by Nia Night
A beautiful monster.
“I said,” Callum repeated, “who’s a drunk and a loser?”
He loomed over me now, shadow draping me, the smell of whiskey growing stronger. My mother made to step in between us. A smile pulled up her lips, but I knew from the set of her shoulders that she was anything but happy. She splayed her fingers on his wide chest, blond hair falling down her back as she looked up at him. My stomach twisted. Her voice was calm when she spoke.
“Hey honey,” my mother said, “she didn’t mean it. She’s just a child. Just ignore it.”
Callum looked down at her for a moment, glassy gaze narrowing. His muscled arms hung loose at his sides. “Nah,” he said. “The little brat has something to say. I want to hear it.” His eyes rose to meet mine where I sat at the cheap wooden table pushed against the kitchen wall. “I see the way she looks at me. I see the look in her eyes. You got something to say, you Halfling little shit? Say it.”
Callum always said Halfling as an insult. As if I could help that my father had been human. Callum was a full Demon, like my mother, but unlike my mother, he’d hailed from a once affluent line. Peasants, he would mutter under his breath when either my mother or I would piss him off. He wasn’t muttering now.
Lifting an arm, he easily swiped my mother aside. She stumbled a step. He took one closer, form falling over me. I was terrified. I won’t lie. My mother and I were fire Demons, our magic among the more powerful of our kind, but Callum’s was Darkness itself. The trump card as far as Demon magic was concerned. The very strongest of them all.
Even without the magic, he was a large male. I was a child and a female.
He could hurt us if he wanted. He could do worse than that. I’d known it the moment I’d set eyes on him. I thought my mother must know it, too. I thought maybe she secretly liked this about him. What else could explain his continued presence in our too small home?
“Speak up, Iliana,” Callum said, voice so low and soft that goosebumps broke out across the back of my neck. “You got something to say, speak the fuck up.”
“Cal, please,” my mother said.
“Shut up, Isla,” Callum snapped. Voice still low, still soft. “Speak,” he commanded, eyes locked on mine.
The words just came out of me. They were spoken as calmly as had been his, which was curious to my own ears. I hated the male with the fires of the ten hells. I hated my mother for not hating him, too. I hated that I loved her so much. And that she loved him so much.
“You, Callum,” I said, as if I were commenting on the weather. “You’re a drunk and a loser.”
The words had barely reached the air before the back of his hand connected with my face. Each knuckle was a rock, a boulder striking my cheekbone. Lightning flashed across my vision, shock holding me dumbfounded for a brief moment before pain lanced through my head.
I think I heard my mother’s horrified gasp. I couldn’t be sure. My ears rung. I was dimly aware of lowering my head to the table, unable to hold it up, of my arms coming up on their own accord to cover the top of my head, as if my limbs were independently aware of the danger.
Blinking, the world slowly began to clear around the edges.
He’d never struck me before. I’d never seen him strike my mother, either. But, sometimes, after a long night making the most hideous noises behind the closed door of their bedroom, my mother would emerge the next day to cook me breakfast, and I would glimpse the bruises around her neck, the upper parts of her arms. She would tuck herself deeper into her pink bathrobe and smile at me without addressing the unspoken questions, the smell of bacon hanging between us.
Blood dribbled from my mouth, iron on my tongue.
“Not so fucking smart now—” Callum began, but was shoved backward quite suddenly by my mother.
I gasped as I took her in. My mother, soft spoken and demurely mannered, small framed and delicately built, was now somehow larger than I’d ever seen her, somehow laced with power even in her small body as Demon fire danced in the gray of her eyes, at the tips of her manicured fingers.
He had to be more than twice her weight, but she’d shoved Callum hard enough to make him stumble back in his drunken state. For as little as it was worth, the bastard looked as surprised as I did.
“Get the fuck out,” my mother told him.
If I’d not been in so much shock, the pain of the backhand still blurring my mind, I might have shouted for joy. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Couldn’t believe that the very thing I’d prayed for on so many long nights might indeed be happening.
“You stupid b—” Callum began again as he shoved off the wall and tried to regain his footing.
Fire flared in my mother’s eyes, and I noticed then that my great grandmother’s Calidi chain was in her hands, the links glowing red-hot with the magic flowing through them.
I could hardly draw air as Callum advanced on her, his own dark magic rallying around him. My mother moved fast—faster than I’d been aware she was capable of, the Calidi chain striking out and snaking around his ankles. He howled as the fire burned him, let out a grunt as my mother yanked the chain back, pulling him off his feet, ass striking the linoleum.
I sat wide-eyed as my mother coiled the chain around her hands again, that Demon fire still blazing in her eyes. Callum stared up at her from the floor as if he was just now seeing her for the very first time.
“Get. Out.,” she repeated, the blaze around her growing brighter, fighting back the dark magic reaching for her, for me.
For the first time ever, it was a blessing, a stroke of true luck that Callum was drunk enough for his magic to be muted. If it hadn’t, I was positive it would’ve ended for both my mother and me that very night. When he was in full control of himself, he was too strong to take down.
But that night, my mother did just that. Took his punk ass down.
Silence held for half a heartbeat, and then Callum slowly pulled himself to his feet, bracing his hand on the doorframe leading out of the kitchen. He didn’t say a word, but the look in his eyes relayed that this was not over. That he might leave now, but he would be back.
My mother stood strong, fire poised at her fingertips, making the Calidi chain glow as the bastard sneered and stumbled out of the kitchen. His footsteps retreated down the short hall. The apartment door slammed shut a moment later.
All the air seemed to rush out of her at once, flames dying. My mother knelt before me, casting the Calidi chain aside, where it pooled like a silver snake upon the kitchen floor. The red flicker of fire leaked from her eyes to reveal the stormy gray of them—the same color as my own eyes.
I sat utterly still in my chair at the table as she looked me over, taking my face between her fingers to examine the black eye and bloody lip that were now blooming across my left cheek. Her delicate throat bobbed, teeth flashing as she took in the state of me. I stared back at her, half in shock, half in awe.
With a deep breath, she stood, kissed my forehead, and retrieved a bag of frozen vegetables from the freezer. She pulled out the chair beside mine and collapsed into it, leaning forward to hold the vegetables to the left side of my face.
My face throbbed hot against the frozen bag, but I only stared at her.
“I’m so sorry, my love,” she said. “So sorry.”
I reached up and covered the hand that she held to my face. “It’s okay,” I said.
But it wasn’t. We both knew it wasn’t.
“Things will get better now,” she promised. “I’ll make sure they do.”
I nodded. Because I was still naïve enough to believe this.
A Note from the Author
Dearest Sisters (and Brothers),
Thank you for giving this new series a shot. I hope you enjoyed it. We’re just getting started, so I hope you’ll consider following along for the rest of the journey.
Iliana is up to her neck in trouble, and she hardly knows the half of it yet. But not to worry, book 2 will be following on the heels of
this one, with book 3 on the heels of that.
If you’d like to be notified when they release (and be privy to release day sales) become a Sister and join The Sisterhood’s Newsletter to get access to exclusive materials like an official copy of The Sister’s Code, Iliana’s favorite workout, updates about the series, and other cool shit from yours truly.
Until next time, keep it sinful, Sis. (Or Bro.)
Xoxo,
Nia
2/7/19
About the Author
Nia Night is an author of urban fantasy. She’s the mother of two badass little ladies, and a badass herself, except when it comes to insects. She’s terrified of insects.
In her free time, Nia enjoys strolls under the moonlight (always carrying a self-carved wooden stake, in case she has to slay some vamps or something), pretending she has to save the world as motivation when working out, and then eating any questionably edible items she can find immediately after aforementioned working out.
Additionally, she excels at creating randomly awkward social interactions, but is actually pretty chill once you get to know her.
For more info, check out NiaNight.com
