Page 84 of Dream in Darkness
“Once this is over, what happens with the felion?” I ask, and his brows furrow.
“Why do you care?”
I shrug, trying to stay calm. “I’ve worked really hard for this treaty, do you intend on signing it?”
My Alpha laughs, and Fenris does the same as they look me up and down. I sit silently as my father passes judgment on me with the same calm he used to teach how to hunt when I was just a child. Every word out of his mouth sounds practiced, cruelty a skill he has honed over time.
“No, I’m not going to sign a treaty where I lose some of my territory. We’ll bring the felion in under our pack order once we help take over Haeresis. They can help us acquire atra and other minerals,” he says, as if it’s no big deal.
My mind flashes to images of Yasmeena—fragments of stories she’s told me. Her and Khalid and their parents diving in the ocean, fearing for their lives. I won’t let that happen again.
“But—”
“Why do you care?” Fenris asks.
I’m unwilling to give an honest answer. “It’s wrong. The felion have done nothing to you.”
“We are not just going to control the felion, Tempest. We’re going to control everyone. This is about power.” My father’s shirt is cut low enough to show the scar on the left side of his collarbone,and my mind flashes to a memory of my parents fighting. My mother left that scar.
There was a time in my life when I thought the weight in my chest was pride. It sat heavy as my father spoke, proud whenever our pack would lower their eyes in his presence. I mistook their fear for respect, because that was how I was raised to interpret it. I was taught that every slap of his hand against my face, every shout, was the natural order of things.
Today, and every day since agreeing to the engagement with Yasmeena, has shown me otherwise.
Eyes the same color as mine stare back at me with disdain. “You care for her, don’t you?”
I shake my head. “I don’t.”
“You’ve never been a very good liar.” My father scratches his chin, looking contemplative. “You don’t want to kill Draven, do you?”
Nico flashes across my mind, and my heart aches. “No, I really don’t.”
“Then we’ll change the mission,” he says, smiling at Fenris, and relief fills my chest cavity in an instant.
I couldn’t envision myself killing Draven. Not only would it hurt Yasmeena and Taryn and Gemma and Absinthe and so many others I’ve grown so fond of, but it would hurt Nico, and that’s not something I’m willing to do.
“I want you to kill Yasmeena,” he says, and I balk. “This will not only prove your loyalty to Pack Escalus, but it will make the rejection of the peace treaty more understandable. The felion might even reject it themselves.”
“Okay,” I say, even though I am anything but. “I’ll do it.”
Except I won’t. Except I can’t. Except I’d rather die than bring her anything but pleasure and peace. Everything seems to move in slow motion. My father and Fenris continue talking, but I can no longer hear them, their voices muffled.
My mind is flooded with images, sentiment, and memories. Lennox Porter telling me my father is vicious. My Alpha coldlyinforming me that Tyrus had been murdered. Yasmeena and me dancing at The Cathedral. Every rehearsal, every day of community outreach, and every stolen glance. The blacked out parts of my childhood and the dreams andnightmaresof my father beating and berating me. All of it overwhelms my system, and I am drowning.
Except I am not water, but ice. The chill of my magic leaves me frozen in time, suspended at the edge of everything that is, and everything that was. I feel a kaleidoscope of emotions, and yet nothing at all. My heart is pounding, palms sweaty, but I do not cry.
“I will draw a symbol on the outskirts of the carnival, in her blood, to let you know when the coast is clear, and it’s safe for Pack Escalus to infiltrate,” I say blandly, knowing this might be the last time I see my father alive, though I’m not sure which one of us will make it to the other side.
My heart threatens to beat out of my chest, but I steady my breathing, refusing to allow him to see how fucked up I am over all of this. I won’t let him win. My Alpha isn’t a legend carved by the light of the twin moons. No, he is a monster. One who learned how to dress his hunger and hatred up as law, wielding it against anyone weak.
But once a monster reveals itself to you, there’s no more pretending. You have to fight it.
Movement No. 32
Yasmeena
Tempest enters our tent in a cold sweat, her hair disheveled and pale skin flushed red.
“Hey,” I say as she paces the room.
