Before reading the chapter, please be aware that it contains depictions of SA. :(
All that glitters is not cheap.
The hospital, where we were heading, was only a few blocks from the site of the attack. I removed my mask with a quick motion because I would have scared the workers to death otherwise. The boy entered and nodded to the receptionist, then set off toward the floors.
The nurses didn't stop him even though the visiting hour passed long ago. He stopped in front of one of the intensive care unit's doors. Only one patient was lying in that room, so I knew right away who we were visiting.
A nurse replaced the infusion bag, from which a tube led all the way to the needle drilled into the old man's wrist.
"Hi, Roli," she greeted the boy.
The kid seemed to come here often.
"Good evening."
"You know I shouldn't let you in," the slightly plus-sized, brown-haired woman said. "The visiting hours long passed."
"Just this once, please?" he looked at the nurse pleadingly melting her heart right away.
She smiled indulgently.
"Okay, but only this once."
I had a feeling she answered the same thing each time. After that, she gave me a surprised-curious look, but she didn't ask, leaving us there wordlessly.
"Who is this old geezer?" I asked it without showing any sympathy.
The boy's emerald eyes immediately flashed angrily at me.
"He's my father!"
"Not too old for that?" I raised an eyebrow. "What are you, a chance-child?"
He gave me another angry look.
"I was six when my parents died. At the time, hunters had not yet cared about killing good or bad, they hunted down everyone indiscriminately. This man sheltered me, gave me his name, and raised me as his own," he explained, keeping his eyes on the old man's wrinkled face.
"What happened to him?" I asked softly.
"He fell down the stairs and hit his head," he replied, his voice full of self-accusation. "If I had been home! If I had been by his side, he wouldn't be laying here now!"
"Nonsense," I shared my honest view on the subject with him as I sat on the bed next to the old man.
"I'll save him!" he said, then pulled out the amulet behind his torn shirt.
It was not an ordinary amulet, but a piece made by the fae. A small, green, rectangular pendant, no larger than five centimeters, with various marks engraved in the strange metal. In the middle, a barely perceptible line cut it in two, which could only be noticed by someone who already knew it was there.
The boy concentrated, I could almost hear him desperately repeating his wish to himself and to the sacred treasure of the fae, but in the end, the amulet did not respond to his desire. Not much time ticked by, yet we both knew the rare treasure hadn't listened to the request. The kid kept his eyes firmly closed, tears streaming down his face silently.
"You knew it wouldn't work, didn't you?" my voice sounded like a statement rather than a question.
"Of course, I knew!" he shouted, but still didn't open his eyes. "Others can't possess the fae's amulets. Only the fae can use it, plus only those with a blood bond. I... I had to try it! I just had to try! I have no more time; he will be disconnected tomorrow morning! I have to save him! I've always rebelled and said a lot of things he didn't deserve... I couldn't even thank him!"
By the end of his outburst, he was already sobbing.
I did not surprise myself when I went after the boy. Not even when I got rid of the vampires, or when I escorted him to the hospital – I planned it all. I wanted him to realize that he couldn't do anything with the amulet and then hand it over so that I could finally get over with all of this. It would have been easier to just take it from him, but I knew he wouldn't give it up without a fight. And I don't kill children on principle, so he had to realize that the amulet was worthless to him and then voluntarily hand it over.
I shocked myself at the point when I abandoned this whole plan. At the point when my vile and calculating self screamed and begged me not to but I still stood up and walked over to the boy. At the point when the human being who lived inside me, whose mere existence I wanted to deny, took pity on him.
He felt my closeness, his eyes popped open. He glanced up at me with a look full of tears. The light disappeared from his eyes, all hope vanished leaving behind only emptiness and pain. For some reason, I didn't want to see him like that.
"Do you love him so much?" I asked. "Humans are too fragile. You should have left him behind. See? How much trouble did you get yourself into for the life of an insignificant human?"
"I can't do it," he sobbed. "I can't leave him behind because he's not insignificant. He's the only one who loves me — so isn't it natural that I would do anything for him?"
"Tell me, do you believe in fate, cat?" I asked, and he was surprised by the sudden change of topics.
"I don't think it was a coincidence that we met at the pub today," I answered my own question.
"What?" he moaned hoarsely.
I didn't reply, he'll realize what I meant anyway.
When I squatted down in front of him, gently grabbed his wrist, and raised his hand, he didn't protest at all. I stretched out his index finger and then touched it gently to my canine. I tasted his blood on my tongue almost immediately, and the boy hissed in confusion at the pain.
A few drops of the crimson liquid were enough to fill my mouth with a metallic, bitter taste. When Coffee said I was just vegetating without real blood, maybe she wasn't even aware of how right she was. A mere taste was all it took for the monster within me to rise from its ashes.
I keep people at a distance for a reason: the beast inside me waits, patient and relentless, for me to falter. It listens, lurks, feeding on my emotions, poised to turn them against me if I lose control.
Instantly, my vision sharpened, though it was already keener than any human's. The world seemed to slow, or perhaps I had become faster. A few white threads fell on my face, and then I realized it was my hair. After a long time, I revealed my true form again.
The boy's face mirrored shock and a dawning realization. I must resemble my father. I took the amulet from his hand, and he still did not protest—but it could be, just because he was frozen in fear. I stood up. Rising, I bit my thumb and pressed it to the amulet. It clicked—the key was my blood.
This made the line through the center more visible, cutting the rectangular metal into two parts. As I pulled the two halves apart, a gemstone appeared, around which the thread of the necklace was tied. It was irregular, crimson, and so bright that it mesmerized anyone who saw it.
The line through the center became more visible, dividing the rectangular metal into two halves. As I pulled them apart, a gemstone was revealed, tied with the necklace's thread. Irregular and crimson, its brilliance was mesmerizing, captivating all who gazed upon it.
The shard of life pulsed in my hand, recognizing me. It was the secret to the fae's longevity—a shard requiring one hundred and thirty liters of human blood for such a tiny piece, earning its name.
In the next moment, the shard seized my mind and soul. Though not sentient, it clung to its former master's essence, likely bound by Alistair's pervasive magic. It sought to trap me, plunging me into the most agonizing memories of its previous owner. Days, weeks, even years seemed to pass in these memories, though I knew only a moment of silence had enveloped me.
I smirked and claimed ownership as if it had always belonged to me.
Save this man, I made my request clear and understandable.
The shard resisted, doubt more felt than heard. It silently offered me the promise of fae-like longevity and protection. I could feel a kind of warmth radiating toward me, a warmth similar to how I imagined maternal love. Suddenly, I felt a profound desire to accept the offer of the stone. It would have been so easy. However, the long, almost immortal life was not what I really wished for.
Save this man, I repeated.
The shard yielded. My will was resolute, and it had no choice but to obey. A scarlet aura encircled the shard and the old man's body. In the next instant, the gemstone exploded into glittering fragments that vanished before touching the ground.
"One hour," I declared. "That's all I could give him."
The old man's eyes fluttered open as if my words had called him back. "Roli," he rasped. "Roli…"
The boy's eyes widened, tears spilling over as he clutched the old man's hand, sobbing with relief. They were no longer tears of sorrow but of joy.
I didn't want to bother them, this moment seemed too intimate for me to peep. I watched as the old man gently caressed the boy's curls, then quietly shut the door behind me.
I also left behind the hospital. The boy's blood was still working in me, and it would have been quite unfortunate if one of the nurses had seen me like this. I moved so fast that the receptionist could only see it as a flash as I stepped out of the stale drug odor, and he was probably thinking that his eyes were playing tricks on him because of his lack of sleep.
Hiding under the roof, I was waiting in the shadows. Once the hour passed, I had a feeling the boy would have questions. Leaning against the wall, I gazed at my reflection in a stagnant puddle.
My face hadn't changed, yet it felt like I was staring at a different person. My hair was a silvery white, like that of a fae, my already pale skin now ghostly. But my eyes—they disturbed me the most. Blue irises with elongated pupils and black sclera. It resembled a vampire's gaze, yet it was unmistakably something else.
My father... looked terribly similar to me. He looked like me, yet he was completely different. I glanced at my palm, clenching my fingers, as the memories and emotions of his life surged through me, blurring the line between his experiences and my own.
At first, he wasn't afraid of humans at all. He simply didn't understand why he had to change his hair color, why they moved from village to village, or why he had to be so cautious around them. Initially, it was anger that drove him—anger at the need to hide. But the day they seared their cruelty into his flesh, he learned what humans really are capable of, so that he could never, for the rest of his life, forget it.
Efraim, the damned offspring of a vampire and fae... The emerging Fifth King is actually... a pretty weak monster. A half-blood, neither possessing the power of vampires nor the speed of fae, yet vulnerable to iron and carrying the venom of vampires. At seven, he quarreled with human children.
They wanted to cut his hair. I know that fae treasure their hair. He was pinned to the ground and the human boy was grabbing his hair but the pulling sensation ceased at some places the sharp blade sheared his locks and in a moment of terror and fury, Efraim struck a boy with a rock.
The retaliation was swift and brutal; blades pierced his side and shoulders and fists rained down without mercy. Exhausted, he couldn't even defend himself.
I clearly remembered the white-hot pain that filled my mind and dulled my senses as I was reliving the memory. The earth's comforting scent mixed with the metallic tang of blood, the boys' voices melding with the pounding of our hearts. Fear gripped me as never before, matching Efraim's desperate yearning for the strength of a vampire.
I've never, ever been so scared in my life as when I was experiencing the feelings of Efraim.
After the attack, they dumped him in a dried-up well near the forest. He was begging and begging for his life. Yet, in the eyes of the human children, there was neither regret nor sympathy. This was the scariest thing about them.
As I began to fall with Efraim, all I could think about was that I was going to die. When I hit the bottom, I wished for death. The pain overwhelmed every fiber of my being. This was the first time in my life that I did not feel the healing taking effect right away. The pain was unbearable, so when I fainted, I was even grateful for the soothing darkness that overwhelmed my consciousness.
However, this painless sleep did not last for long. I woke up to terrible torment, and my mind was filled with Al's voice as he was casting a spell in the ancient language of the fae. I screamed until my voice was completely gone. Slowly, the pain ebbed as the spell concluded.
That day, Efraim inherited the shard of life from Alistair. He owed his life to that stone. That's right, a group of mere children could overpower and almost kill him.
Yet, this was not the last time, humans tormented him. In a sick, twisted way, now I understood why Efraim did the thing he did to my mother. It was revenge. I was born from revenge and hate.
One fateful night, his curiosity led him to follow his mother on her nocturnal hunt. He tracked her to a secluded spot in the village. The sound of battle made him freeze, and he peeked around a corner to see a lifeless man, his neck savaged, gold and silver coins glinting in the mud.
The next one he found with his gaze was his mother. On the end of her fingers were long, sharp claws ready to attack. Her irises were burning red—all I could think of was that I had never seen a stronger and more beautiful color than this red. In her mouth, huge fangs lined up—she was truly a predator thirsting for human flesh and blood. Her long black hair followed her every movement like a dark cloak as she swung into attack. Since the human dodged his mother's claws, Efraim knew instantly—this was a hunter. Instinct urged him to retreat, his heart pounding as he took cautious steps backward.
His blood turned icy as he collided with something solid. In the next heartbeat, a searing grip clamped onto his bare shoulder. He bit down on his lip so hard that the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth, mingling with his ragged breaths. Despite the burning agony, he forced himself to stifle a scream, his body trembling with the effort. Desperation surged through him as he clawed at the hunter's hand, frantically trying to escape the searing pain of the iron glove.
"A half-blood," the hunter muttered, disbelief evident in his voice. Efraim's gaze, dimmed with pain and fear, slowly lifted to meet the man's.
A twisted smile curled at the edges of the hunter's lips as he began dragging Efraim along, his grip unyielding. The little boy struggled, his movements feeble against the strength of the adult hunter.
"Efraim," his mother's voice rumbled in a low growl.
The hunter's words were venomous, a cruel hiss between clenched teeth. "Give up, vampire, or your son will perish."
In an instant, the sharp fangs receded, the claws reverted to human nails, and the once fiery red irises darkened to black. Efraim had never seen his mother's face so utterly consumed by desperation before.
"Let him go," she pleaded, her voice breaking. "He's just a child, have mercy. Let him go, and I will come with you willingly!"
The hunters' laughter was merciless, echoing through the night. One of them scoured the ground, and with a grim satisfaction, picked up a rusty handcuff that clicked shut around Efraim's wrist. The sharp sound cut through the air and Efraim's breath hitched as tears began to fall relentlessly.
I clenched my jaw. The agony in the memory—raw, unbearable—was something I had never felt before. Even now, the pain lingered, suffocating.
After this, everything was a mess. My heart twisted at the overwhelming love that shone in the vampire woman's dark eyes. Her smile, soft and warm, seemed like a fragile promise.
"Everything will be fine, darling."
It was the first time she had lied to Efraim. And when the hunter, sword raised, started to approach her, Efraim's sobs tore through the air, raw and broken. He sobbed bitterly as he had never before.
The vampire woman straightened, her back taut with defiance, her chin lifted high, as if offering her neck for the perfect strike. Even on the verge of death, she exuded a quiet pride, a commanding nobility that seemed to dwarf the hunters around her. In that moment, they must have felt small, insignificant, as if the mere act of being near her diminished them. Perhaps that was why they chose to treat her with such cruelty.
In the next instant, she was on the ground, her arms pinned above her head with a short sword. Efraim's eyes widened in shock as he saw something in his mother's gaze—something he had never seen there before: fear. Desperate, he fought harder against his captor, but it was no use. His efforts were futile.
Still, the vampire woman remained motionless. She didn't object when her dress was torn up at her chest, nor did she object when the hunter leaned over her and grinned cruelly in her face. She remained motionless, even as the man began rolling wildly on her.
Sobbing, Efraim bowed his head so he wouldn't have to see her being dishonored. They grabbed him hard and pulled his head up. He closed his eyes, but he still could hear the hunter's disgusting moans and the soft sighs of the other human next to him as he caressed himself. He just sobbed trembling, cursing the humans a million times.
The hunters took several turns before they seemed satisfied, leaving only a pile of dirty, bloody mess in place of the once noble vampire woman. Still, Efraim was hoping that the hunters would have mercy and let them go. He cherished this hope until his mother's throat was cut.
He screamed, the sound tearing through him so violently that his throat burned with the force of it. Ignoring the searing pain, he wrenched himself free from the hunter's grip, the iron glove scraping against his skin and tearing away a chunk of flesh from his shoulder. Without hesitation, he sprinted to his mother, cradling her lifeless body against him.
When the hunters lunged to tear him away, he responded with savage instinct. His claws dug into their flesh, and with a raw snarl, he sank his fangs into one of them. He bit deep, feeling the sickening crunch of bone and sinew as he tore into the man's thigh, ripping a substantial chunk free.
That was the moment he realized he could create vampires. The man began to growl wildly, his body convulsing as the vampire venom spread, overtaking him. His once-human limbs twitched and twisted, claws sprouting from the tips of his fingers, while his eyes turned bloodshot, the whites vanishing as they blackened with the venom's grip.
Before Efraim could even beg him to kill the remaining hunters, the humans acted without hesitation. In one swift, brutal motion, they severed their partner's head. Despite his frantic, desperate protests, Efraim was ultimately overpowered and bound in an iron net, the sharp metal digging into his skin.
Of course, Alister rescued him later. However, Efraim resented his father. First, he resented him for not avenging him when the human children had nearly taken his life. After his mother's death, that resentment turned into a deep, burning fury. Alister did nothing—nothing but take him and run, leaving the filthy hunters to live.
Maybe because I was reliving these memories as if they happened to me, somehow I understood the rage that Efraim felt. It was scary how well I understood his disgust and hate for humans.
I had no idea how long I had been standing there, looking at my reflection pensively before the boy stepped out of the door. It could have been an hour, but it could have been more. All I could feel was the weakening pull of the blood in my veins.
"Thank you," the boy said, his voice sincere. "I will never forget what you did today."
In the end, he didn't ask anything. He didn't need to.
"If you ever tell anyone, I'll kill you," I warned, my voice cold and unwavering
The words felt heavy and purposeful. I couldn't let anyone discover who my father was—not Alex, not any of my friends.
When I got home, my favorite werewolf was sitting on the bed, waiting. I removed the mask, and then carefully placed it back into its box. It was nearly fully repaired, and I felt a sense of relief knowing that the magic cast on it had held strong, even after all these years. This was followed by the steel pullover. Alex had already returned the items I had lent him, so I quickly tucked the box away beneath a pile of clothes in the closet.
"Did you finish them off?" I asked, my voice steady.
"Some of them. The others fled, but I don't think they'll be back anytime soon," he replied, then added, "What about the kid?"
"He's safe," I shrugged.
When I decided it was time to go home, the boy said he wanted to spend some time in the hospital. So, although I knew how lonely the time there would be for him, I simply nodded.
"Who is this kid?"
"I don't know," I shrugged again, trying to deflect the question.
Alex gave me a rather strange look. Anyway, I knew what was coming. I could already feel the weight of the conversation. The truth. I was going to have to explain why I owned hunter gear. I sat down beside the wolf, the silence stretching between us before I finally spoke.
"As you know, I'm mixed-blood," I began, my voice quiet. "But beyond that, I haven't told you much about my family." I hesitated, the words feeling heavy in my throat. "My father is half-blood, but I've never known him. And my mother... she was human, from a noble hunting family."
We both sat in silence for a long while. I could feel Alex's curiosity pressing against the walls of his restraint. But he didn't ask anything further. Since the day we met, these were the first truths I had shared with him, and I could tell it meant something to him—more than I had anticipated.