Page 7 of Memories Like Fangs
Mama knelt beside him, her face tight with focus as she tended to his wounds to ease some of the bleeding. Even without using her healing powers, Mama was a certified Trauma Nurse who knew more than some doctors about healing traumatic wounds. Normally, when Mama saw me, no matter what had happened that day, her face would light up, a smile breaking out as she greeted me. When she looked up and saw me now, I saw something break in her expression. She frowned, and her hazel eyes flared explosively.
“Diego Alejandro Garcia,”she said, low and furious. “Have you lost your damn mind? Why did you bring ourdaughterdown here?”
“She needs to see the consequences of her actions,” he barked back.
I never understood what my mother saw in my father. Despite not fully using her healing magic, the power still glowed warm under her skin with a soft gold pulsing just beneath the surface. She looked like a goddess: graceful, focused, and calm under pressure. Her long, dark auburn-brown hair was pulled back into one of her signature intricate braids. Even in her long red nightgown with a matching robe, she looked like she’d just wrapped with a photoshoot for a magazine cover. She always had this quiet elegance that made everything she did seem sacred, whether it was healing someone or making dinner from scratch. She was all warmth and control, compassion and fire in equal measure.
But my father? My father was rage with a body, a storm without a leash. He looked like he was carved for war. Sure, he was the kind of handsome that turned heads when he entered a room, but few knew it was the danger that drew them in. If you looked closely, there was something in his gaze that always burned a little too hot, something in his smile and movements that dared someone to make him flip the switch from charming to terrifying. His love was fierce, but it was never free. It came with a price: orders to follow, expectations to achieve, and consequences to avoid.
My father’s approval was earned the same way you do a scar: painfully and always with some blood.
So, what had made my mother fall for my father and decide to marry and raise a child with him? Was it the charisma he had? The magnetism of a man who walked through life like a thunderclap? Or, had she seen something in him back then,some spark of good, something she thought she could soften to make him better? My mother had always been a healer, even before she had the knowledge to do the work without her magic. I guessed sometimes healers fell in love with broken things they thought they could fix. I always thought she should have fucking known better.
My father wasn’t broken; helikedthe damage.
“Quinn didn’tdothis, Diego. This is no more her fault than yours!” Mama snapped toward my father.
“Shewasn’tthere!” He roared back. “We had a plan! A team! I ordered her to come. She chose to fucking stay! You think a real Hunter gets to choose when it’s convenient to show up? You think they can choose not to do work because they are too ‘scared’ and ‘mommy said I didn’t have to.’”
I flinched at his mocking tone.
“That wasn’therjob! It was Harry’s job to lead the team into that cavern. He failed to consider the entire situation. They should have waited instead of chasing after a fledgling into unknown territory. It was brash and foolish, and it was completely his fault?—”
“If she were there.” He snapped his finger at me. “It would’ve been different! She would’ve been smart enough not to follow a dragon-fledgling into their own territory. She’d have covered his damn six!”
Mama looked up at him with a look I could only describe as dumbfounded anger. “Do you hear yourself? Harry would not have listened to her. Regardless, she’s achild.”
“She’s a huntress. And, she disobeyed a direct order from her Huntscommander.”
Uncle Harry groaned before coughing, wet and thick. Blood bubbled from his lips and started dripping down the corners. The blood had a weird tint to it, where it was too dark of a red to be natural. The delicate pink glow from the crystalsembedded in his limbs throbbed weakly like dying coals. Mama cursed under her breath and moved to press her palms to his chest to stabilize him. The glow that was subtle under her skin moved to her palms and brightened into a spotlight against his chest.
“Is he going to die, Mama?” I whispered shakily. It was then that I realized that the bones in my wrist that my father had broken when he gripped it, as well as the cut in my heel from the glass shard, had all healed already.
Mama’s eyes briefly moved from her work to glance at me. Her gaze was softer now, full of compassion, and shiny with unshed tears. “I don’t know yet, sweetheart. I am doing everything I can to?—”
“You didn’t even like him, so what do you care now that he’s going to die?” Dad spat at me. “He was family. You had a duty to uphold. You couldn’t even put all of that above your own pathetic fear.”
My father turned to me fully. He spoke with a quieter voice now, and it felt far colder than yelling. It cut deeper into me. He approached slowly, looming over me to emphasize his size. I wasn’t a thin or short teenager. I was at my full height of 5’8” already at fourteen. While I was a big girl, I still had muscles that made my male hunter peers at school jealous. Yet, my father made me look and feel less than nothing. My eyes widened, releasing more tears from my eyes. “He’s going to die because of you and your lack of action.”
“N-no, th-that’s not?—”
“Oh? Now, you want to have a backbone, to stand for something,mija?”
“Diego! He’s not dead! Stop this!”
“This is why you’llneverbe Huntscommander. You aren’t even a good First Blade. You’re weak. You’re soft. You letemotion cloud your judgment. You are worthless on and off the field.”
My breath caught. I couldn’t even look at him, so I looked down. Despite my best efforts, I started to cry.
“You think you’re going to lead this family one day? You think others will follow you into battle? They’ll eat you alive before any supernatural beast can get near you to try.”
“Diego!”My mother warned again, voice strained now.
“You’renothing.You mean nothing. Youarenothing. You will never amount to anything. Not with your cowardice. Not with your shame. You’ll choke on your first command and get someone else killed?—”
“Diego Alejandro Garcia, that is enough!”My mother shouted.
Mama never raised her voice.
