“Is she…dead?” My heart begins to thump erratically as I move my hands to the armrests of my seat. I squeeze until I fear I’m going to break my fingers. Pain like I’ve never felt before consumes me as completely as a tidal wave. I fear I’ll become lost in it. Drown in it.
“Hera?” He reclines back in his chair. The only indication he’s anything other than aloof is the tightening of his eyes. My father is a master of illusions, a master of perfecting his blank mask. To the untrained eye, he appears almost bored with this conversation. Only someone who knows him as well as I do can see the jittery way he holds himself, the way his fingers tap a staccato against the couch’s armrest. “Fortunately, your mother is alive and well.”
“And she hasn’t come for me?” I can’t hide the hurt that creeps into my voice.
“You know it’s not safe,” he answers curtly.
“Because of Lucifer?” I stick my thumb into my mouth and bite down, the blast of pain almost welcoming. It penetrates the numbness that settles heavily in my head like a depressive fog.
“Lucifer is the original monster,” Dimitri interjects, startling me. For a while, I had forgotten he was here, lurking beside me like a sexy shadow. “He created all of the monsters we know today.”
“And he fucked my mom.” I scrub a hand down my face, wishing I could just as easily wipe away the pain and betrayal trapping me six feet underground. Because, yeah, I’m pissed. Fucking furious. For years, my father led me to believe I was nothing but a vampire, his favorite daughter. That latter statement may be true—and I know that blood doesn’t always equal family—but he still lied about my identity. He still made me believe that my mother was dead. I carried the pain of her death like battle armor. It made me stronger, while at the same time, it weighed me down. My mother is alive. Should I be ecstatic? Over the moon?
But the fact that she can’t see me? Can’t talk to me?
It only exacerbates my rage.
Dracula lightly brushes a strand of his meticulously groomed hair out of his eyes. The onyx strands contrast greatly with his pasty, almost sickly, skin. Why did I ever think we were related? Looking at him through a new lens, I realize we look positively nothing alike. While his hair is as black as pitch, mine is sunlit blonde, the strands interwoven with shades of white and a light brown. While his skin reminds me vaguely of alabaster, mine is as smooth as porcelain with a slight tan most vampires could only dream of acquiring. His nose is long and thick, the tip slightly crooked, as if it had been broken one too many times, while mine is tiny and pert. His lips are thin, while mine are lush.
“At the moment, Lucifer believes you to be dead,” Dimitri continues, once more commandeering my attention. His hands are clasped primly behind his back as he tilts his chin up. “He knows that he didn’t kill Hera, but he truly believes that he killed his demon spawn.”
I raise my hand in the air. “As his demon spawn, I very much protest to being called ‘demon spawn.’”
Ignoring me, Dimitri continues. “The world can never know the truth about your heritage. When Dracula agreed to take you in as his own, relations between vampires and the other monsters were not nearly as tense.”
“Tense.” I snort once at the absurdity of that word. “They’re butchering us.”
“And what will they do if they discover the truth about you?” Dracula cocks one dark eyebrow as his shrewd eyes narrow imperceptibly. “They won’t kill you, Violet. At least, not right away. Some will wish to use your powers for their own purposes. Others will hope to get favors from Lucifer and Hera, unknowing that the former wishes that you were dead and the latter is unable to confess to being your mother.”
Shifting on the uncomfortable seat, I drill my dad with a penetrating glare. “This doesn’t make any sense. I’m a vampire. I drink blood.”
Once more, it’s Dimitri that answers. “You do.” He nods, moving from his spot in the corner to stand beside my father, who still reclines on the couch. He’s every inch the graceful, elegant predator with his frosty ice-blue stare and his pure white hair pulled back into a severe ponytail. “Your birth father, Lucifer, is the creator of all monsters, including vampires.”
“Are you saying that Lucifer is a vampire?” I gape, struggling to understand their words. This entire thing sounds insane. Half of me wants to believe that Dracula’s pulling one over on me. Any second now, he’ll break into peals of laughter, point a finger at me, and say, “Gotcha.” Maybe this is part of the Roaring. Maybe this is how they’ll finally break me.
“Lucifer is a demon. Not just any demon, but the devil himself,” Dimitri corrects. “But, yes, he does drink blood.”
“You’ll come to discover that you’re stronger than the average vampire,” Dracula adds. “Faster. Smarter.” Okay, yeah, that one gets a snort out of me, but Dracula continues on as if I hadn’t interrupted. “You’ll discover, over time, that you have more powers as well.”
“Like what?” I whisper. I don’t even want the powers I have now, let alone new ones. Both humans and monsters alike fear those that are different. And frankly, I like my heart in my body and my head on my shoulders just as much as the next person. I don’t want to die because of who my parents are.
But unfortunately, life isn’t always fair.
“Your mother is Hera,” Dimitri says. “She’s the Goddess of Marriage and Birth.”
I groan low in my throat, dropping my face into my hands. “Please don’t tell me that my superpower is popping out babies left and right. I don’t think my vagina can handle that.”
Dracula looks slightly queasy, but Dimitri rolls his eyes. “No, of course not. But it could explain why you have more than one mate.”
“Mate?” My father sits up abruptly, glancing between the two of us with narrowed eyes. “What the hell is he talking about? When did you get a mate? Or mates? I’ll rip his balls straight from his body! Or their balls!”
“Dad,” I warn, “stop it.”
“You do realize I’ve been called Vlad the Impaler for a reason, right? And it’s not because of my sex skills.”
“Oh my god, Dad, seriously?” I cover my mouth to keep from vomiting, especially when he exchanges a conspiratorial wink with Dimitri.
“A little murder has never hurt anyone before,” he says lightly, eyes already gleaming at the thought. I wonder what he’d do if he discovered Dimitri Gray had just face fucked me the day before in the headmaster’s office. I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t be so “buddy buddy” after that.
“We’re not murdering my…errr…mates.”
“So you admit you have them.”
“Nope! We’re not doing this! Fuck, Dad, you’re so embarrassing.”
“Embarrassing.” Dracula pouts and reclines back on the sofa. “I’m a pretty damn cool dad.”
“You give me emotional whiplash,” I counter immediately. “Sometimes, you’re saying stuff like ‘cool dad,’ and other times, you’re snapping my neck.”
“It’s called tough love,” he responds petulantly. “Have you heard of it?”