I never got to do any of this “parent” stuff with Izzy. Never got to teach her how to hold a blade, or how to stab a ball sac, or how to pluck out an eye, or any of the other things fathers are supposed to teach their daughters.
Maybe if I had, she would’ve murdered her sorry excuse for “mates” by now.
It doesn’t take long for people to take notice of my presence.
An older woman flinches, terror flooding her eyes, and a father attempts to hide his children behind his legs. Someone shrieks, and someone else runs in the opposite direction. The two men covering the dead bodies with sheets—I recognize one as Gregor, the head of the Council—pause what they’re doing and gape at me.
Silas and Kyle both step out of the crowd, looking a little worse for wear but alive. Silas has gone deathly still, and Kyle’s face has drained of color, turning a sickly shade of white.
Kyle swallows heavily. “Oh…fuck.”
I grin broadly and spread out my arms in either direction. “Daddy’s home, bitches.”
And the fun’s just getting started.