“I’m not your father, Lyna.”
The world tilts.
Confusion tightens around me in a vice. My thoughts tumble out of reach, the air caught somewhere between denial and disbelief. But his voice anchors me.
“Don’t you dare think I didn’t love you,” he says, gripping my hand. “In my eyes, you’re my daughter. My only child, and you’ll always be. And if there’s one thing I did right in this goddamn life… It was to become your father.”
The tears fall freely now, hot and blinding. My brain can’t keep up; it’s too much—this night.
This truth.
It’s all unravelling faster than I can keep up with.
“Listen to me,” he breathes, voice strained but urgent. “You can’t trust anyone. Your parents were betrayed, and you’re the last one left. That’s why we hid you. Why we moved,” he’s interrupted by a fit of wet cough. But I only have time to lean with my hand on his chest before he continues. “Your family had enemies, powerful ones. Only Ruby knows about you...”
My dad’s warning cuts off as the sound of tires crunching up the unfinished road shatters the moment. A black SUV pulls into view, parking behind my Jeep. Panic flashes across my dad’s face before he hurries to add, gripping my hand. “Do as they say, but don’t tell them I’m not your real father,” he whispers harshly, tightening his hold.
“What? I don’t understand… What’s happening?” I whisper back, my voice trembling with confusion. My dad exhales a shaky breath, but when his eyes meet mine, I see sorrow swimming in them.
“I know, Pickle. I’m sorry. I wish we had more time.” That nickname, it rips something open in me. The tears come faster, hot and uncontrollable, slipping down my cheeks like a dam breaking. “You can’t trust them,” he repeats, the words catching in his throat. “But you have to blend in. Stay alive, Lyna. Stay—” His voice breaks, flooded by a violent cough, blood spilling from his lips.
“Dad!” I gasp, clutching at him as his hold loosens. He slumps down, eyes rolling back, and then his body goes still.
“DAD!”
I don’t even get to catch my breath before two strong arms wrap around me, lifting me off the ground like I weigh nothing. Fighting them off, heart hammering, I only stop when I see them.
Eyes of a cold, vivid shade of blue that sparks something.
Somethingfamiliar.
Only once we are back a couple of steps does he let go of me.
“Where is it?” The voice is deep, calm, and commanding. Cut from stone. His face is mostly hidden behind a black tactical mask. The authority in his voice makes it clear that he’s used to being obeyed.
“Where’swhat?” I snap back, my voice hoarse and scraped raw.
“The norous,” he replies flatly, as if it’s obvious. Like I should know exactly what that means. Then, more dryly, “the tall black thing that looks like Slenderman had a baby with a Strigoi.”
I blink.
Did this asshole seriously just mansplain to me...?
His eyes drag all over me, cold and calculating, dripping with condescension. He’s a towering figure, easily over six feet, with a strong, lean physique that speaks of someone who trains just for the thrill of it. His presence radiates confidence, suggesting he’s always the most dangerous person in the room. And that only makes my anger burn hotter.
“Listen, you arrogant prick,” I say, taking a step toward him. “I’ve just been attacked by a monster, my dad’s bleeding out, so be useful and stop wasting my time with stupid questions.” I snap, closing the distance between us until we're chest to chest despite the obvious height difference.
Not caring that my mascara has run or that my tights are torn up. His blond brows lift slightly, clearly amused. The corners of his eyes crinkle, smirking behind that stupid mask. I want to make him choke on his smug reaction.
“Well, well,” he drawls, “I didn't expect the claws. Cute.” His tone drops again, serious. “Now, whereis the demon?”
“I don’t fucking know! It disappeared.”
His expression hardens. “What do you mean bydisappeared? Did someone perform asaoi-diabhal?”
“A what now?”
It’s his turn to look thrown off. His brows draw together, his entire body stills, like I just told him water isn’t wet.
