Twelve
Nolan
I was still processingwhat Zamir had told me, but he kept going, as if now that he'd started to speak about his past, he couldn't bring himself to stop.
"I refused to feed after that, of course. But I was a stupid kid, and it took me way too long to realize I wasn't getting hungry. I was fifteen by the time I figured it out and confronted my father. He told me that he'd been waiting until I was weak enough to put me to sleep and feed me by force. He'd killed who knew how many people to feed me, to keep me alive. Why was my life worth more than those humans'? He told me that he'd already lost mymom, and he wasn't going to lose the last parts of her. That was all I was to him, a reminder of my mother. What I wanted didn't matter to him."
Fuck. I couldn't imagine what he'd been through. From everything he'd said, it seemed his father had been one of those nomadic shtrigas who drifted from place to place, never resting, feeding when they needed to. They had no connections, nothing to keep them... human, for want of a better word.
"Since the recent feed had made me strong, I used his own trick on him. Later that night, when he was sleeping, I made his sleep deeper, packed up a bag, and ran. We'd always lived in the woods, only going to the towns when we needed to feed, so I knew how to survive there. I discovered I could feed on animal life sources, and while they weren't as filling, I could survive on them. I did that for, hmm, seven years, I think, before the headmaster found me."
Everything made more sense now. His aversion to feeding, his refusal to feed fromme. His father had never tried to keep his victims alive, and to Zamir, it seemed like the only way to feed if he wanted to be full. So, he'd chosen to starve himself, because he'd rather hurt himself than others. How could he ever think he was a monster?
I knew my words, no matter how heartfelt, wouldn't be enough to change his mind. Instead, I reached for the journal still in his lap, carefully flipping the pages until I found the one I was looking for. I brushed my thumb over the picture, a breath of space between my skin and the paper so I wouldn't smudge the charcoal sketch.
"Her name was Lahey," I murmured, and Zamir's brows furrowed in confusion as he eyed the sketch. "I found her when she was ten. She'd been separated from her family, and she was starving. I took her in, let her feed from me, and took care of her until she reached adulthood. Her family found her then and sheleft with them, but we always stayed in touch until she died a few years ago. Well, a few years for me. About three decades, I think. You remind me of her, actually. She was always so concerned about hurting people, hurting me."
Zamir sucked in a breath as he realized why I was talking about her, and his eyes flashed to mine. "She was a shtriga?"
I nodded, then smiled at him, dropping his hand so I could cup his cheek instead. "The way your father did it, it's not the way of most Shtriga. They don't kill, and when they do, it's only to fulfill the wishes of the person they're feeding on. Lahey's family, for example, exclusively fed on people at death's door, people who'd have lived in pain for the rest of their lives and wanted to end their suffering."
Zamir's lips parted in shock, and he glanced from me to Lahey's sketch.
"Even when she was starving, she was full a while before she could hurt me. And it has been centuries since then. I've grown. My experiences have made my life force stronger, and I can guarantee that you won't cause me any harm."
Zamir swallowed hard, his eyes troubled as he read what I'd written about Lahey. He sucked in a breath, and his eyes shot to mine. "Maleyah? Her name was Maleyah?"
I blinked, surprised by his sudden intensity. "Uh, yes. Lahey was the name I used for her, because I'd misheard the first time she told me her name. Why?"
Zamir swallowed hard, his hand hovering over the sketch. "My mother's name was Maleyah."
I didn't need to look at the sketch to picture Lahey in my mind. Her long, wild hair, her pretty brown eyes, the sweet smile she always wore. She'd been beautiful, but her features weren't unique. With Zamir's magic as weak as it was, I'd never have been able to sense they were related.
"You knew my mom," Zamir said with a strained laugh. "Hell, youraisedher."
I had no idea how to respond to that, so I stayed silent as he processed it. "She was nice, then? Not like my dad?"
"She was one of the best people I've ever known. I'm sure your father was a better man before he lost her. She wouldn't have been with him otherwise, mate bond or not."
Zamir nodded slowly, chewed on his bottom lip, then released a sigh.
"All right. I'll—I'll try. But if it feels like I'm losing control, or if it starts getting painful..."
"I'll push you away," I promised him, though I was certain I wouldn't have to.
Zamir nodded almost robotically, then leaned toward me, the journal still on his lap.
"Wait."
He froze, then jerked back like I'd burned him.
"I didn't change my mind. I just..." I waved toward the journal. "It's old and delicate. Do you mind if I put it away first?"
Zamir's shoulders dropped. "Of course not. Go ahead."
I replaced the journal in its spot below my bed, then joined Zamir on the couch once more.
He swallowed hard, and I offered him a comforting smile. "It's okay."
