Page 95 of Hybrid Heroics

The battle started with a bang.

Well…

I started the battle by body slamming the man who touched my mother.

Gustave Malin had crossed the last fucking line with me.

Blaire’s words echoed in my mind as I locked arms with my father. “Are you sure you can do this?”

Was I sure?

Fuck yes, I was. I’d never been more sure about killing someone in my entire life.

My answer was simple. “This man just cemented his death, Blaire. He won’t come near you or Mom again.”

The beginnings of bloodlust heightened my vision, zoning me in to the only opponent I would face today. His nails dug into my forearms, but I was healing too rapidly for him to draw more than a drop of blood.

“You’re on the wrong side, son,” Gustave snarled, his French accent thick as he pushed me backward.

“I’m not your fucking son,” I spat, sweeping his legs from underneath him.

He flailed, but righted himself before he met the ground. We tangled in a clash of fists and flips, tumbling over the other to attempt the perfect punch.

This was the issue with fighting vampires. We moved too fucking fast for our collision to appear like anything other than one of those Acme dust clouds. All the while, neither of us landed anything solid.

“She will die,” he warned. “They all will. And you will die for choosing her.”

Which her he was referring to didn’t matter. None of the women in my life would die without me going first.

I threw my head back, cackling as I sidestepped his swing. “I’d rather die at her side than stand by yours.”

The predator in me relished the anger wafting off Gustave. This heady rush of cat and mouse was why Sloane played with her victims. And I intended to pull a few lines from her book, to let the mouse think he had me cornered.

But only for a moment.

I had a lot to say to the scum with greasy brown hair. His dim eyes sought mine, cracked lips tugging into a grin as I left the opening and waited for him to jump.

Gustave wrapped his hand around my throat, slamming me to my back. My head bounced off the unforgiving ground, jarring my teeth while spots swam in my vision.

It would be the only free strike he got.

“Was I such an awful father, Novak?” he mused, glaring down at me. “Do you have no respect?”

I wondered if he could see the mirth shining in my golden irises. “You weren’t a father at all. You were an abusive piece of shit.”

“Your mother still cares for me,” he absently mentioned, bearing his weight atop me.

“Does she, though?” I taunted, his nails biting into the side of my neck. “Or do you tug on the bond, pretending to need her help when you’re coming off another bender?”

He hissed at me, flashing fang, as his cheeks hollowed. Even bloodlust wouldn’t save him today.

“You don’t care,” I insisted. “Life was easier for you without us.”

“I missed Daphne,” Gustave rumbled, the sadistic chuckle an undercurrent in his tone.

“No. You missed having someone to control, to do your dirty work, to act like your puppet. You don’t miss people, Gus. You miss opportunities.”

“And you don’t?” he asked, his knee in my chest. “Tell me, son. Who does your dirty work?”