“She should be safe now,” the man he’d grabbed rasped, before glancing to the other two.
He didn’t respond to that, and just glared, remaining in their way as they gathered up the baby. “For every birth after this, she damn well better be your priority. Do I make myself clear?” he warned, as they were forced to squeeze up against the wall, putting all of their efforts into not brushing against him as they left. But then they couldn’t touch him at all, or risk death if anyone found out.
The three Sirens mumbled nonsense in response, but made no promises. And why would they? While his birth, and the powers he had inherited ensured he was likely stronger than them, even at his age, the fact was, he wasn’t in charge.
“My love…”
Killian rushed over to the bed, new tears filling his eyes at the weak call. Grasping his mother’s hand, he sat on the floor, his tail beneath him, as he gently brushed a wavy strand of hairout of her face. “Mother, I—” His voice failed, as he was unsure what he should say. What could he even say?!
Sorry that your husband is trying to kill you? Sorry that I continue to sit back and do nothing to help you? Sorry that no one here aside from me seems to care?!
Her grip, which had been light as air, tightened almost painfully while she demanded, in a voice barely above a whisper, “Come closer.”
Eyes widening at the strength of her hold, Killian slowly leaned in. When he was only inches from her face, her expression tightened, and her eyes lit up with more fire than one would think was possible given how exhausted she appeared.
“Flee!” his mother ground out. The word was so intense, he was almost shocked by how softly it had been spoken.
“Mother—”
“I refuse to allow you to suffer this fate of mine! Leave andneverlook back!” the woman hissed.
“I-I can’t! What about you?! Come with me! Leave with me,” he whispered fervently, before begging with all his soul. “We can be free together. Come with me, please… Please!”
His mother’s eyes never softened, but she smiled, the expression so pained it caused an almost unbearable ache in his chest. “If you love me, you will leave me here to die, and never come back. If you love me, you will keep fighting, because they will never stop.”
“Mother,” he sobbed.
Killian took a shudderedbreath as the memories lost their hold. Laughing bitterly, he smiled. “Pleading hadn’t been the right word. Arista Dirae Neftlem never pleaded for anything.”
His mother didn’t know how to. She’d been too enraged by the life that had been forced on her for that, and he knew more than anything how it had been forced on her. But they had never managed to break her spirit, and she had never once pleaded for a damn thing from them. Arista had only demanded. She had demanded, willed, and eventually orchestrated what happened into existence.
By the time Killian was born, his mother hadn’t had the strength or ability to leave herself. But he knew with every fiber of his being, that from the moment she’d laid eyes on him, her entire existence had been focused on crushing every single illusion he may have had of their people, of the life they planned to force on him, so that eventually Killian would be strong enough, brave enough, smart enough, to flee. To not only flee, but to fight.
And Killian had done both. On that very night he left her behind, he’d been fighting ever since. Killian had fled the ocean, the only home he had ever known, and his mother…she had died one child later. For all their fertility issues, endless stillbirths, and just the rarity of Sirens being born with the ability to even carry, their natural birthing period was short…
She was gone within a year of his departure—six months later, to be exact…taking with her his ability to cry. Sure, he still teared up sometimes, but never enough for anything to fall. Never enough for a single pearl to form.
And was that not the least she deserved? It was all he could give her now. She had given her life for his. Back then, he couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t leave with him. For refusing to come with him, he’d been almost as angry with her as he had been with his father. He only thanked the gods and goddess below that he had never voiced that anger.
Now older and more knowledgeable, Killian knew full well that she hadn’t left because she couldn’t. Growing up, he hadn’tknown what the marks, the scars he’d seen on her tail and feet, meant. He hadn’t understood why she was always carried around, and Killian had foolishly never questioned it.
He should have. Killian should have realized that someone so strong-willed wouldn’t live like that without a reason. And there was a hell of a reason. They had taken her ability to swim away from her.
The sadistic bastards had clipped her tail, making it so she had no way to leave. And his mother—his strong, fierce mother—knowing that she would only risk him ending up as she had, knowing that as strong as his bloodline was, he simply wouldn’t have been able to carry her at his young age, accepted her own death because it meant his freedom. Arista had sacrificed herself for him, because she knew that by the time he would be old enough and strong enough to carry her away, it would be too late for him…
“Mother…they’re still trying, just as you always warned. But they won’t get me. Not now, not ever,” he growled.
Killian looked up as Cyrus came out of the hall. Now fully clean, and dressed in a black button down, black slacks, and black boots, the six-and-a-half-foot tall Fate looked ready for their date. His tawny bronze brown skin was no longer covered in sweat, though the man’s short curly brown hair was still wet and curling slightly around his pointed ears. It was clear he’d trimmed his mustache and beard, as both were tight to his angular face and curved square jaw.
Cyrus’ mouth stretched into a wide smile that flashed the very sharp points of his canines, his reddish-purple eyes sparkling as he met Killian’s gaze. But the smile dropped slightly, the man's sharp, pointed nose wrinkling, when Killian gave a tense smile back, the memories of the past still too close to the surface.
“Something wrong, Baby?” Cyrus asked, while tugging him to his feet and into his arms.
Looking up into the man’s strong, handsome face, he ran a hand along the Fate’s jaw, and just as he knew Cyrus had done earlier, Killian lied, “No, nothing at all.”
With his tote full of drugs in hand, Ender ignored Soren as his brother continued to follow him down the hall, while spouting a bunch of tired bullshit.
“It’s been four hundred and ninety-six years, Ender. Isn’t it time?”
