“She was lying in the middle of the forest, sobbing. Dorian was there, as well as his son.” He nods towards Dimitri, who has gone rigid, lines of tension evident in his beautiful face. “She was dying, and she begged for me to look after her unborn baby. I accepted, of course, because I knew your mother.”
“You…knew her?” The more he talks, the more confused I become.
“We were lovers many years ago,” Dracula admits with a dismissive wave of his hand. Obviously, that disgusting snippet of information isn’t relevant to the story.
“Who was she?”
My stomach tightens to unbearable levels until I fear I’m going to expel the meager contents currently residing in my stomach.
“Your mother fell in love with a very evil man,” Dracula continues, ignoring my question. “And when she tried to leave him—taking you with her—he attempted to murder both of you. I vowed to keep you safe and love you like you were my own. I even had a witch place a spell on you to dampen your powers while keeping the ones that were decidedly vampiric strong. As you got older and more insistent that you know your birth mother, I had that same witch implant fake memories to keep you satisfied.”
“Who are my parents?” I demand, dropping myself into the chair opposite him. My legs feel wobbly and leaden, and I have no doubt that if I were to attempt to stand a second longer, I would collapse. Dimitri moves to stand beside me, face expressionless sans the slightest hardening of his eyes.
“Your mother is Hera, Queen of all the Gods, and your father is none other than Lucifer himself, the original monster. Your lineage encompasses two mythologies, two very different types of monsters, but both have their own set of enemies. If the world discovers who you truly are, you won’t have only a few monsters attempting to kill you. Every species in every world will be gunning for your ass.”
CHAPTER 41
VIOLET
“Hera,” I repeat numbly as I stare at my hands. Hands that belong to the daughter of a goddess and the devil. Only minutes ago, I was desperate to know my identity—who I am, who my parents are, what my species is. Now, I’m desperate for Dracula to break into laughter and assure me that this is nothing but a sick, demented joke. I’ll do anything to remain in my tiny, oblivious bubble for a few more minutes. Just a few. I’m not ready to face the world and the implications of his words.
“Even before we were lovers, we were close friends,” Dracula continues, eyes effectively keeping me silent. “When she asked for me to look after her daughter, I couldn’t refuse. That very night, you were born. A healthy, beautiful little girl.” He speaks with a reverence that I’ve never heard before, and I have to wonder if that respect is for me…or the power I apparently wield.
“Is she…dead?” My heart begins to thump erratically as I move my hands to the armrests of my seat. I squeeze until I fear I’m going to break my fingers. Pain like I’ve never felt before consumes me as completely as a tidal wave. I fear I’ll become lost in it. Drown in it.
“Hera?” He reclines back in his chair. The only indication he’s anything other than aloof is the tightening of his eyes. My father is a master of illusions, a master of perfecting his blank mask. To the untrained eye, he appears almost bored with this conversation. Only someone who knows him as well as I do can see the jittery way he holds himself, the way his fingers tap a staccato against the couch’s armrest. “Fortunately, your mother is alive and well.”
“And she hasn’t come for me?” I can’t hide the hurt that creeps into my voice.
“You know it’s not safe,” he answers curtly.
“Because of Lucifer?” I stick my thumb into my mouth and bite down, the blast of pain almost welcoming. It penetrates the numbness that settles heavily in my head like a depressive fog.
“Lucifer is the original monster,” Dimitri interjects, startling me. For a while, I had forgotten he was here, lurking beside me like a sexy shadow. “He created all of the monsters we know today.”
“And he fucked my mom.” I scrub a hand down my face, wishing I could just as easily wipe away the pain and betrayal trapping me six feet underground. Because, yeah, I’m pissed. Fucking furious. For years, my father led me to believe I was nothing but a vampire, his favorite daughter. That latter statement may be true—and I know that blood doesn’t always equal family—but he still lied about my identity. He still made me believe that my mother was dead. I carried the pain of her death like battle armor. It made me stronger, while at the same time, it weighed me down. My mother is alive. Should I be ecstatic? Over the moon?
But the fact that she can’t see me? Can’t talk to me?
It only exacerbates my rage.
Dracula lightly brushes a strand of his meticulously groomed hair out of his eyes. The onyx strands contrast greatly with his pasty, almost sickly, skin. Why did I ever think we were related? Looking at him through a new lens, I realize we look positively nothing alike. While his hair is as black as pitch, mine is sunlit blonde, the strands interwoven with shades of white and a light brown. While his skin reminds me vaguely of alabaster, mine is as smooth as porcelain with a slight tan most vampires could only dream of acquiring. His nose is long and thick, the tip slightly crooked, as if it had been broken one too many times, while mine is tiny and pert. His lips are thin, while mine are lush.
“At the moment, Lucifer believes you to be dead,” Dimitri continues, once more commandeering my attention. His hands are clasped primly behind his back as he
