Yield to Your Father's Blood

Elyra stayed motionless, staring at him—or trying to, at least—clinging to the shaky hope that she would be able to keep her eyes open long enough to summon some defiance, to confront the thing that stood there in front of her. Two factors caused her to hold her ground: the closeness of an opponent she couldn't fully identify unnerved her, and as night fell, the instinctive urge to hunt drew on her spirit.

Shuddering, she sank back into her pillow and closed her eyes, putting the thing that was prowling nearby out of her mind for a moment. How much time had passed since she last saw him? She was unable to pinpoint it. He had first encountered Amara more than seven years prior. He was intangible to the others, like a whirl of dust caught in a beam of sunlight. In any case, what did it matter? To her, he was nothing. He did nothing except watch. However, she could feel the crushing weight of his presence without even seeing him.

She also didn't need to see the sun's arc across the sky to determine when it will set below the horizon. She tossed aside her blanket and got out of bed because she was nervous and restless and didn't want to face the night while confined between iron bars. She glared defiantly at the dark imp she felt was lurking nearby, her jaw clenched with determination. She then shook her head and strode out of her room, her feet audacious, as if she were defying an invisible observer who would question her disobedience.

She rushed through the front door, expecting resistance that never materialized, and was almost surprised when no one outside her chamber tried to stop her. Gramor was the silent guard beside the doorframe, his presence as unwavering as rock, and she almost stumbled over him.

Though his face still sent a chill down her spine, unaffected by many experiences with those demonic edges ready to rise against her, she didn't shy away from him the way she had in the past. He never dulled the shock.

However, she controlled her rage and maintained her position, not allowing it to weaken her resolve. He must have enjoyed the power he had over her reactions; she had witnessed that ruthless joy too often, his mocking grin a continual provocation. With a raspy voice, he whispered, "Feeling better?" as though he was afraid of upsetting an invisible listener. "I wanted to see how long it would take you to give in to your father's genetic influence." "And here, the sun hasn't even set yet," he continued, cocking his head slightly.

Elyra clenched her jaw, fighting the impulse to snarl her demon teeth. She snarled, attempting to push him away, but he did not attempt to block her path. "What do you know about my father's blood?" she asked.

Startlingly quickly, he grabbed her arm, twisted it and her whole body in one fluid movement, and with one vicious yank, he brought her to her knees. She was startled by the blow, but she wrenched free and staggered back to her feet without encountering any resistance.

Eager to see if blood still flowed through the near-vampire's fragile body, she stood up, her rage unbridled, and spun around on him with a savage roar. However, she was stopped by his fractured aspect, which should have signified nothing in the midst of her fury. He appeared frail despite his demonstrated strength, and she, who had never killed a person or anything else, couldn't start with someone who appeared so weak.

But his face showed no sign of worry, and he seemed unconcerned. With an unwavering tone, he said, "I did not back down before your father, and I will not back down before one who carries only half his blood."

Her legs trembled as his words struck her like icy shards, almost causing her to collapse once more. What was he trying to say? Was her father someone he knew? Did he have any secrets regarding what happened to her mother? How can he mention this now, damn him! She lunged for him, her mind a flurry of questions she had suppressed for years, driven by a frantic need for answers: Was her father someone he knew? Did he know that her mother had been driven to her death by that monster who, in a fit of wrath, had attacked her in the center of the city, tearing her flesh to shreds?

"I challenge you!" Lost in the torrent of long-suppressed questions, she screamed in a hoarse voice that hardly registered her own words.

But he was stronger than he appeared to be, in addition to being faster. She was at a disadvantage because of her blind rage, which was a reflection of the fight from the night before and the injuries she still carried from it.

In any case, he threw her down again, his bony fists delivering a steady stream of punches, each more piercing than the last. Her mouth was filled with the bitter taste of her own blood, but this time it gave her more energy. The evil spirit of the demon inside her began to claw toward the surface as she felt it stir.

"Elyra!" The haze of insanity was broken by her grandmother's agonized scream. The matriarch's face was pale and her eyes were burning with rage as she stood stiffly in the doorway. Her next comments were calculated and emotionally charged. "You dare!" With two quick steps, she filled the gap and gave her granddaughter a hard slap across the cheek as her voice faltered under the weight of experience and age.

More than its sting, the shock of the strike left Elyra frozen in startled silence, unable to react. She gasped as she looked at her grandma, tears streaming down her cheeks—not from agony, but from the betrayal—her grandmother supporting this monster over her own family! Was she aware from the beginning?

Unable to stand the accusing gaze and the embarrassment they caused, Elyra turned and ran away, trapped in the matriarch's piercing gaze. There was no more appeal to gossip. What about Gramor's assertion? He must be telling lies. He could never have lived if he had confronted her father.

I am so overcome by my father's shadow that I am unable to stand in front of that shattered being! As unsettling as any revelation that day, the notion echoed in her thoughts like a poisonous voice. Gramor was a little speck, a trivial insect, in comparison to the demon that had taken her mother, but this realization stoked her shaky desire to murder.

However, this had no effect. Not quite yet.