Page 117 of Cryptic Dreams
“Bastard!” I scream as I lunge at him. “You fucking bastard, if you so much as blink in her direction I will kill you. I will kill you slowly and painfully, and with methods you couldn’t fathom in your most terrifying nightmare.”
“Enough,” Atticus barks from behind his lapdog, Hans patting me on the cheek before he steps out of the way. “I’m bored with your games, let’s move this along.”
We lock eyes once Hans moves, black on black, ruthless stare on ruthless stare. My sire looks me over carefully, my entire body chained to the platform, naked and forced to my knees in submission. He barely stops at each wound, each smoking burn and purpled bruise, but he does stop. And somewhere in the back of my mind, I wonder if he feels anything at all looking at me like this.
He showed no remorse, no grief or pain when my sisters were murdered, not even when I was the one to take his favorite from him. For so long I questioned why he left me alive, why he didn’t kill me as his other children were killed, why my father didn’t eliminate all threats to his position when he had the chance.
But the answer was always there, always crystal clear.
Kadoc didn’t allow it.
My grandfather was more sadistic, more ruthless than Atticus and I combined, but he placed value on those of his line. Whether it was forced practice by my grandmother, or something instilled in him when Xenith gave him life, Kadoc protected and nearly treasured his young and his mate, right up until the very end.
He fought for them, fought for what was right, and he continued to do so from afar even after he lost his mate but the Species War broke him, and it wasn’t until we lost that I truly understood the father to us all.
Kadoc may have been a terrifying creature of the primal variety but he had values, and they extended to my father at one point, and far enough to keep me—and my mother—alive for centuries.
But that all ends tonight.
Atticus stands from his throne, his empty gaze still boring into mine as he descends the stairs and makes his way toward me. “In accordance with the only right granted to a traitor by Kadoc the Sovereign himself, you’re allowed to speak to the Counsel in your defense. A closing argument, if you will, and then we have the option to deliberate or sentence immediately.”
As if I don’t know.
I’ve been on his side of this situation thousands of times over the years, and I know exactly how this is going to go.
Which is why I jerk at my chains in frustration then start to laugh when my father flinches. “Long live Kadoc’s crown, now take me to my mate you worthless piece of horse shite.”
The back of Atticus’s hand hits my face so fast and so hard I see spots dance across my vision, my head snapping backward on my neck before it lolls to the side.
“To the Pit,” my sire growls. “It’s nearly sunup and I’d like to send all of this to the morning news outlets before they go live.”
God, he is such a fucking prick.
* * *
Hans and Randolphpull the platform I’m chained to down the long corridor under Hall of Vampire Affairs, the heavy ropes thrown over their shoulders as they drag me to my fate.
A fate I’ve envisioned in my mind for decades, one I was at peace with until Zephyr came along.
A fate I will somehow manage to escape, freeing us both so we may rewrite our story in Atticus’s blood.
My head bobs with each tug on the gold plated ropes, my body weak but buzzing with rage, my hatred brewing under the surface in hopes I’ll be able to use it to get us out of this mess.
I knew from the beginning what embracing our bond could do, what risks mating my gentle breeze would bring for both of us and though I tried like hell to fight it, I wouldn’t change one moment from the first time I laid eyes on Zephyr.
How we spent over two hundred years living in the same city without ever crossing paths is still a mystery but my mate chose to believe there was a reason for it.
Our situations, our activities and separate lives dictated the delayed meeting to some degree, and even with her optimism over a moredivine purposefor our random encounter and the events that followed, I still wonderwhy now?
Why did the Gods of Old put Zephyr in my path a short while before this all came to a head, mere months before the truth of who my sire is and his own murderous agenda revealed itself? Why give us a taste of pure bliss, of euphoric ecstasy only to have it threatened by the very hand that raised me, and ultimately hanging in the balance here and now?
I find it hard to see the divinity in that, despite my mate’s constant reminders of it.
Zephyr is a dreamer, though.
One who lived in a fantasy world of paintings and books, of the stories behind them and adopting them as her own when reality became too much to bear.
I admire her for her optimism and hope, even if I do not share them.