Chapter 23 To Be Broken
Koa
Cas caught my eye as we both pulled on joggers, and I knew he knew I was replaying how close we’d come to losing her.
“She scared the fuck out of me,” I muttered as we padded down the hallway.
“She did what she had to,” Cas replied, one hand landing briefly on my shoulder, solid and grounding.
He was aware how the battle rage affected me, how I sometimes needed hours to come down from that high. Today hadn’t been as bad, more fear for Seri than bloodlust, and play time with her moments ago had certainly helped. He was checking, anyway.
Always the wall. Always the biggest billy goat gruff.
We pushed through the doors into the kitchen, hit immediately by the scent of fresh bread.
Mrs. Wentzel’s domain ran on controlled chaos during peacetime, but today the stainless steel counters looked like a culinary warzone.
A stock pot bubbled angrily on the industrial range, its lids clattering like an impatient spirit.
“Monster attacks before mealtimes require advance scheduling!” Her rolling pin slammed dough with the precision of a mortar strike, and flour poofed around her steel-gray bun like tactical smoke.
Cas ghosted ahead, barefoot and shirtless the same as me, his expression grave, although I caught the tiny twitch at the corners of his mouth.
“My sincerest apologies, Mrs. Wentzel. In the future, I will request that supernatural entities submit their attack plans at least twenty-four hours in advance.”
“Don’t you get smart with me, Prince Casimir.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “I was fileting things before you were born.”
My mouth twitched. Most people quivered at the sight of us, but not this old girl.
Behind me, a ceramic bowl shattered, and I glanced to see Addison frozen with broken pieces of a mixing bowl scattered around his sneakers. His throat bobbed like he was swallowing screams instead of saliva.
“S-sorry,” he whispered to his own shuffling feet. “So sorry. Perdón.”
“It’s fine, kid.” My voice came out rougher than intended. He flinched. Fuck. I softened a bit, leaning against the fridge door. “Accidents happen.”
After a moment, he approached like a spooked colt, all trembling fingers and sideways glances.
Up close, I could count the scars peeking out from his shirt at his neck and wrists.
He swallowed hard when our eyes met, his throat bobbing like he was trying to dislodge something painful.
I waited, recognizing the look of someone gathering courage.
“Prince Koa,” he whispered finally, his pulse jackrabbiting. “Lady Seri said you would give me training if I asked.”
Mrs. Wentzel whipped around, rolling pin frozen mid-whack, eyes wide and lips pinched into a tight line as she stared at her grandson. Cas went still, too, instinct telling us this moment mattered.
I kept my face neutral as my heart squeezed.
Seri hadn’t mentioned this, but it was so like her, seeing need in someone and quietly arranging help without making a fuss.
I studied Addison’s thin frame, the way his shoulders curved inward as though perpetually bracing for a blow.
Behind the fear in his eyes lay something harder, something determined. Still…
Training.
The very word made a serpent of memory uncurl in my chest. What Lucian had called training had been little more than systematic brutality disguised as discipline. All to break us down until the only thing left was what Lucian could use.
I caught Casimir’s eye across the kitchen. Three slow blinks passed between us. Agreement.
Never. We would never train this boy, or anyone, the way we’d been trained.
“Why do you want training?” I asked after a moment.
“Charlotte loved butterflies. Yellow ones. Monsters don’t care about yellow. Or butterflies.” Addison’s gaze dropped to the floor, then lifted again with visible effort. “Mamá said it was a car crash. Cars don’t leave bite marks on little girls.”
Cas materialized at my left shoulder, a jar of maraschino cherries in one hand. His silence weighed more than any interrogation.
“I want to be able to protect people. From monsters. Like the ones that killed Charlotte. Like the one that tried to kill Lady Seri.” Addison’s words tumbled out faster now, as though he feared losing momentum.
“Before, I couldn’t— I couldn’t do anything.
But I don’t want to be helpless again. Ever. ”
I exchanged a quick glance with Cas, reading his slight nod of approval. This wasn’t just a boy’s fantasy of being a hero. This was survival, grief, purpose. Things I understood all too well.
“Monday afternoon,” I told him, keeping my voice steady. “Meet us in the gym. We’ll begin with the basics. It won’t be easy.”
“I don’t need easy.” Something flashed in the kid’s eyes that made him look older than fourteen. “Thank you.”
Mrs. Wentzel cleared her throat sharply.
“Addison, the herbs need picking before they wilt in this heat. Take the small shears, not the kitchen scissors.”
“Si, abuela.” He scurried from the kitchen, relief palpable.
We waited until the back door closed behind him, watching through the window as he stopped to pat Brummy, who lifted his head to give the boy a friendly snuffle before returning to his crayfish pincer.
The moment Addison was out of earshot, Mrs. Wentzel turned to us, her flour-dusted hands planted firmly on her hips. Her pleasant grandmotherly demeanor evaporated, replaced by something harder, sharper.
“I became suspicious when Jimena stopped bringing the children for visits after my son died. When I would call, Addison was different. Quiet. Charlotte used to be a little chatterbox, but she got quiet, too.”
The serpent in my chest coiled tighter as she went on.
“Addison has since told me that Jimena brought home all manner of creatures to solve her rent problem. Called them men, but they weren’t.
At least, not entirely. Not where it counted.
” She looked toward the door where Addison had exited.
“The last one… I only met him once, at Charlotte’s funeral, but I could tell he wasn’t human.
He had a taste for fear. For pain. He seemed to feed on it. ”
“A supernatural predator? Do you know what kind?” Cas’ face remained unchanged, but his eyes flickered with rage that matched my own.
“No, but he was wrong. Didn’t blink right. Shadow didn’t match the light. Addison told me he felt like his mind was being scraped clean and that a feeling of dread hung over everything.”
“A seeping dread,” I snarled, and Cas nodded in agreement.
A PEP—parasitic emotional predator—seeping dreads mimicked human behavior by wearing borrowed personalities like clothes.
Thrived in close quarters, infiltrating families under the guise of trust, often as a charming romantic partner.
Isolated the target adult and preyed on the children, slowly unraveling its victims from inside their own minds.
“Charlotte was only seven. I was too late to save her.” Mrs. Wentzel’s voice didn’t waver, but something in her eyes fractured, and my hands curled into fists. “I made a deal with your father. I’d be chef again at Evermere if he got Addison out of there and legally transferred his custody to me.”
“Father doesn’t usually involve himself in human affairs.” Cas’ eyebrow lifted slightly.
“He owed me something.” Mrs. Wentzel smiled thinly. “And he enjoys my roast duck.”
There was more to that story, much more, but neither Cas nor I pressed. Let her keep her secrets.
“Where are Jimena and her ‘poor choice’ now?” I asked with deceptive calm.
“King Lucian himself took Prince Sebastian with him to fetch Addison.” Mrs. Wentzel’s eyes went cold as her lips pressed into a thin line. “The king killed Jimena on the spot. The prince handled the monster.”
She didn’t elaborate, and she didn’t need to.
We knew what that meant. Sebastian was polished, diplomatic, and endlessly patient, but also utterly ruthless when the situation demanded it.
If he had “handled” someone, it meant a clean death.
Merciful by Lucian’s standards, but final nonetheless, which was all Mrs. Wentzel and Addison required.
“The boy deserves to know how to protect himself. We’ll teach him. But not—” Cas paused, carefully selecting his words in the way he always did when approaching dangerous territory. “Not as we were taught.”
“Knowing your father’s methods, I appreciate that. My grandson has known enough needless suffering to last a lifetime.”
I studied her carefully, seeing beyond the comfortable maternal figure she presented to the world.
The way she handled knives with casual mastery.
The assessing calculation in her eyes whenever strangers entered her domain.
The fact that Lucian, who trusted no one, allowed her complete autonomy here.
And enjoys her roast duck, apparently.
“Now, I believe some chocolate would do Lady Seri good. Always a comfort after a fright.”
With practiced efficiency, she assembled a tray of snacks. Sliced meats, cheeses, crackers, strawberries and a tower of the exact chocolate chunk cookies I favored above all others. Not many knew that, but Mrs. Wentzel noticed things, remembered them.
Just as she had noticed when her grandson needed her, even when everyone else had failed him.
“This will help her regain her strength,” she said, handing the laden tray to Cas. “She may not have been physically injured, but fear drains the body just as effectively.”
As we turned to leave, I paused at the threshold.
“Mrs. Wentzel?”
She looked up from where she’d resumed her kneading, eyebrows raised in question.
“We’ll be careful with him,” I promised, knowing she’d understand what I meant.
Not just about physical training, but about the inevitable hardening that came with learning to fight monsters, both the literal and metaphorical kind.
As we made our way toward the hot tub, we could hear Zane serenading our beloved with “Die With a Smile.” I shook my head with a little smirk. He might be a red-headed gremlin, but the fucker sure could sing.
“We don’t know how to train someone gently,” Cas said so low that only dhampir hearing could catch it.
“Then we’ll learn. We’ll train him to be strong. Strong enough to break what needs breaking.”
“But not to break him,” Cas added. “Not like Father did to us.”
I nodded. Some cycles were meant to be broken.