“What is this about? Is this the competition?” I glance desperately between my father and Dimitri, but both men are impassive.
“Have a seat.” Dracula nods towards the chair opposite him, and I daintily perch on the edge. My body thrums with excess energy as my eyes dart anxiously in every direction. “This was the only way I could speak to you without others knowing.”
“Wait.” I hold up both hands. “Did you hijack the Roaring?”
“As soon as Dracula finishes speaking to you, we’ll bring you back to the arena,” Dimitri states simply. “As I said before, each room is designed specifically for the contestant.” His lips quirk marginally, and I realize that the sly bastard has somehow found a way to cheat the system. Not that I’m complaining. If this gets me answers, then I’m willing to do just about anything.
“I’ve been needing to talk to you,” Dracula begins, leaning backwards on the sofa and extending his legs. He crosses them at his ankles and places his clasped hands on his stomach. “You have questions.”
“Of course I have fucking questions!” I jump to my feet, my agitation demanding physical movement. Pacing, I scrub a hand through my disheveled blonde curls. “Why didn’t you tell me that Diedre was my sister?”
“Because I have a lot of children,” he answers simply. “Thousands, more or less.” He shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly, as if he didn’t just drop a bomb the size of Alaska in my lap. I have over a thousand siblings?
Someone needs to give Dracula a condom.
But not me, because, ew.
“Was she telling the truth?” I continue, my stomach twisting into dozens of tight, intricate knots. “Am I not your biological daughter?”
Dracula releases a heavy sigh, the tick in his jaw commandeering my attention. His reaction only reinforces what I have already suspected.
“It is true,” I whisper in numb horror. “I’m not your daughter.”
And if Diedre was telling the truth about that, then was she also telling the truth when she said one of my men helped frame me for murder? No, I can’t think like that. I refuse. The second trust is broken, it’s impossible to mend.
“No, you’re not.” He presses his lips together. “At least, not through blood. You’re my daughter in every other sense of the word.” The sincerity in his eyes is impossible to doubt. He hasn’t once claimed Diedre as his own, but me? He claimed me for the entire world to see. In his own sick, demented way, the asshole loves me.
“What am I?” I stare down at my hands as if I’ve never seen them before. For my entire life, I’ve thought these were hands that belonged to a vampire—and not just any vampire, but Dracula’s daughter. Who am I? What am I?
“I don’t know.” He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, forking his fingers together.
“You don’t know,” I repeat dubiously. My eyes flicker to Dimitri, still standing silently in the corner. Why is he here? What part does he play in all of this?
“You can trust him,” Dracula says, misreading my expression. “He’s loyal to me.”
Dimitri’s eyes flare at his words, face tightening in distaste, but he doesn’t contradict my father. I have the distinct feeling that Dimitri is loyal to no one but himself…and to me, though I don’t speak that thought out loud. Everything about the assassin-slash-headmaster is confusing. He’s nothing but a sexy contradiction—a beautifully wrapped package that carries nothing but spikes.
I want to demand they tell me how they know each other, if Dracula hired Dimitri from the start to protect me, but I don’t want to know those answers. I wouldn’t be able to survive if Dimitri was only protecting me because of a deal he made with my father.
“Tell me what you know,” I demand at last, and Dracula’s face tightens at my tone. He never liked when I talked back to him.
“Nineteen years ago, I received a call from a close confidant of mine…Dorian Gray.” I release a startled gasp as I once more stare intently at Dimitri, but his expression is neutral as we discuss his estranged father. “Dorian Gray had discovered something peculiar, and of course, he contacted me first and foremost.” Dracula nervously licks his upper lip, the only indication that he’s distressed by this conversation.
“Nineteen years ago…when I was born. Let me guess? He found me?”
Dracula releases a bark of dry laughter. “Don’t be so vain, my sweet daughter. He actually found your rather pregnant mother.”
“My mother?” I stop pacing and whip my head around to face him. The only thing I remember about her is that she died when I was younger from an accidental overdose.
“She was lying in the middle of the forest, sobbing. Dorian was there, as well as his son.” He nods towards Dimitri, who has gone rigid, lines of tension evident in his beautiful face. “She was dying, and she begged for me to look after her unborn baby. I accepted, of course, because I knew your mother.”
“You…knew her?” The more he talks, the more confused I become.
“We were lovers many years ago,” Dracula admits with a dismissive wave of his hand. Obviously, that disgusting snippet of information isn’t relevant to the story.
“Who was she?”
My stomach tightens to unbearable levels until I fear I’m going to expel the meager contents currently residing in my stomach.
“Your mother fell in love with a very evil man,” Dracula continues, ignoring my question. “And when she tried to leave him—taking you with her—he attempted to murder both of you. I vowed to keep you safe and love you like you were my own. I even had a witch place a spell on you to dampen your powers while keeping the ones that were decidedly vampiric strong. As you got older and more insistent that you know your birth mother, I had that same witch implant fake memories to keep you satisfied.”
“Who are my parents?” I demand, dropping myself into the chair opposite him. My legs feel wobbly and leaden, and I have no doubt that if I were to attempt to stand a second longer, I would collapse. Dimitri moves to stand beside me, face expressionless sans the slightest hardening of his eyes.
“Your mother is Hera, Queen of all the Gods, and your father is none other than Lucifer himself, the original monster. Your lineage encompasses two mythologies, two very different types of monsters, but both have their own set of enemies. If the world discovers who you truly are, you won’t have only a few monsters attempting to kill you. Every species in every world will be gunning for your ass.”
Chapter 41
Violet
“Hera,” I repeat numbly as I stare at my hands. Hands that belong to the daughter of a goddess and the devil. Only minutes ago, I was desperate to know my identity—who I am, who my parents are, what my species is. Now, I’m desperate for Dracula to break into laughter and assure me that this is nothing but a sick, demented joke. I’ll do anything to remain in my tiny, oblivious bubble for a few more minutes. Just a few. I’m not ready to face the world and the implications of his words.
“Even before we were lovers, we were close friends,” Dracula continues, eyes effectively keeping me silent. “When she asked for me to look after her daughter, I couldn’t refuse. That very night, you were born. A healthy, beautiful little girl.” He speaks with a reverence that I’ve never heard before, and I have to wonder if that respect is for me…or the power I apparently wield.