Page 5 of Memories Like Fangs
There were dragonseverywhere. Their horns, wings, tails, clawed hands, fangs, heads, scales, and talons. There were so many different varieties that it made my head spin. The one thing that they all had in common was that they were trophies.They were on display to be admired and bragged about. It made my stomach roll.
This isn’t what hunters do.
This was against our code.
It was disgusting.
Worse of all was when I followed Byrd’s gaze.
On the wall was a massive ruby-red dragon’s head with golden horns curling from its forehead down to where its head met its neck. The lengthy muzzle was packed with long, dagger-like fangs. Its glossy, dark brown, almost-black eyes with slitted pupils mirrored us in them. Golden traditional dragon wings hung on either side of the skull. The scales glittered with gold. She was a beautiful being.
“That’s my mom.”
It was like the floor opened up and swallowed me whole.
I brought Byrd in close for her to continue crying into my shirt. I clung to her tightly, doing what I could to keep her from breaking apart in my arms. As I rubbed her back to soothe her, my hands wanted to turn into fists to punch something. I wanted to hurt anything and everything that was behind this, to make them feel the same hurt as this.
Now, at least, I had an enemy to imagine.
My fucking father.
Typhoon
QUINN
Iwas fourteen when my father woke me up by wrecking my shit.
It started with the sound of shattering glass. I jolted upright from my bed. I would never forget the way my heart leapt into my throat, racing at a hummingbird speed and making it hard to swallow my gasping breaths. I woke up just in time to see purple liquid staining the pale walls of my bedroom, the broken glass twinkling in the early morning light leaking through my curtained bedroom window. The base of what was once my lava lamp lay unplugged with jagged shards from the casing still attached, not far from the dripping spot on my wall.
My room was already in disarray from him. My closet was wide open with the clothes, shoes, and hangers strewn all over my room. Drawers from my dresser and nightstand had been emptied and hurled to the floor without purpose but with fury. My posters were ripped from the walls, with the corners being the only things left behind.
But he wasn’t done.
Dad moved like a tornado, tearing my room apart. I wanted to ask what was going on, but I knew the rules. Don’t talk back. Don’t hesitate. Don’t cry where he can see it. Don’t questionhim. He would show you what he wanted soon enough after he finished yelling and throwing insults during his rampage. All you could do was wait it out until he got it out of his system. Interrupting him only made it worse.
The tossing of my things around, though, was a new traumatizing low.
The top of my dresser was the next in his warpath as he swept my hairbrush, photos, and other knick-knacks to join the mess on the floor. A framed picture of me with Mom at my first hunt, where we took out a rogue witch, cracked down the middle as it landed on the floor. I blinked rapidly as tears streamed from my eyes.
Then, he shoved my dresser to the ground with enough strength to make it collapse into a heap of wood, screws, and knobs. Its crash was enough to make me jump out of my skin. I couldn’t stop shaking.
My father hadn’t even looked at me.
Not yet.
My eyes darted around in search of my alarm clock among the ruins to answer one of the thousands of questions running through my head. I thankfully was able to find it on top of a discarded pile of my clothes. It was barely seven o’clock in the morning.
“You dare to defyme?You think you can ignoremeand not do what I say? You think you’re grown enough to saynoto a command from your Huntscommander?” He growled, his voice low and guttural but loud enough to make my bed quake. “Can you still ignore me now?”
“I-I-I—” My voice cracked as I stuttered.
He whipped around to face me, nostrils flaring. “You what? Stop fucking stuttering and talk, girl!”
I flinched and shrank back like I had been struck. With how loud his voice was and his tone, I might as well have been. I tried again. “I had told Mama?—”
“Yourmother?”He snarled, stepping closer toward me with his boots crunching on glass and the rest of my things. My father was no small man. He was tall at over 6’6” and the bulky kind of muscular. His skin was a very dark olive, and he kept his dark curly hair cropped short. He was an objectively handsome man, and he could be charming when he wanted to be. But, he also knew how to be intimidating as fuck and use his size for that purpose. What added to his overwhelming presence was his current state. He was wearing his usual hunting jacket, one made of dragon-scaled leather, but it was scuffed and soot-stained. There was blood sparkling on the gloves he still wore. His face was dark and manic with a wild expression I had so rarely seen before. But his dark brown eyes were familiar. They were glowing an almost red color. Not with magic. But with rage. “Issheyour Huntscommander? You hiding behind your mommy? You think that will make you a hunter? You think that’s some kind of excuse?”
My throat closed, and my mouth dried up. I was frozen, my limbs heavy with fear. My fingers dug into my covers like they could somehow save me, or maybe I could will this into just being the nightmare it felt like.
