Chapter 35 – Alexandros
Chapter
Thirty-Five
ALEXANDROS
L ucian. My firstborn. A coldhearted murderer. The reason I have torn myself apart for the past five hundred years. But still my son. The apple of his mother’s eye. The boy who was born with his name already ingrained into his soul. As soon as we discovered she was carrying a boy, Elena and I wished for him to be named Ares—a strong name for a son of House Drakos. But the moment he was born, we both knew Ares was not his name. It was Lucian.
I can still recall that day with astounding clarity even over seven hundred years later.
I thought I told you to stay out of my head! His wrath fills my consciousness, and I fight his efforts to shut me out. I am not entirely sure why I can reach him now after so many centuries, but I suspect it has something to do with how Ophelia’s powers have magnified my own.
I know what you asked of me, but I will take only a few moments of your time, Lucian. Please?
I owe you nothing. Get out of my fucking head! Every word is infused with his pain.
Despite what you think of me, and despite what I believed myself before I saw you again yesterday, I have no desire to cause you any harm.
He is silent.
Allow me a few moments, and then I will leave you in peace. I swear.
What do you want from me? he asks.
Although I planned what to say, now that I am speaking with him, I find myself uncertain of where to start. So I start with her. How do you know Ophelia, and how long have you known who she is?
His derisive snort echoes in my head. Of course you would ask about the elementai.
It seemed safer than asking why you murdered your innocent mother and sisters.
It is a calculated risk to push him when he is already so angry with me, but it works. It also causes him a fresh burst of pain, and for that, I feel shame and guilt. An apology would only anger him further, so I swallow the words perched on my tongue. In the limited contact I have had with him, I sense that being in pain is the state he is most comfortable in. And I have no time to unpack how much that saddens me. That, dearest Father, is much too complicated for only a few moments of your time, which is all I am apparently worth.
He is twisting my words, but I do not take the bait. Then you can have all of my time that you desire, Lucian. Despite our differences, I do not believe you mean her any harm, and if there is any way for me to know more of her past, then it would surely help to protect her.
I have no desire to protect the Chosen One.
The Chosen One? Those words are like a dagger to my heart. That he has referred to her by that title is too much to discuss right now. But whatever it is he knows or suspects, I do not believe he has no desire to protect her. Then why have you protected her for all these years? If you have known her true identity as you claim, why not give her over to the Skotádi?
I do not work for the Skotádi! he roars.
I close my eyes and breathe. You said it was complicated, so please uncomplicate it for me. And then I will leave you in peace.
He is quiet for a moment before his voice fills my head again. Nineteen years ago, before she was born, the Skotádi learned of a child, a descendant of Azezal himself who was able to summon fire from her mother’s womb. Jadon Nassari tried to keep such power a secret, but the magic was detected by warlocks of the Skotádi. They sent a squadron of their finest vampire soldiers to kill the parents and take the child. But once again, the child summoned fire from her mother’s womb and burned the vampires who came for her to ash.
I was aware of this, but why did the Skotádi want Ophelia?
Because they believe she is the Chosen One.
It seems I cannot escape those words and this damn prophecy. And do you?
I believed enough to be willing to kill the child myself before I would allow the Skotádi to take her and manipulate her power for evil. To be the first to drink from the untouched vessel . I am too enraged by his admission to explore the words taken straight from the prophecy.
You would have killed a defenseless infant ? —
To prevent the darkest creatures in the world from getting their hands on the Chosen One? I believe you already know me capable of more heinous crimes than that, Father. Again, the word is more insult than title. He is right; I am acutely aware of the darkness inside him.
But you did not have to because members of the Order saved her?
Nazeel Danraath and Ophelia’s uncle, Kameen, yes.
Another burst of rage hurtles through me at the mention of Nazeel’s name. So when did you meet Ophelia?
I have met her many times in her life, but as she got older, I remained at a distance and observed, careful to never let her see me.
To what end were you watching her?
To ensure she was not manipulated by the dark , he snaps, growing impatient. Restless to move on from wherever he currently is. And I have an image of him, always restless, always moving.
I have two more questions, and then I will bother you no further.
He growls.
Did you have anything to do with the attacks on Ophelia whilst she was at Montridge?
I believe you should look closer to home for the answer to that question.
Giorgios?
Is that your second question? he scoffs.
I have two million more questions, but there is one burning to be asked. Why can Ophelia sense you? It is as though you share a bond when I know you do not.
Ah. He laughs darkly. That is because I tasted her blood. A hell of a long time before you did, Father.
No. That is impossible. I would have known if he had fed from her, would I not? Because then he would have had to bond with her too. He would have been drawn to her the way the boys and I were. Unless she was only a child. The raging maelstrom of emotion in my chest grows wilder and less able to be contained. When? How? Did you wipe her memory?
I answered your questions. All trace of amusement is gone. Now get the fuck out of my head.
I clench my jaw so hard my teeth ache. Why is it that answers only lead to more questions where Ophelia Hart is concerned? But I will keep my promise and leave him in peace—for now, at least. I am going. But Lucian…
He does not reply, and I wonder whether what am I about to say will hurt or help, but I cannot live a moment longer without saying it. I felt your loss as deeply as I did theirs. You are my son. And it does not matter that you removed our bond—you will never not be my son.
Still, he says nothing, but I am content knowing he heard me. For now, that is all I can hope for where he is concerned.