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Thalia
The days since Irena’s revelation have felt surreal, each one blurring into the next as I try to unravel the truth. My mind is consumed with the possibility that my mother may have been the last surviving heir of Clan Petrea, a concept that seems impossible based on all of my research. Yet, here I am, grappling with the idea that she could have been a vampire, despite knowing in my heart that it’s not true.
“You’re distracted,” Drystan accuses me. “Stop focusing on the past and be here, in the present. The past will just hold you back.”
His voice snaps me out of my thoughts, and I realize I’ve been staring blankly at the table in front of me. He chides me for zoning out, reminding me to harness my emotions or risk losing control. As if controlling the power coursing through me is as simple as flipping a switch. It’s a constant struggle to keep my powers in check and avoid causing chaos or inadvertently creating an ice age.
I let out a frustrated growl and focus on lighting the candle in front of me, trying to prove to myself that I’m capable of something more than just being a toddler when it comes to witchcraft. But even this simple task proves difficult, and I feel like a failure compared to other witches who could conjure up hundreds of flames before they could even speak.
Drystan accuses me of being distracted and urges me to let go of the past and focus on the present. His words hold weight, coming from someone who still clings to his own past traumas. But try as I might, I can’t seem to move past my own struggles.
With a defeated groan, I storm out of the room, feeling like a disappointment once again.
“Thalia, come back here.”
Drystan calls after me, but I pay him no attention as I make my way to the kitchen for some much-needed caffeine. Miriam is already there waiting for me, holding out a latte with a sympathetic smile. I take it gratefully and savor the comforting warmth spreading through me.
“Thalia! We weren’t done.” Drystan’s angry orders to come back and finish our training interrupt the small moment of peace. I can feel the frustration building up inside me, threatening to ignite into a fiery rage.
“You may not be done,” I snap. “But I am.”
Oh, yeah. This coffee hits the spot.
“You are not giving up.” Fuck him.
“I’m not giving up,” I tell him. “I’m taking a break. I don’t need to light fucking flames to activate that damn amulet. Now just leave me the fuck alone. I’m tired and stressed, and the only thing keeping me from lighting your ass on fire is this cup of holy bean water in my hands. So kindly fuck off.”
My outburst stuns the entire kitchen into silence, and I instantly regret my words, knowing I’ve gone too far. But instead of apologizing, I stubbornly stand my ground, fueled by exhaustion and stress.
I’m a dead, dead duck.
Drystan growls and dismisses everyone else from the kitchen, leaving just the two of us alone.
He approaches me with menacing steps, reprimanding me for speaking to him so disrespectfully.
“I’ve been giving you too much leniency, little lamb,” he snarls, stalking toward me. “If you think you can talk to me like that without consequences.”
Well, shit.
A wave of fear washes over me as he looms over me. As much as I want to argue back or run away, I stay rooted in place, bracing myself for whatever punishment he may have in store for me.
Since my conversation with Irena, the three vampire kings have been rather…doting. Every moment of my day is filled with their attentiveness, from spending time with me to pleasing me in every way imaginable—in the bedroom, the office, and even on the kitchen table. It’s overwhelming, but at the same time, I can’t deny that it feels good to be desired and cared for in such a way. They have shown me more affection in the last week than I have known my entire life.
It’s been…nice. And yet, there’s a lingering sense of unease since they told me about Jedidiah and his silent reign of terror. In understanding their desperation for someone who can activate the amulet, I also see why they were so adamant about having me as their chosen one. The amulet, if Irena’s words are true about my mother, was created by her.
If only they had been honest with me from the beginning instead of testing me and waiting for me to display my abilities. While they may feel remorseful now about their actions and knowing how wrong it was, their ultimate goal remains the same—to kill Jedidiah.
And so here I am, trying to light candle flames at the crack of dawn for the last few days. It may seem like a simple task, but it’s just one of many challenges they have thrown at me. And truthfully, I’m regretting saying yes to their proposal more and more each day. Yet, deep down, I know that this is what I want—a chance to be useful. To be cared for.
They’ve been showing me that every day.
But then why is there a rock in the pit of my stomach that has me dreading what comes next?
“Or I realized I’m not your little bitch anymore,” I hiss. Yep, just gonna poke the bear because I can. “I’m tired of being at everyone’s beck and call.”
“Oh, baby girl,” he whispers, his voice sharper than a blade. “You’re not my little bitch. You’re my pretty little whore.”
I barely have time to scream before he lunges for me. The sound of my coffee cup shattering on the ornate tile barely registers as I dodge out of his grasp. I make a mad dash for the door, but it’s bolted shut.
