Page 96 of Thorns from the Fall

“Ketill hates hybrids and wants vampire pureblood supremacy. Ansi meant for vampires and hunters to…work together.” The way he hesitates is strange, and his throat bobs. “The word isn’t even actually hunter.”

“Félagi,” Agnarr interrupts, but Roman keeps talking before he can get another word in.

“Ketill twisted the meaning to keep vampires on top. But also, uh. Agnarr was in love with your mother after she, uh, impregnated herself. He visited her through dreams, I guess.”

I blink, confused that anyone could fall in love with their rapist, but I continue drinking from Roman, feeling stronger with each gulp.

“Félagi are born of Helgi?” I ask, knowing my ancestors descend from Ansi’s own children, the first to enter her cave.

“Yes. And witches from Einar,” Agnarr says. “She was beautiful, your mother. A kind soul who was trying to do the right thing. I think she knew, before you were born, that their plan wouldn’t be good for you.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Roman says, and I snort. He seems to just know, by instinct, that I don’t want to hear this story from Agnarr, but from him.

“How are you a hybrid?” I ask, breaking away for just a moment to get to the more important part of the story.

Roman exhales, like what he’s about to say annoys him deeply. I reach up, smoothing a fingertip over the crinkle between his brows. For a brief second, he gives me a lopsided smile, and I wonder if it’s just going to be like this from now on. Sweet and easy.

I don’t know if I’m on board with that or not. I like the push and pull and the fucked up games with Roman. I enjoy submitting to him with sex and driving him crazy outside of it.

But we have time to figure it out, I guess. I bite his wrist once more, drinking as fast as I can. I need my strength, becausewithout even saying it, I know we aren’t leaving here until Ketill is dead.

“Bjorn wasn’t my real father. A sorcerer who helped maintain the compound’s wards had an affair with my mother. He helped orchestrate the attack with Bill and Cynthia a few years later, I assume in a bid to free my mother. After Bill killed her, it seems he sought revenge. He wanted to get even with Bill.”

I frown, not understanding. “Who did the sorcerer kill? Cynthia? She died in childbirth.”

“I am sure he made it look that way,” Agnarr says, eyes hard and jaw tight. “Cynthia had nightmares before you were born. She was frightened something would go awry, and she called upon Johnathon Proctor to ensure your safety. That is why his magic lingers on you still. I suspect he killed Cynthia to avenge Alice,” Agnarr says, and I’m too shocked to mind his interruption.

I sit up, dropping Roman’s arm. “Johnathon Proctor is your father?”

“Apparently,” he says.

After a moment’s hesitation, afraid to bring him up, I ask, “And Remy?”

Roman looks to Agnarr for an answer.

“Probably,” the ancient vampire says.

“You’re Sasha’s half-brother,” I say, and it’s so preposterous that I burst out in laughter. “You’re my sister’s brother—what the fuck?”

“What?” Roman is confused, and I can’t stop laughing. Maybe it’s the lightheadedness. He gently cups my cheek, searching my face for an answer.

“Johnathon Proctor, headmaster of the Institute that trains sorcerers, is Sasha’s dad. And yours too, I guess.”

A loud banging from a far off hallway interrupts us, and I jump in his arms. Agnarr stands, and Roman follows quicklyafter, moving to position himself between the door and me. When I stand, I’m irritated all over again about my choice of underwear, both ass cheeks exposed and cold because of my cute lacy thong.

I’m finally able to see past the blinding light, and I shiver when I take in our surroundings. The refrigerated drawers line one wall, half flung open, and I can only imagine how Roman felt trying to find me. Opposite that wall, there’s a long counter with a deep sink on one side and a large scale on the other. Between, there are various tools lined up precisely. A bone saw, some sort of giant eye dropper looking thing that’s pointed on the end, a sharp pair of long tweezers? Any of those could work as weapons.

Two metal autopsy tables stand in the middle of the room—one empty, the other holding a sheet-draped body. I have half a mind to make sure whoever lies there is actually dead, but I decide against it.

I look around, searching for the tray of instruments the ginger witch used on me, but find her body instead. Her neck is certainly broken, and her body is shoved between the wall and a filing cabinet. I feel a bit shitty about it since she said she was trying to help me, and it seems her message did go through to my rescuers.

But Roman knew that and killed her anyway.

I glance down at my leg, and spot a long scar that should have healed by now. From just above my ankle, all the way to below my knee, I have a perfectly straight line—cut by one of her scalpels—that hasn’t healed thanks to the powdered silver. But, despite the scar on my flesh and silver still trapped in my body, I’d been able to heal nearly immediately. Perhaps that’s why Ketill hates hybrids. Because I healed what an ordinary vampire could not.

She’d stalled, convincing him to use my blood to try and create hybrids like me, and I have to be grateful for that, I suppose. But she still brought me here and tortured me. She still left a permanent scar on my body—even if she did try to help me in the end.

I’m glad Roman didn’t hesitate to break her fucking neck.

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