“Do you hate me?” The question comes out tentative, fragile.
He shakes his head.
“Do you hate what I am?”
His eyes shift away from me, locking on the door. “I don’t hate you, Sol, but I don’t like that you have awoken a beast.”
Is he calling Hector a beast? Or the Bloodstone?
“I am carrying his child.”
Father’s attention jerks back to me as I lower my hands to my abdomen. He sweeps his gaze over me, his eyes glittering with concern. “You need to leave this place. It’s not safe.”
“Is there a mark on my life still?” I ask.
“No. The mark was only intended to stop you from bringing back Bloodstone magic. But if the chieftain’s men see you, they will kill you.”
A thread of fear races through me, striking at my chest. A thread for me. For him.
“Come with me, Father,” I say, my words quick and laced with concern. “You are not safe here.”
He shakes his head. “I have a plan to leave and make my home with the Carnelians.”
The Carnelians?
Father would rather live with strangers than with me?
It’s not you.
It’s the Bloodstone he doesn’t want to live with.
Our conversation shifts after that. We talk about everything we have done since we last saw each other.
While he talks, I stare at him, trying to put a face to the man who actually sired me. And I try to picture Mother’s face, to conjure it the way I did as a child, but over time it has faded. Now, I’m left with only a few fragmented memories. Like the sound of her voice and the way she smelled.
Before I leave, Father says he has a satchel for me—things he had collected while I was away. Things he thought I would like.
I open it to find a sapphire ring that belonged to Mother, herbs, seeds, and a pendant. My eyes burn as I slip the ring on my index finger. It fits perfectly.
“I thought you might come back some day, and if you did, I thought you might want things to help you heal people.” His eyes meet mine, shining with sincerity and adoration. “I know how important healing is to you, Sol. And I know how important your mother is to you.”
I swallow hard, fighting the emotions building inside me. A part of me wants to sob, to fall apart as I remember her.
From the satchel, I pull out the pendant, dangling it from my fingers. “Did this belong to Mother too?”
“No. You were wearing it the night I took you.”
Tentatively, I run my fingers against the unfamiliar stone hanging from the center of the necklace.
“It seemed important. So, I kept it,” he admits.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
When I stand up to leave, he brings me close and whispers in my ear. “I hope you’ll forgive me someday.”
I speak from the depths of my heart, hoping he hears my sincerity. “I already have.”
ChapterSeventeen
