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“And what happened to Clan Petrea after Talyssa’s death?” I inquire, my curiosity piqued by Irena’s words.
A small silver tear streaks down Irena’s porcelain face before she answers. “Amira started again,” she says, referring to the new name adopted by the remnants of Clan Petrea in a new location. “Those who stayed behind were decimated by Grégoire and his followers. The lines of power for their families were broken. So many witches lost their lives that night, and it all could have been prevented.”
“Did you help Talyssa save him from becoming a strigoi?” I ask, remembering the thoughts from Talyssa’s memory that revealed Irena’s role in saving Grégoire from his fate as a strigoi.
But Irena shakes her head sadly. “It was long before that,” she confesses. “Grégoire Saint Clair is my son.” As she speaks those words, there’s a weight of guilt and regret in her voice. A reminder of the tragic consequences of her actions so many years ago.
The words escape my lips slowly, my mind struggling to process the bombshell that Irena has just dropped. “Your son?” His existence seems almost impossible, as I believed female vampires were unable to have children. “But I thought females couldn’t bear children.”
Irena’s voice is raw with emotion as she responds, her hazel eyes distant as she gazes out the window. Her memories transport her back to a time I can never understand.
“Traditionally, you’re right. Female vampires cannot bear children.” She pauses, her hands unconsciously resting on her barren stomach. “But I was turned at a young age, full of hope and dreams. Even after the trauma my human body endured, the desire for a child burned within me. So I took matters into my own hands.” Her jaw clenches slightly, fingers flexing against her belly.
“Ferin Petrea was the founding matriarch of Clan Petrea. A powerful seer and conjurer who dabbled in the darker arts, now considered unforgivable.”
“She created a baby for you?” The thought is both shocking and intriguing.
“Essentially,” Irena admits with sadness in her voice. “It was before I met my late husband, River. I was lonely, and Drystan, blindly following Jedidiah across the hemisphere in their quest for power and control, left me on my own for the first time in my immortal life.” A sense of longing and isolation emanates from her words.
This is something I can deeply empathize with. I’ve been a solitary figure for as long as I can remember, always standing alone in the shadows while the world bustles around me. There are very few moments where I haven’t felt the weight of loneliness crushing down on me like a heavy mountain pressing against my chest. Even surrounded by people, I often feel isolated and invisible. For years, the only consistent attention I received was from the staff at my father’s estate, but even that dwindled as I grew older, my father emphasizing my murderous ways. It’s a familiar ache, this enduring solitude, one that has shaped my entire existence.
Her voice is soft as she continues. “She warned me that creating a child in my womb from magic could have dire consequences. Life must have an equal exchange. One cannot create something from nothing.”
The ominous sound of her words lingers in the air.
She explains. “I just didn’t realize the true cost of that exchange.”
A sense of foreboding settles over me. My mind races with questions. What happened to Grégoire? Is he still alive after all these centuries?
She answers my unspoken question with a heavy heart. “I lost track of him after the mass murder of Clan Petrea. I couldn’t face anyone after that. My husband was dead, and my son had become a monster.”
In that moment, silver tears fall from her eyes in tiny rivers. I can’t help but wonder if all vampires cry this way, but it seems rude to ask at such a vulnerable moment. Instead, I reach out and take her hand in mine.
“There’s nothing selfish about wanting to love someone,” I assure her gently. My heart aches for her as I offer the comfort and understanding that no one provided me growing up. “You couldn’t have known, even with a witch’s warning. Loneliness can drive us to do things we never would otherwise. None of this is your fault. The guilt lies solely with him.”
Her hazel eyes meet mine, shining with gratitude as her tears dry.
“Thank you,” she whispers softly. I give her a small smile as she stands from her chair and wipes away the last traces of tears with the back of her sleeve. The silver stains the fabric.
“I should go,” she tells me with a slight smile. “Drystan is eager for your help. They need you.”
“I know,” I whisper, remembering the amulet.
“I’m going to tell you something. Despite knowing that you will ultimately betray my brothers, I believe you should know.”
Betray the Kings? Why does she think that? I need them as much as they need me.
“It took me decades to track down Amira’s descendants,” Irena says as she walks toward the door. “Powerful magic like that of an original Petrea is hard to hide, but somehow, Amira and her remaining clan members managed to do so for generations. It’s almost unheard of,” she explains. Where is she going with this? “Until I came across a woman. One with raven hair and eyes like the clearest ocean. It was like seeing a ghost. My past coming back to haunt me. She was the spitting image of Amira, down to the smallest detail.” Confusion and disbelief fill my mind as I try to process her words.
“I don’t understand…”
Irena’s throat bobs as she continues. “The woman was your mother.” My heart stops, my breath catching in my throat. “I don’t know how she survived all these years or what kind of magic was used to grant her immortality, but it was undeniable. Amira stood before me.”
The shock and disbelief must be evident on my face, because Irena adds, “But she had no memory of being Amira. Not even a flicker of recognition. She didn’t remember me, her mother’s best friend who helped raise her, at all. But I can tell you for certain that Bridgett Winters was Amira Petrea.”
With those final words, she leaves me alone to pick up the shattered pieces of my existence.
Chapter 34
