I should have reacted faster. I should have done something to prevent it. Anything. I should have anticipated the worst. Buthow do you reconcile the man who raised us with this... angel on a mission?
Eventually, I slumped to the floor, back to the wall, drained of energy. I still couldn’t believe it. Di had been dragged into this nightmare in the worst way. And I hit King. My father. The man who raised me.I hit him.
When Di screamed, everything went black before my eyes. Invisible hands wrapped around my throat like a vice and stole my breath. Guilt flooded into the space where air should have been, crushing me under its weight.
The moment King cut Diablos’s hand, he was no longer my father. Something shifted within me. He became nothing more than the person who hurt Di, and every part of me screamed to hurt him back, to destroy him. I didn’t see him as anything else but a threat. I barely contained my rage, and only because Di woke up minutes later. Not even Wilder would have been able to stop me. No one would have. It was like I lost sense of who I was and became blinded by what was inside me. All because King hurt the one person he should have never laid a finger on.
When Di said he was going after that object, I made my choice too. What was King thinking, sending him to track this object alone? Was it really in the hands of the Starborns? Did he realize what demons would do to Di if he got caught?
It was a suicide mission for a human. I couldn’t let him go alone. I couldn’t stay here any longer, either. Once King discovered what I was, I’d be as good as dead, even if I was his son. Not to mention, I was taught to hate angels. If my own kind found out I was raised by one, they would assume I was siding with him. I would end up dead or worse.
Hell, everything was such a mess.
Everything was falling apart. It was like trying to hold onto handfuls of slipping sand while the waves kept crashing into me with a vengeance.
But one thing was clear. No matter what happened to me, I would make sure Di was safe. Everything and everyone else could go to Hell, as far as I was concerned. Just the thought of something happening to Diablos made my blood run cold.
I didn't know how long I stayed there, slumped on the floor, trying to imagine what life would be like from now on and looking for a way through this mess. The more I racked my brain, the more I lost sight of any hope.
Eventually, I stood and headed to the bathroom to wash the blood off my knuckles. It wasn’t as bad as I thought, and it will be healed by tomorrow.
I stared at myself in the mirror and made my decision. Quietly, I went to King's office. I was sure he was still there, not in his room. I needed some answers. This might be the last time we spoke as father and son. I knew what I might have to do if Di and I faced danger.
I knocked on his door and heard his voice, “Come in.”
The father who raised me – the man who was always so put together – now looked like a wreck. He was slumped in his chair, his tie and shirt disheveled, his hair a mess in every direction, his eyes glassy. The half-empty bottle of liquor on the desk explained why.
My eyes dropped to his split lip that was already healed. With his healing, I knew that would be the case. I crossed the room and sat in the chair across from his desk. He wasn't meeting my eyes. And it was hard to admit, even to myself, but it was breaking my heart.
My mind flashed back to the first time I met him. I had tried to rob him. I’d been living on the streets for a year. He should have called the cops or walked away, but he didn’t. He took me in and somehow convinced me he wasn’t a bad guy.
And I believed him.
I shouldn’t have.
It would have been for the best, but then I wouldn’t have met my brothers. And I wouldn't have met Di.
At first, I acted distant, even cold, toward King, but he always tried. Every day after work, he showed up, trying to talk, trying to connect.
I was torn between hating him and loving him, for what felt like the millionth time.
“Why are you here, Dagon?” His voice was slurred.
“I’m sorry.” The words slipped out before I knew I was saying them.
“What for, little dragon?” he asked with a pained smile.
He used to call melittle dragonwhen I was a teenager and continued to call me that whenever no one else was around.
“For hitting you. I’m sorry.”
I was sorry it had come to that. But I wasn't sorry I did it. Even if it made me a monster in some people's eyes, I didn't care. What he did was wrong on so many levels.
He studied me for a moment, then shook his head. “I deserve worse. I saw the shock on your brothers’ faces when you hit me. What shocked them most, though, was you defending Diablos."
I didn’t answer. I didn’t have words for that.
“Most of them think you don’t care, you know,” he continued. “But I know better.”
