His eyes narrow on me considerably. Instead of answering, though, he stands and steps down from the dais with rumbling steps until he’s before me.
I’m at a disadvantage here on the ground while his tall frame is over me, but he bends down and I cringe as he pulls me into his arms, his movements gentle. Almost as if he cares. He pulls me to his chest, hooking an arm behind my knees and lifts me. My wings are limp and flop heavily beneath me as he picks me up and takes me up the dais. Carefully, he sets me on that small throne and steps back.
As if this is answer enough.
“Your… power…” It’s difficult to translate the grunting words. “Bring chaos.” He smiles. “And I am Master of Chaos.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I try to lift my wings, and they rustle with the effort.
“I don’t want to bring chaos.”
His own wings span out behind him. Wider than mine, and thicker too. I try to find a resemblance between us, in the angle of our jaws, the sharp edges of our cheekbones… It’s hard to see myself in a rock statue though, even if his inky strands of hair slide down to his waist.
Gently, I call out to my Prod, wondering why she’s not showing. If she’s adamant on destroying the men in my life, why isn’t she out here protecting me from him? Is it because he’s my father and something about him tranquilizes her?
I don’t want to fight him. It’s thanks to him that I’m alive, after all, but if I have to choose between using my Prod to take my father down or staying here on this uncomfortable throne forever, I know what option I’m choosing.
The smirk that twists his mouth is malicious, knowing. Though what he thinks he knows is beyond me.
“You will,” he whispers. “You will.”
Now, I coax my Prod.Now.
Because I will not stay here.
I won’t.
Magics bursts from me in a blinding light of white. Like an explosion of stars cosmically destroying everything around me in streaks of cold fire. My eyes fling open and my wings shoot out. Magic pours out of me like a single match that suddenly finds itself a blazing inferno.
The throne I’m sitting on catches fire that consumes me and I don’t feel the burning sting. I don’t feel anything but the hot sense of blazing glory.
I could never remember the feel of my Prod. The how, or why she emerged that first time with Adam, or remember the destructive power I unleashed upon our dorm building months ago. When I used what’s inside me to kill the demon, it had been nothing but a zap of destructive magic. Nothing to this scale.
And I feel my blood start to hum. Like something in this dimension calls to me. And I hear my Prod’s voice echoing over and over again in my mind.
Home.
Home.
Home.
I rise from the throne in movements that don’t quite feel like mine. I feel myself losing control to the more primitive, powerful part of me. I don’t let the tether on my control snap. I fight with everything I have as my Prod tries to dominate my waking moments.
I am in control here.I push the words, a force to be reckoned with against the wall of that power inside. I am in control, and this isnotmy home.
My home is in New York City. My home is on an old gymnasium floor with gentle, strong, demanding arms wrapped around me. My home is with an incubus who has feelings he won’t admit, a vampire who hides pain behind self-destruction, a gentle werewolf who struggles just as much as I do, and an angel who brings out the best in me.
Theyare my home now.
Not this gargantuan Messenger who hasn’t bothered with me in years. I already have an amazing father, and this guy? He isn’t it.
I throw my hands in front of me and scream my rage, taking control of my body, my fate. Power trails rivers through my veins and pours out of my fingertips, shooting a line straight towards the Messenger of Chaos.
The force of me is unexpected, and hits him straight in the chest where his heart would beat, if he even has one. He falls back onto the black marble floors with a roaring cry, his body smoking and catching fire.
I pump my wings and shoot to the air, his roars of rage following every powerful stroke I take.
