Page 32 of Daring Her Vampires
“Maybe we should concentrate on finding Fredrick,” I say, biting my lip.
“Tricks,” Luca grumbles. His warning doesn’t affect me like he intended. Instead, his voice causes my body to warm.
“We don’t want to force you,” Atlas says. “But if you're in trouble, we need to know.”
“I’m not in trouble,” I insist, at least I don’t think so. “Dad had plenty of years to hurt me.” They stare at me patiently. I sink further into the chair. At least I can be comfortable telling the story. “My dad raised me because my mom died while giving birth to me. Every day, he made sure I knew that he hated me for it. My mom had relatives, but they didn’t stick around to get to know her daughter. I’m sure they blamed me, too, yet they never had a conversation with me for me to know. Dad was so angry. I do understand his devastation from her loss. They were fated mates, and severing that bond brought him nothing but pain. I don’t know why he didn’t go crazy after she died.
“When I shifted for the first time, I was six and playing outside. I didn’t know what was happening or how to change back. Dad didn’t educate me about our species. The only reason I knew what we were, besides the animal speaking in my head, was that I saw him shift. He reluctantly explained some things. He didn’t love me.” I smile sadly. “I felt it. He also told me. He was giving me a home out of a sense of responsibility. I didn’t know what love felt like. I loved my stuffed animal, which was a little rabbit, and I carried it everywhere. Her eye had fallen out, and her fur was worn. They bought it when Mom was pregnant. He never gave me toys after she was gone.
“I made up games and stayed out of the house. We lived in the forest, so my favorite thing to do was climb trees. It was safe there, away from his angry words and stern face. The animals were my friends, but I kept my stuffed animal away from them. I would make up stories of a happy family that loved me. We didn’t celebrate my birthday or holidays. I was lucky to be fed.” I swallow harshly.
“Jesus.” Atlas cups his hands in front of his mouth.
“He didn’t take care of you,” Luca rumbles, his eyes haunted.
“As little as possible.” Crossing my arms, I look away from them. “He left all the time. It was almost better. I didn’t haveto worry about him yelling at me or his looks of hatred. I don’t know where he went or what he did. Sometimes, it was for a few days. Others, it was weeks at a time. It pained me, but I had to hunt for food. The animals were my friends, so I opted to fish. They weren’t cute, and their skin was slippery. It was better than killing anything with fur. I survived, even though I should have been bigger. My body wasn’t very healthy.
“One time when he was gone, I found a box in the shed out back. I was curious, and he wouldn’t talk about Mom. It was a chest that belonged to her. It was the first time I saw a picture of her.” I smile softly, staring out the window. “She had blonde hair like mine. Her eyes sparkled. The picture was blurry, but I was thrilled to finally know what she looked like. There were letters inside. Dad wrote to my mom, and I finally understood their love for each other.
“Unfortunately, he came home and caught me.” I shiver and rub my elbows. “I had seen him angry. This was another level. He screamed at me and dragged me out of the shed by my hair.” I ignore the anger from my mates. “Yeah, it hurt. But his words cut the deepest. He listed all the reasons that it was my fault.” I look at them. “That was the day he tried to kill me.” Luca jumps up, his hands on his head. Atlas’s fangs emerge.
“What the fuck?” Atlas growls.
“He wasn’t successful,” I say, my joke a desperate attempt to calm them.
“What did he do?” Luca demands, pacing behind the couch.
“He tried to drown me.” I close my eyes. “He forgot. I spent most of my life in those woods.”
“How old were you?” Atlas asks, and I look at him.
“Twelve,” I reply. Luca stops, gripping the cushions. “He got me in the water and shoved my head down. I fought and was able to push him away. I ran. I ran for miles. When I thought it was safe to stop, I climbed a tree and slept. I knew he despised me.He made sure every day I knew that, but I didn’t think he would go that far. The next day, I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t stay with him. I had to leave, but didn’t want to leave my things. I didn’t have much. What little I did, I wouldn’t leave.
“I retraced my steps, using all my senses to ensure he wasn’t close. When I got to the trees just beyond the house, I stopped. I waited and watched. He came out of the house an hour later to go to town. He didn’t stop to see if I was there. Just to be sure, I waited some more. When it was clear, I went to my room and packed the important things. I took what food we had and went back to the shed. Everything was scattered across the floor. Mom’s picture was still there, so I grabbed it and left.” I exhale roughly.
“Where did you go?” Atlas asks.
“Anywhere and everywhere. I lived in the trees for a while. I hunted, made new animal friends, and pretended it was a grand adventure. I would shift and sleep in my animal form. Sometimes that was safer. I taught myself how to do everything. My life has been trial and error. I learned who I could trust. A young girl on the streets was never safe. I was a fast runner. As the years passed, I learned more about my abilities. The first time I had a premonition, I almost passed out. I didn’t know what the fuck was going on. I was patient with myself. If I didn’t understand something, I would pause, reevaluate, and try to find answers.
“Stealing food was easy. I was small and fast. Finding work was difficult. Not many people wanted to hire a small girl. One night, I was outside a bakery digging through the garbage. The owner caught me. I thought he was going to hurt me because my only example of a man was my father. He gave me a job instead. His wife was kind, and they let me sleep in the office at night. I was in heaven, smelling bread day and night. I didn’t have a bed, but I didn’t care. I gladly slept on the floor. They gave me severalblankets and I could sleep through the night for the first time in years.
“The woman taught me how to cook, and I soaked up the attention. I thought she was beautiful, and she hugged me. It was the first time I felt the loving touch of another.” I blink rapidly, the emotions coming back. “I stayed there until I was twenty. They went out of business, and she got sick. I couldn’t stay around to watch the first woman who showed me kindness die. Her husband had been nothing but nice and generous. He offered to let me rent a room in their house. I couldn’t do it. I still didn’t trust men. So I found other work and made enough to get a place. It was small, but it was mine.”
“Did your dad try to find you?” Luca asks.
“No. Why would he?” I ask bitterly. “But I did see him once after I left. Fate is funny. I was working in a bar, and he walked in. I was shocked and didn’t know what to say. I had to serve him. He looked through me. He ordered his drink and didn’t acknowledge me. He stayed for an hour, paid, and walked out.” I shake my head. “The next night, he came back. For just a moment, I thought he changed his mind. That he would say something, anything. He didn’t order a drink. I was wiping a table, and he placed a yellow carnation across it. He told me that I didn’t have the right to the picture of his woman, and he wanted it back. The carnation was his way of reminding me of what I had done.”
“How?” Atlas asks.
“Do you know the meaning of a yellow carnation?” I ask, and they shake their heads. “Flowers have many meanings, and they have changed over the years. One of the original meanings is to express your disdain, disappointment, and rejection. The bakery owners liked to dabble with flowers. There were books in their office, and sometimes I would read them. He told me he wouldbe back the next night for the picture. I quit my job that night and left.”
“How is he still sending them? How does he know where you are?” Luca asks, resuming his seat.
“I don’t know. He didn’t for years, and then they started showing up. No matter where I move, he eventually finds me. I’ve traveled a lot.” I shrug.
“Why do you keep them?” Atlas asks.
“When I was young, during one of his rantings, he said carnations were Mom’s favorite flower. I keep them to remember her, not the man who sends them,” I explain.
