Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
brIANNA
M y father enters my room without knocking, without so much as a “hello” as he stands over me at my desk. “How was school today?”
I look up from the textbooks I was pretending to read and smile sweetly at him. “Fine. It was my short day, so I only had a couple of classes.”
“Your driver said you seemed distracted. If you’re not going to take your schooling seriously, you don’t need to attend any longer.” He frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t know why you insisted on attending in the first place.”
Because I want to be more than a wife and a mother. Because I want my life to mean more than what you can arrange for me. Because I want to choose my life, my own destiny. “I think it’s important to be well educated. If I’m going to hold my own in society, I need to be able to participate in conversation with the politicians, businessmen, and diplomats in our circle. You wouldn’t want your colleagues to think I’m simple, would you?”
It’s a ploy, the same argument I make every time he acts like I’m not performing as perfectly as he expects. Sometimes, I think he sees right through it, though I hope not. Going to school gives me an opportunity to be out of this house, time to interact with the people I choose, and time to feel like I can breathe, even if it’s barely more room than inside the cage that is our house.
But if he does think I’m full of shit, he doesn’t call me out on it.
“I’ve invited some guests to dinner tonight. Change into something appropriate.”
I cringe at the thought of having to put on a show. He’s not just invited guests. He’s invited someone he deems a worthy match for his disappointment of a daughter. He expects me to be demure, coy, subservient even.
“As you wish, Papa.”
I wait for him to leave as abruptly as he entered and then I slide out of my desk chair, moving straight to my closet.
Nothing hanging in the walk-in space says anything about who I am, any of my dreams, my aspirations, or anything I actually enjoy. Every stitch of fabric has been approved by my father, and his expectations.
I let out a frustrated sigh as I pull out a knee-length dress that checks all of my father’s boxes when it comes to an outfit for a potential bride.
I want nothing more than to sneak back down to the basement. Eating dinner with strangers looking to arrange a marriage, filled with at best, disinterest and distain. At worst, actual physical torture. Fruitlessly, I scan my room for possible escape options, even though it’s merely a fantasy. There’s no escape from my life. Not even the stolen moments I might get in the dungeon below.
My father would see through any attempt to get out of the dinner. Or worse, he’d call a doctor to confirm that the symptoms are in my mind. Even if I were to vomit all over the fine government-issued china, I’d be presumed to be faking it.
Better to just suffer through, and debate sneaking down to visit with Declan after, to tell him all about my terrible night.
I dress quickly, twirling my hair into an elaborate style that can be held in place with a hair comb, and adding just enough makeup to make it look like I’m not wearing any at all.
The entire time, I can’t stop thinking about the dragon below, and the moment I was certain he was about to kiss me.
Did I make it all up? Does he really just think of me as someone kind, someone friendly?
Why do I care so much?
When a maid knocks on my door to announce dinner’s ready, I’m the picture of what my father considers perfection, and half mad with the questions bouncing around in my head.
“Brianna, I want you to meet Dr. and Mrs. Lee, and their son, Peter. He’s studying pre-law.”
Dr. Lee beams with pride as he says, “He’s going to be in politics.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes as I bow my head and say in a soft, subdued voice, “It’s very nice to meet you.”
We get herded into the formal dining room, and unsurprisingly, I end up sitting squarely between my father at the head of the table and Peter.
For a possible suitor, he could be worse. He’s intelligent, if he’s studying pre-law and wants to go into politics. Living with my father has certainly educated me on how complicated politics can be. He’s handsome enough, I suppose. He’s not really my type. Dark hair kept short and tidy, clean shaven, dark eyes, high cheekbones, and he’s almost pretty like a K-pop star.
A complete opposite of the gloriously rugged man I’d rather be spending time with, even if he’s dirty, injured, and rough around the edges.
“Being a politician is a noble pursuit. What inspired that career choice?” My father immediately guides the conversation, and I pick at the salad in front of me, wishing the floor would open up under my chair so that I can get out of this hell.
“I always knew I wanted to pursue law, but after that spectacle in Times Square, I knew I needed to think about protecting humanity from these monsters who threaten our way of life. We can’t let them burn our cities, kidnap our children. We certainly can’t let them anywhere near the fairer sex.” Peter gestures at me. “Take your daughter, for example. A girl like her might not understand the threat, the danger that these creatures pose. I’m sure you’ve never imagined being eaten by a dragon, but that’s what they would do. Make no mistake. They’re nothing more than killers, monsters, nothing more than barbaric beasts that would roast you alive.”
“Have you ever met one, Peter?” I tilt my head toward him, as if I’m actually curious, even though I’m sure I can guess the answer.
“Meet one?” He curls his lip at the thought, and his pretty face becomes nothing but a smear of disgust. “I don’t need to. They’re uncivilized monsters, living amongst us, no doubt stealing our resources, just like the stories of old. You think these dragons, any of these shifters or even fae, are above hoarding our wealth, stealing our homes?” He says it with such an air of haughtiness, with so much derision for shifters, I almost want to break the carefully cultivated calm demeanor I’m trying so hard to hold onto. “You know the stories. We’ve all heard tales of fire breathing dragons destroying entire communities to get their hands on gold and virgins. Fae stealing babies and leaving their own sickly ones behind. Wolves pretending to be someone they’re not, to eat our children, our livestock, and our livelihood.”
This idiot believes The Little Red Riding Hood is an actual shifter tale? Please, someone get me out of here.
“You’re exactly right. It’s why I’m glad there are young people who are standing on the side of right, looking to make sure we have protections in place. You can’t be too careful these days. Anyone could be something other than human.” My father looks like he’s buying into every one of Peter’s inane ramblings.
It’s probably why he likes Peter as a prospect for me. Someone else my father can bring in on his little project downstairs. I’m guessing it’s lucrative as well or my father really wouldn’t have any interest.
“There is one good thing these monsters are good for.” Peter’s lips curve into a malicious sneer, which I think is his attempt at a villain smirk. “I must say, there’s nothing quite as exhilarating as watching two of them battle to the death.”
My stomach roils at his admittance of the fights my family orchestrates, and I press my left hand to my abdomen, trying not to be sick all over the dinner table. Declan and the others are directly below us. If I could, I would free them right now and watch with some delight if they tried to get revenge for how they’ve been treated.
“Brianna.” My father’s terse tone brings me back into the dining room, which is the last place I want to be. “Peter asked you a question. Do not be rude.”
I jerk my head over to Peter trying to continue with the demure, obedient vibes that have been beaten into me literally and figuratively.
Peter’s eyes are fixated on me, and it makes my stomach roil again. “Brianna, are you okay? You look white as a sheet.” Peter almost sounds concerned. Almost. It’s a dutiful concern, I know the difference.
“I am well,” I say in a small voice.
Peter asks, “Are you sure?”
“She’s fine.” My father waves off his concern over me, because my father certainly isn’t concerned. “Perhaps we should change the topic of conversation, though? I doubt either of the girls at the table want to talk about such brutal things.” My father tries to smooth things over, even as he’s staring me down, undoubtedly trying to silently will me into pulling myself together.
I force a smile. “Why don’t we talk about school. What university are you attending?”
As the conversation shifts, it turns into a dull roar in my ears, none of the words coming through with any clarity. The men are happy to hear their own voices over the women in the room anyway.
Again, I mentally drift out of the room, wanting to be anywhere but here. Declan is alone, torn away from his family, and these men, this boy my father thinks would be a worthy match, want nothing more than to make him into a villain. And for what? To advance some fictitious political career? To keep people scared? To have power over someone they couldn’t truly overpower without keeping them hurt, sickly, under spells?
I’d have to hope that they wouldn’t think this way if they actually talked to Declan, actually had a conversation about what the shifters want, why they’re here. I can’t imagine any of them are the monsters, no more so than any human has the capability. Especially considering there hasn’t been a wave of shifter attacks, or shifters showing up and destroying property. There’s a ton of sightings and videos that have come out since the dragon on the morning show, but no real evidence to show they’re a threat, aside from being different and probably more powerful than humans.
Which is enough to hurt any fragile male ego. Men of substance don’t worry about such things.
It just doesn’t make any sense to criminalize, to villainize every shifter, every supernatural creature, just because they may have at one point been a threat.
Throughout three courses, I fake my way through conversation, barely participating unless someone addresses me directly. As it allows, I think of Declan and the other creatures in this world and wonder about them. I’ve never fit in among the humans because of my father, I wonder if I could fit somewhere else.
By the time we stand and escort the Lees to the door, the irritation radiating off my father has lessened significantly.
It doesn’t matter how demurely I curtsy as I say my good-byes, and it doesn’t matter that Peter still kisses the top of my hand, and promises to look out for me at school, and it certainly doesn’t seem to matter that Peter’s parents seem pleased with the evening, when the door closes behind the Lees, my father’s entire demeanor shifts back to irate.
“Explain yourself.” He crosses his arms over his chest and glares down at me. “Why were you so disrespectful to our guests?”
I stay silent knowing there will be no answer good enough.
“The Lees are a good family. They would be able to support you in the same manner you grew up in. I don’t understand where this newfound rebellion is coming from. Is it your little school friend, Ellie?”
I jerk my head up with a gut clench at the idea of not being able to talk to Ellie again. “Ellie is not a bad influence, Papa. She and I study together, and her grades are nearly as good as mine. We are in many of the same classes. It isn’t like she’s taking me to fraternity parties or something. We only study together.”
“Someone is filling your head with the idea that you can talk back. If not her, who?”
My expression hardens and rage boils in my belly. I manage to keep my tone neutral as I speak to him with controlled words and tone. “You were the one who insisted I join the debate team when I was in high school. I hardly think asking one simple question could be considered talking back.”
“Go to your room. Finish your studies for the night. And remember that I don’t have to let you return to school next semester or even tomorrow. I will not put up with your attitude. This is your last warning.” He points at the stairs, summarily dismissing me.
I close myself into my room just in time to see the black vans disappear from view in my window.
Is Declan fighting again? My stomach gurgles with the stress of the evening and now the concern that Declan could possibly not come home tonight.
Am I going to get to see him again, or is tonight the night they kill him?
A knock on my door surprises me, and I hurry from the window to look like I went straight to studying before calling out, “Come in!”
“Hey, little sister.”
Zimo is here. Is that a good thing, or a bad thing? He wasn’t at dinner, but maybe that’s just because he didn’t want to be around for my father’s mating ritual of getting me married off.
“Hey.” I turn in my desk chair and gesture at my bed. “What’s up?”
“I heard you were ambushed tonight. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
I shrug awkwardly. “It’s a day that ends in Y. If Papa didn’t try to make sure I’m his perfect daughter, the perfect wife-in-the-making for some strategic alliance, I’d have to wonder if he’s been exchanged for a pod person.” After a breath, I tentatively add, “Or are there shapeshifters who can look like other people?”
Zimo sits, letting out a chuckle. “You’ve been spending too much time reading science fiction, and not enough studying your textbooks. Don’t let Papa hear you talking about shapeshifters, or he really might marry you off to the next available political alliance, without thought for what you want at all.” He sighs. “I heard you were distracted in your classes today.”
“Great. Which of Papa’s spies ratted me out this time? The driver? Or another student?” My jaw throbs a little as I realize I’m clenching my teeth out of my own irritation for my father’s controlling ways. “I could ace that class with my eyes closed. What’s it matter if I miss one lecture, going over things I already know?”
He holds up his hands and smirks. “I’m not the enemy here, little sister. I’m merely curious what could distract the perfect attendance, perfect GPA student from her classes.”
“I’ve been thinking about what’s going on in the world with these supernatural creatures.” I bite my lip, worrying it a little as I wait for his reaction. “You don’t think they’re all bad, do you?”
“I imagine there are bad ones, and ones that aren’t so bad. But that doesn’t mean we should trust them. You can’t very well think they’d make for good friends.” He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees so that he’s closer to me. “Brianna, I know you haven’t gotten the chance to really explore the world, but reading about things in books isn’t the same thing as seeing it face-to-face. These creatures aren’t like us. They don’t follow our laws. They kidnap women and force them into all sorts of things I don’t want you thinking about. Trust me when I say it’s for the best that people are finding ways to track them, to subdue them, and in some cases even destroy them.”
I frown at him, irritated that everyone I talk to seems to believe the same lies. But I know, deep in my gut, that there’s no way Declan is evil. I don’t think the other shifters are either.
“Will you help me with something?”
“Anything, little sister.”
I smile. “I want to spend the night with a friend. A classmate from school. Without Papa’s guard dogs watching me.”
“I’ll see what I can do. But don’t expect it to be any time soon.”
I know it’s a long shot, but at least’ll keep Zimo focused on something else, rather than thinking I might be interested in the shifters in the basement. The longer he thinks I have no idea they’re down there, the better.