just as my mom had, and once again there is nothing I can do.
“Oh, but you are wrong! That weak, pathetic pile on the floor is not your father. Do you really think that impostor is capable of making something so magnificent, something so special, so strong?” Sky pauses, looking delighted in himself. “Dear, you belong to me! I only regret your mother and I couldn’t make it work.”
The thought of Sky being my father makes me sick. It can’t be true! I know my dad. He raised me, giving up everything to protect me, and now he’s lying on the floor, broken and unable to fight. He’s watching me through swollen eyes.
“Don’t look at him!” The despicable man yells. “I am your father. Me!” Sky’s polished shoe lands on Dad’s chest. “He stole you! He raised you in filth, teaching you nothing!”
“He taught me everything.”
“Everything, huh?” he says, with a malicious grin. “Like, who you are? Did he teach you that? Did he teach you how to use those powers you hold? Did he teach you who to trust? Let me tell you who he is. He is an insignificant thief who couldn’t begin to understand the magnitude of what we are!”
“You are poison!” I shout.
A wicked chuckle vibrates his chest as he moves closer. “I may be poison, but you are part of me, darling. Don’t ever forget that.”
I spit in his face. A collective gasp sucks the air from the room and my heart leaps into my throat, anticipating the punishment to come. I glare at him and wait, watching his cold expression frozen on me. My breathing is thunderous in the lethal silence that ensues.
Sky moves and from the corner of my eye, I see his men flinch. Patrick raises an eyebrow, but Sky doesn’t strike me. He wipes the spittle away with his pristine white glove. Maybe that’s their purpose. Perhaps people spit on this man frequently. I certainly hope so.
His expression tells me he’s listening to my thoughts and I can’t help but smile because he knows my level of hatred for him. Even if it’s true, even if this monster is my biological father, he will never be my dad and I will never succumb to him.
“I love your spirit, sweetheart; however, never is a promise you cannot make or keep.”
Sky raises a hand in the air, and with a curt gesture, everyone moves toward the door, everyone except for Patrick.
Sky moves back into my line of vision. “He’s pretty resistant,” he says, nudging my dad with the toe of his shoe. “Your mother must have done a number on him. Did you know Patrick’s mother was protecting your so-called dad? She cleverly made it impossible for anyone to access his thoughts without him being alerted. However, she created a back door into his mind that only she and Patrick knew how to access. So, you see, Patrick could slip into Mark’s mind undetected anytime he chose. We didn’t have to capture or harm him, but we couldn’t pass up the opportunity to get even.”
I find no sympathy in Patrick’s expression, the bastard. He smirks with a wicked glint in his eye, and my rage boils just beneath the surface.
“You might as well give up this fight, Emily.” Sky cups my chin delicately. “You cannot win.”
“Win?” Patrick snickers from across the room. “She’ll be lucky to survive.”
“Yes, it’d be such a pity losing my daughter so soon after finding her. I’ll give you some time to think it over, darling. Come, Patrick.” With his arm wrapped around Patrick’s shoulder, Sky leads his favorite protege through the doorway.
Before I can get closer to my dad, two men come back into the room. They unhook me from the chair but keep me shackled. They guide me down the hall into a place with two small holding cells. They remove my restraints and shove me into a cell. A few minutes later they drag Dad into the opposite cell five feet away. Without regard, they drop his mangled body onto the cement floor. He lets out a painful moan before unconsciousness consumes him.
The chill of the floor seeps into my body as I watch the unsteady rise and fall of my dad’s chest. He kept the truth from me. The men who initially abducted my mom didn’t take her because she was pregnant; they took her so Sky could impregnate her. The thought makes me dry heave. Sky might be my biological father, but my dad is the man face down in the cell across from mine, and because he raised me, loved me, and protected me, he’s suffering and may lose his life.
Hours later when the cold has thoroughly permeated my bones, I notice a movement from Dad’s cell. He turns his face toward me and his cracked lips part, attempting to speak.
Tears fall from my eyes. “I’m sorry,” I breathe. “I’m so sorry.”
“Mm’ always yer’ dad,” he struggles through broken breaths. “Mm’ proud ‘a you . . .”
Proud? How can he be proud?
“Don’t talk,” I whisper, even though I suspect he’s telling me this because he believes he’s going to die. He tries to look at me through the eye that isn’t swollen shut. I wish I could reach him. If only I could touch him, I might be able to heal him. I might be able to give him a chance.
“Love you,” he moans, wincing and clutching his side. His breathing is loud and fast.
Tears continue to flood my cheeks. “I love you, Dad.”
I stretch my arms through the bars. I push until the bars dig into my skin, and then I push harder, enduring the pain in my shoulder. I can’t reach him. I don’t even come close, but I have to try.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Noh yer fault,” he slurs, “Should ‘a protected you . . . Sor . . . Sorry. T . . . Tell Sam . . . Love . . .” he slurs and falls silent. His mind is blank when I reach out to him. His rapid breathing is shallow, and I suspect he’s lost consciousness again.
My lips quiver and I hit the bars between us. Crying, though it resolves nothing, is my only option. Guilt consumes my heart. Because of me, Sam will likely lose the last member of her family, and I’ll lose the only dad I’ve ever known.
My hopes are dwindling. It doesn’t help that I haven’t eaten or slept in what feels like days. There are no windows to give me a clue to the day or time, but my captors continue to bring meals that I refuse to eat.
The hours tick by giving me time to reflect on my many mistakes. Patrick, the manipulative jerk, told me all along it was stupid to trust anyone, yet, foolishly I trusted him.
A breeze against the back of my neck has me spinning around. There is a woman inside my cell, the same woman who keeps showing up at random. Though I no longer feel the breeze, I see it winding through her wild hair as her crystal blue eyes focus on me. I reach out to her, but my hand catches nothing but air.
I ask, “What do you want?”
Her careful voice reverberates through the room. “Rising from nothing to fight for a cause. A victim, a killer, an innocent one.”
“Why do you keep saying that?”
A mournful expression clouds her beautiful features and she continues, “Finding freedom for souls we believe to be lost, by crossing lines that cannot be crossed.”
I shout, “Who are you?”
She vocalizes, “Fear breeds allegiance that is easily broken, while love builds loyalties that remain unspoken.” Her image fades and I’m left alone in my cell.
thirty-one
I hear someone enter. I keep my head down, hugging my knees to my chest as I sit huddled on the cold cement. With my eyes trained on the floor, I try to rein in enough strength through my exhaustion to hold my world together. Footsteps come closer as nausea rocks my body. I am the last Valla. The last demon blood with abilities beyond my comprehension, yet I’m trapped and powerless. The footsteps stop on the other side of the bars.
“This isn’t exactly what I had planned.”
Betrayal stings my eyes, but I force myself to glare up at Patrick through the diml
y lit cell. Anger swells in my veins and my blood runs like molten rage, filling my body with a hatred I once thought unfathomable. I’ve thought of a thousand ways to tell him off. I want to make him understand what he’s done. I want him to feel remorse; to feel the same impossible pain I feel, yet it’s clear to me that nothing I say, no matter how articulate, will make a difference. He’s here to gloat. At least now I’m smart enough to know anything I say will be used against me.
As he crouches before me, I notice the gun holstered at his side. Bile rises in my throat as I conjure a grin, saying, “Did you miss me?”
“Just when I think I’ve figured you out, you baffle me.”
I force a condescending laugh. “Little insight, Patrick, I’m a person, not a riddle.”
His charming smile stabs through me like a hot knife. “Is that where I’ve been going wrong?”
He’s mocking me to see if he can get a reaction. I look at my dad in the next cell and close my eyes. He hasn’t moved in hours and I stopped hearing his splintered breathing minutes before Patrick entered.
I clear my throat and swallow my tears. “Patrick, is there a point to this little visit?”
“There is a room for you just down the hall if you’d like—”
“I’d rather die,” I interrupt.
“And you’re doing a fine job of that by refusing the food and water they bring you. You gave up so easily, didn’t you?”
“I don’t trust any of you. Why would I eat the food?”
He sighs, “For starters, you’ll starve.”
“I’d rather starve than be poisoned.”
He shrugs as he stands and spins away from me. “I expected more from you.”
“I could say the same. You knew all along, didn’t you? It wasn’t the theater or the boat. You knew who I was the moment you first saw me, and you were laughing at me the whole time.” My nails cut into my palms.
“I knew you were special the moment I heard your thoughts in my head that first day on campus. I figured out you were Valla blood the night I ran into you and Ben at the theater,” he says, turning to face me. “You could hear my voice in your head which told me you were an Olvasho, but then those terrified green eyes landed on me and it all clicked together. That’s the reason Sky wanted you, the reason he sent me, his second in command, out to find some unimportant girl. So, yes, I knew what you were, but I was never laughing at you.”
I glare at him through the bars thinking back over all of his lies that led me here. “Well, congratulations, Patrick. Do you want a pat on the back or maybe a medal? No, no, a trophy that reads, world’s biggest jackass!”
He says, “You should know your eyes tell me what you’re feeling.”
I shrug. “So, you know I’m pissed.”
Leaning forward, he whispers, “They tell me you’re afraid.”
“Then you’re focusing on the wrong thing,” I growl, but he turns and walks away.
“I am surprised Mark has lasted this long.” He takes the few steps to the door of Dad’s cell where he pulls a key from his pocket. “Perhaps you need a wakeup call.” Patrick faces me, leaning against the bars of Dad’s prison cell. “When he’s dead they will bring in your sister, then Benjamin, I suppose. It can all stop if you just have a little sit down with Sky. He is your father, after all.”
I look away, unable to bear what he’s saying.
He pushes off the bars, saying, “Fine, sit back and watch everyone wither away. Slow, painful deaths, Emily. Is that what you want?”
I say nothing.
“Giving up so soon?” he shouts, hitting the bars to my cell. “What’s wrong with you? This is what I trained you for!”
I flinch and glare at him, seeing nothing but lifeless blue eyes staring back. His pull on me has been unequivocally severed. “You trained me for him! And I hate you for it.” Spittle escapes my mouth as my voice quakes. “I hate you!”
“That makes two of us, but remember not to let that hate consume you, love.”
“Ha,” I say without humor. “Am I supposed to believe that? That you hate yourself? No, I don’t believe that for a second. Since I met you, I’ve wondered what you’ve been hiding beneath that charming smirk and those hypnotizing eyes. Now, I know you’re incapable of emotion. Your soul died the day you murdered your mother. I’d rather be cold and miserable than feel nothing. I’d rather die than be like you.”
He grips the bars of my cell. “You go ahead and watch your family die and you’ll become exactly like me. You’ll build a callous around your heart and eventually it won’t feel so bad.”
He shifts to the other cell. With a click of a latch, the bars swing open. “Time to check on Mark.”
“Don’t touch him!” I shout, jumping to my feet. I squeeze the bars feeling like a rabid dog in a cage.
Patrick places a gentle hand on the side of my dad’s face and Dad gulps in a rejuvenating breath. He’s not dead! I was so afraid. He groans, cringing in pain, while deliriously swinging a weak arm at Patrick.
“Get your hands off of him!” I demand, a tear escaping the rim of my eye.
Blue eyes meet mine through the bars as Patrick easily deflects my dad’s feeble attack.
“You’re hurting him,” I sob. “Please. Stop!”
“Is that what you think I’m doing?” His eyes begin to pale.
When Patrick taps a finger to Dad’s temple, he ceases his struggle and lies limp on the cement floor. Only now his chest is moving up and down in a steady rhythm. Patrick straightens to leave my dad’s prison cell. He locks the chamber door behind him, pocketing the keys before sauntering over to stand before me. He appears vulnerable with his misty blue eyes.
“You’ve got it wrong,” he says. “I’m keeping him alive. If for nothing else, to give you more time. He’s going to die because apparently you’ve given up, but at least his extended suffering might save your sister’s life.”
“I don’t believe your lies, Patrick.”
“I’m not lying,” he promises, moving closer. He is close enough to touch, but I have to plan carefully before I strike.
“I trusted you,” I say with a shaky voice.
“I’m still on your side.”
“Prove it.” I flick the bar. “Let me out of here.”
“You should’ve been able to do that already,” he condescends, stepping even closer. “You’re too busy starving yourself and wallowing in your own demise. We’re not playing a game here, Emily. You can’t just give up!”
“Careful Patrick, your seams are showing.”
I reach through the bars at the same time I attack his mind. His physical movements lag as he focuses on defending himself against my mental assault. I pull his body against the bars, one arm around his neck, the other reaching for the gun cradled at his side. I unhook the holster and flip the safety as I place the barrel of the gun to his temple.
“Go ahead,” Patrick mumbles.
“You don’t think I will?”
“No, I wish you would. You were supposed to kill me in the boat. That was the plan. I was counting on your Valla blood to take over. It would have been a perfect death.”
“Do you think I’m buying any of this, Patrick?”
“Emily, I’ve been ready to die for a long time. If you would’ve killed me on the boat, you could’ve inherited my strengths, just the edge you would need to kill Sky. You weren’t supposed to have the control to stop yourself. You weren’t supposed to have the conscience to keep from killing me.”
He’s putting up no resistance. I don’t understand, so I ask, “Have you given up?”
“It’s too late for me to give up. Killing me is the easiest solution, but your morals won’t allow it. I know because I’ve given you ample opportunity.”
“You’re a liar.”
“See for yourself.” The tumultuous eruption of emotion escapes from Patrick like a tsunami crashing over me, leaving me to suffocate in his disturbing thoughts. He tore away the veil protecting his mind, des
troying his best defense, at the same time inviting me in to look through his darkest secrets. I thought I knew him before, but I was wrong. Dead wrong. Infinite grief and venomous anger threaten to drown me before I put up a defensive barrier to block it.
“You want to know who I am?” he whispers. “Take a look.”
Even if it’s a trap, I have the upper hand. And this time I won’t hesitate to kill him. I ease up on my resistance and hear his thoughts filter through my mind. I feel how difficult it is for him to keep his barriers down, to let anyone see beyond his masterful exterior.
“If you so much as flinch, I will kill you,” I threaten, easing into his tortured mind, careful to avoid a fatal mistake.
I feel the angry ocean brewing as I dive in. I choke on the heavy aura of despair, disgust, and self-loathing. Fifteen-year-old Patrick is hunched on the floor of a dimly lit cement cell. His bloodshot eyes and tear-streaked face show me he’s distraught. His dirty torn clothes and oily blond hair tell me he hasn’t showered in a while. Purple bruises stain the skin around his neck and jaw. His knuckles are swollen, cracked, and caked with dried blood. He’s a picture of hopelessness, and I wish I could do something, say something to this younger, uncorrupted Patrick, but I’m a fly on the wall watching events unfold, unable to change them.
Terror bolts red-hot up Patrick’s spine as the heavy wooden doors to the cell chamber are thrown open. Sky saunters into the room dressed in a white pinstriped suit with black velvet accents. He looks like an albino tiger on the prowl: proud, distinguished, and most of all, deadly. He’s wearing those ridiculous white gloves and I’m rooting for Patrick to spit on him, so they have a purpose.
“Who are you?” Patrick’s voice vibrates with fear, as he rises to his feet.
Sky bows. “My name is Sky Vallor of the prestigious Leona bloodline.”
“Where is she? Where’s my mom?”
“She’s safe,” Sky says, as he sticks the key in Patrick’s cell door. “My dear boy, you should not be kept in this hole. I apologize. You are Patrick Glenn of the prominent Isa ancestry, are you not?” He opens the door to release Patrick, but the shaken teen doesn’t respond.