by Anna Rezes
“Are you not?” Sky asks again with an edge of impatience. Patrick nods and Sky smiles his deceptive smile. “Come, my dear boy. We are allies in this war. I’m sure we can resolve whatever it is that led you here. Let’s get you cleaned and dressed. We can’t have the future of the Isa lineage rotting in a cell, now can we?” Sky offers his gloved hand to Patrick. “Forgive this miscommunication.”
Patrick is apprehensive about taking his hand.
“This could be the beginning of a beautiful relationship,” Sky announces, making my stomach churn. “You have such potential.”
“What about my mom?” Patrick pulls his hand away.
“She’s just down the hall getting cleaned up. I thought we could discuss it over dinner,” he says, inviting Patrick to walk with him down a brightly lit hallway.
At the edge of a spacious dining hall, a plethora of potted lilac’s scent the air with a lovely aroma. The three-story room is surrounded by grand marble pillars supporting impressive balconies from the floors above. From the towering ceiling hangs a cascading crystal chandelier sparkling like diamonds. Under the glittering light is an elegant dining table with seating for twelve.
“This way,” Sky says. “I’ll show you to your private room.” They ascend the winding staircase to the second floor. Sky opens a door to reveal an opulent room to rival an upscale hotel.
“Suitable dinner attire will be waiting for you when you complete your shower. I’ll meet you in the dining hall at six o’clock. That gives you one hour.” Sky leaves Patrick overwhelmingly alone.
Time skips ahead to Patrick looking in a mirror. He’s freshly showered, wearing a stylish grey suit. He looks handsome and powerful but lacks the composure that’s so typical of Patrick. There is a brief rap on the door before Sky bursts into the room with his unwelcome enthusiasm.
“Don’t you look nice! Oh, but those won’t do.” Sky reaches his hand out to touch Patrick’s jaw.
Patrick moves away. “It doesn’t hurt.”
“But it looks awful. Besides, I feel terrible about what’s happened. Won’t you allow this one kindness?”
Patrick is speechless, hypnotized by those evil blue eyes. When Sky reaches out, Patrick stiffens but doesn’t move away. As the bruises disappear, an aura shifts between them. Sky is doing more than healing; he’s getting into Patrick’s psyche.
“That’s better, my dear boy,” Sky says, stepping back.
Patrick snaps out of his trance and touches a hand to his face. “Umm, thanks.”
“It’s the least I can do.” Sky pats him on the back guiding him out of the room.
They descend the winding stairs into the open dining area with the colossal chandelier. The men seated around the table stand when Sky approaches.
“Come sit at the end by me,” Sky invites.
“Where’s my mom?”
“She’ll be here soon, I’m sure. Women always take so long getting dolled up.” The men at the table sit after Sky is seated, and Patrick nervously fiddles with the bottom of his jacket.
“Eat. Please,” Sky encourages. “I know you must be starving. I’ll go check on your mother.” Sky stands and the other men at the table stand with him. Patrick begins to get to his feet, taking the cue from the others, but Sky stops him with a hand on his shoulder.
“Please, sit, enjoy the food. I’ll be right back.”
Patrick looks at the other men as they take their seats. “Hi,” he murmurs.
The men don’t acknowledge him. Patrick grabs a roll from a tray to occupy his fidgeting hands. He didn’t realize how hungry he was until he finds himself reaching for another. After the second roll, he piles mounds of food on his plate. He gorges himself and by the time he’s finished, he looks downright giddy.
Sky re-enters the room escorting Patrick’s mother. Her long blond hair is curled and styled in a low chignon with tendrils artfully hanging loose. Her light makeup accentuates her angelic features. She’s wearing a form-fitting white gown accented with silver, if you can count chains as accents. Her hands and ankles are shackled like a prisoner in transport. Her face contorts as she spots her son and the anguish is evident in her stilted movements.
Patrick sees them approaching and smiles as if nothing is out of place. “Mom, you’ve gotta try these mashed potatoes,” he says, his pupils so dilated only a rim of blue remains.
“Don’t do this, Sky!” She grabs Sky’s wrist pleading with him. “I beg of you, don’t do this!”
“It’s already done, Alessandra! You take my daughter from me; it’s only fair I take your son from you.”
“He’s innocent.”
“Not for long!” Sky sneers, wrenching out of her grip.
As if nothing is amiss, Patrick piles another helping of chicken on his plate. “Mom, seriously, this chicken is amazing.”
Alessandra sits down across from her son and watches him eat. Patrick doesn’t notice her silent tears. He doesn’t feel the tension in the room. He finishes eating and leans back in his seat, full and content.
Sky turns to Patrick. “Son, I’m afraid we need to talk about your mother’s situation.”
“Her situation?” Patrick questions, having a difficult time focusing.
Sky places a hand on the back of Patrick’s neck forcing his mental influence. Alessandra moans and it’s obvious Sky is mentally restraining her.
“Your mother stole my daughter from me.” Sky’s theatrics are at play, as he clears his throat like he’s choked up.
“She did?” Patrick’s addled eyes try to focus on his mom.
“Yes, you see, my daughter is not well. She has this condition that without my assistance, she may kill dozens, even hundreds. She must be contained, but your mother helped her escape. My daughter needs me, Patrick. Without my guidance, who knows what she will do.”
“Mom, why did you let her escape?” His innocent confusion paints him younger than his years.
Alessandra cannot speak. She tries to fight Sky’s dominance over her, but she can only submit.
“You see, Son,” Sky says, hiding his contempt, “your mother enjoys watching other people suffer. She must reap the consequences of her actions and because you are her son, how do we know you are not an accomplice?”
“What?” Patrick breathes, reverting to the mental state of a five-year-old as the narcotics from the tainted food hit Patrick’s bloodstream. He’s too drugged to see the situations for what it is.
Sky simplifies. “Your mother is bad. You must punish her to prove you are not also bad.”
“What do I have to do?”
An evil grin stretches across Sky’s face. “We’ll think of something, my boy. Come, let’s go to a more private space down the hall.”
Patrick is oblivious to the severity of the situation. He obeys and escorts his mother toward the door. She smiles and looks to him lovingly, cherishing his touch, perhaps because she knows it will be the last opportunity she’ll have.
They enter the empty white room. Two men follow shutting the door behind them. Sky drags a cold steel chair to the middle of the room. “Patrick, help your mother to the chair. Those stilettos must be killing her feet.”
Patrick guides Alessandra to sit down, gently wiping away her tears.
“Come here, Patrick,” Sky says, opening a small cabinet built into the wall.
Patrick follows and peers into the storage cabinet filled with knives and guns. Sky removes an eight-inch dagger and hands it to Patrick who embraces the knife like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Now Patrick, this is where you prove to me, you’re someone I can trust. That woman over there is a bad person. If you don’t take care of her, she might kill us both.”
“Oh!” Patrick looks at his mom. He doesn’t appear to recognize her.
“You must kill her, Patrick. With this knife.” Sky nudges the hand gripping the blade.
“Now!” Sky shouts. “Patrick, kill her now!”
Patrick moves swiftly across the
room and plunges the knife into his mother’s chest. She screams as the hold Sky has on her breaks. Patrick blinks and shakes his head as he begins to understand what’s happening. His hold on the knife hesitates while his eyes focus, but his mind is not his own, and he shouts in agony. Tears stream down his face as he thrusts the dagger into her heart again, unable to regain control.
Sky motions for his men to intervene. They grab Patrick and drag him away. He’s wearing her blood on his hands and howls his grief, realizing what he’s done. He kicks at the men holding him, lashing out as rage consumes him. His mother slumps in the chair, bleeding out. Her gaze, twisted with grief, is soft and loving as she watches him for as long as her eyes will allow. Patrick cries out for her as the door closes between them.
The energy in the room shifts, and before Alessandra dies, Sky steals a part of her, pillaging her vitality. He extracts what’s left of her life force by consuming her soul, feeding his power. Sky killed Alessandra. Patrick was merely the weapon he chose to carry out the deed.
Realization dawns on me. Emancipated at sixteen, Patrick has never been free. Sky beat him down one twisted lie at a time and eventually and inevitably it consumed Patrick with darkness. Every time Patrick tried to escape Sky’s hold, he was ambushed or manipulated, molding him into the monster he never chose to be. Patrick was forced to become a loyal accomplice to an evil man and thus became evil by default.
He was sent to find the girl with Valla blood five months ago with no idea what he was getting himself into. He was taught to believe Valla descendants were demons and must be eradicated or controlled. He proceeded to comb the Midwest for an eighteen-year-old girl who fit the description of a Valla. He never expected to find me.
His orders were to report back immediately if he found Valla blood, but Patrick found a purpose in me. He was captivated from the moment we first met. It took him time to convince himself that I was actually Valla blood because I was nothing like the demon Sky had made me out to be.
My presence took away some of the torment that had been consuming him. He spent hours near me without my knowledge to reassure himself there was hope. Patrick had to give up my father to appease Sky, so he would have time to train, prepare, and equip me with the skills needed for the imminent fight. He believed together we could defeat Sky.
Patrick was sure I was ready to face Sky when he felt the strength of my power the night my memories returned. He realized his mistake when I went blind. Even though the trip to the hotel was a setup, the emotions I felt from Patrick were real. And at the compound, the betrayal I felt had to be genuine to convince Sky. It was the only way we had a chance of surviving.
Easing out of Patrick’s mind, I realize I’m still holding him against the bars. I release him and stumble back. I flip the safety, before letting the gun slide from my grip to clatter against the cement floor.
Consumed with guilt, Patrick keeps his head down. “I learned how to adapt and do what I needed to do in order to survive. You’ll never know how deeply I wish I could take it all back.”
Sky used him as a weapon, the same way he plans to use me, the same way he wants to use our children. It happened to Patrick slowly. He became what he is by losing one hope at a time. Now he’s left with only one hope — me.
“Emily, say something.”
“He nearly destroyed you,” I breathe.
He shakes his head in disagreement. “Emily, he did destroy me. It wasn’t until I met you that I started to piece myself back together.”
His flawless beauty is covering something so mangled and scarred he’s barely recognizable as human on the inside. The terrible things he’s seen and done and the horrendous acts that have been done to him break my heart. I blink the tears away, but more continue to trickle down my face. He touches my cheek, his pale irises imploring forgiveness.
“Together we can stop him,” Patrick pleads.
It finally registers in my brain that my pedigree makes me nearly impossible to kill. I just needed a wake-up call and a key out of this cell. Patrick provided both. Most Olvasho wouldn’t dare come near me because of the power I inherited from my mother. And even though my biological father traditionally should not be able to pass on the Olvasho traits, there is nothing traditional about him. I have the strength of both, making me more powerful and dangerous than any other. I would be unstoppable if I knew what I was doing. My mom’s letter comes to mind: “You have abilities that others can’t begin to comprehend. You will be the one to stop this feud. It only makes sense it would be you.”
Me.
“I knew you were trouble the moment I laid eyes on you,” I whisper.
Before Patrick can blink, I create the illusion he’s suffocating. It’s only in his mind, but his body reacts all the same. His eyes bulge with surprise and he chokes. His face contorts with betrayal. His protest only lasts a moment before he passes out. I reach through the bars and guide him to the floor knowing he’ll be out for a while.
A tremble takes my body and I’m relieved no one is here to watch me fall apart. My world shifts in front of me, forcing me to make black and white decisions on issues that are very grey. The responsibility is on my shoulders alone. I’m determined to do whatever it takes to save others from Patrick’s fate, even if it leaves me corrupt.
Of one thing I’m absolutely certain, I will find a way to stop Sky.
thirty-two
I don’t let myself wallow for long. No one is going to rescue me, and I just knocked out the only person who was willing to help. I get to my feet, straighten my shoulders, and wipe my tears aside. I leave the gun behind because I’m my own greatest weapon. I reach through the bars to retrieve the keys from Patrick’s unconscious body and unlock my cell door. Dad appears comatose, but he’s breathing better than he was before Patrick helped him. He looks peaceful as I walk away from his cell feeling resolute and hoping to return to him soon. I pound three steady thumps on the main door, signaling for the guard to open it from the outside.
The door opens without delay. When the guard realizes it’s me instead of Patrick, one hand reaches for his handcuffs while the other palms his gun.
“If those handcuffs come anywhere near me, I’ll use them to strangle you to death,” I warn.
As the guard shoves the handcuffs back into his pocket, he identifies Patrick lying on the floor behind me. His eyes sharpen on me while he tightens the grip on his gun.
“Sky has big plans for me. He’ll be pissed if you do anything to harm his long-lost daughter and spoil his fun.”
His finger moves to hover over the trigger. “Wrong move!” I say, as I barrel into his psyche and he shifts the muzzle beneath his own chin. His terrified eyes plead with me as he tries to fight for control, but his fight is useless. Patrick was right; controlling him is no challenge for me. Once I locked down my emotions, I could’ve broken out at any time. Either Sky severely underestimated me, or he wanted me to break free.
The guard mumbles some gibberish about being sorry, and I release my hold over him. His gun falls to the floor and I turn away assuming he isn’t dumb enough to pick it back up.
“Take me to my father!” I demand.
The guard takes the lead, but I pause when we pass a fruit bowl. “Are these safe?” I ask.
“Safe?” The man looks puzzled.
I grab an apple, practically salivating over the possibility of food. I hand it to the guard and give him a cunning smile. “Taste it for me, will you?”
He takes the apple and puts it to his lips. His hesitation is fractional, but I smack the apple away. It’s laced, yet he was going to eat it anyway, willing to sacrifice his cognitive skills in order to keep me from escaping.
“Take me to him,” I demand.
“This way,” he says, placing a hand on my arm to direct me.
I rip my arm away and step back. “The last man to touch me is dead in my prison cell,” I fib. “And he was a friend. Imagine what I’d do to you!”
The guard leaves distance
between us as he directs me turn for turn down the hall. We come to a stop outside a guarded door.
“I presume you know who I am,” I say to the guard standing in my way. “You’d be smart to step aside.”
He opens the door for me and both guards follow. It’s the enormous dining room from Patrick’s memory. While the guards wait by the door, I pull back the throne-like seat at the head of the elegant dining table. I slouch into Sky’s chair, plop my sandal-clad feet up onto the table, and cross my ankles. The layers of flowing material keep me from showing more than I intend to show.
Sky loves drama so sitting on his throne with my feet resting near his plate is my idea of setting the scene. The men are watching me intently. “Well?” I say. “What are you waiting for? Go get him!”
They look up to the second story balcony just as Sky approaches the railing adorned in a black pinstriped suit which looks dramatic, fitting his ego as well as his lean body.
“Bossing my men around?” Sky raises an eyebrow, looking down from his balcony perch.
“Aren’t they my men too . . . Daddy?”
A lion’s grin curves his mouth as he saunters the length of the balcony. He is the devil, but instead of horns and a pointy tail, he has snow white gloves and a coal-black cane. “All this can be ours, Daughter!” He waves his arms with theatrical flair, his voice echoing as he starts down the winding staircase. “But darling, why the change of heart? Of course, I had a feeling you might, but why so soon?”
“Perhaps I find a bed more fitting than a dungeon, or maybe I find being on the winning side a bit more fun. On the other hand, it could be I want to inherit the full ability of my powers. You might be strong, but together we’d be unstoppable.”
“Cunning, you are not,” Sky says, reaching the bottom step. “What is it you truly want?”
“He’s dead!” I swing my legs to the floor.
“Who? The impostor you call your father?”
“No.” I shake my head and feel him itching at the confines of my mind. “Patrick.”
