Chapter 28
Amara
The drive down memory lane was cloaked in darkness, the night wrapping around the Ranger like a heavy shroud. It clung to the windows and trailed along behind us, oppressive and heavy and devoid of stars. The narrow road wound through dense forests, past inky rivers and fields of farmland that seemed to stretch endlessly into the blackness. Only the headlights of the car cut through the dark, casting long shadows that danced along the tree line.
We had been driving for what felt like hours by then, the stillness in the car only broken by the occasional shifting of Dylan’s hands on the wheel. Every so often she checked the rearview mirror, scanning the empty road behind us for signs of pursuit.
The closer we got, the more my stomach churned. What if I was wrong? What would happen to the Leyore women we’d left behind? What would happen to us, if my father caught up…
Alongside these doubts was another painful thought. We were heading to my first home, where Aliyah and I had lived before everything fell apart. I hadn’t been back since, but the memories were still sharp, tinged with the bitterness of loss.
When the mansion finally came into view, my heart lurched. It sat at the end of a narrow road, surrounded by a thick growth of trees that made it almost invisible from the main highway. The house itself was in disarray, its once grand facade now weathered and worn by years of neglect. The windows were boarded up in places, and the paint had peeled away.
I felt a strange mix of emotions as we pulled up to the property. There was anger, sadness, and a deep, aching sense of nostalgia. This house had once been a place of safety, of warmth, back when my mother was alive. But now it was just a shell, abandoned and forgotten by everyone, even by the pair of aging grandparents I had never met.
No one would think to look here. That’s what made it such an effective hideaway. It wasn’t in Don’s name – he’d been careful to wipe away any trace of his connection to it. The house had belonged to my mother’s family, and Don had done everything in his power to erase her from existence. He had struck her name from the records as if she had never lived.
When I was a child in this house, my mother had kissed me on the forehead and told Aliyah to take good care of both of us. When she walked out the door with a suitcase, I hadn’t thought much of it. But when my father, frantic, aggressive, spouting vitriolic sentiment, rushed from our empty home to find her, I knew she had left us behind.
The following morning, when he took down her pictures and packed up our things, I knew she was dead.
I pointed at the dilapidated building and Dylan rolled the car to a stop at the edge of the overgrown driveway. She cut the engine and glanced over at me, her expression questioning, but I ignored her, absorbed in a memory I could only skirt around – never fully touch.
I looked closely, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. The house was dark and the windows empty, except for a faint glow emanating from the bottom floor. Someone was home. I noticed another sign – a small, flickering light near the front porch. The glow of a cell phone screen, the faint orange ember of a cigarette. Someone was there.
One of Don’s men, stationed out front, just as I had suspected. The sight of the guard confirmed everything. This was where the egg was hidden. My father had chosen this place because he knew no one would think to look here. No one, that is, except the sole surviving daughter of his late wife. Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself. I was no longer the frightened child who had left this house behind.
I turned to Dylan, my hands moving quickly as I signed, "The egg is somewhere in the house. You'll have to handle the guard. I'll search the building."
Dylan's eyes squinted with something like concern, but she only nodded. I could see the hesitation, the worry that something could go wrong, but there was no time for second-guessing. There was too much at stake.
We slipped out of the car, leaving the doors open behind us. I felt the crunch of gravel under my feet as I crept around the side of the building, keeping low and close to the shadows. My breath was shallow, each step carefully placed in the hopes of muffling the sound. From my position, I could see Dylan making her way toward the porch, her lithe form almost invisible in the dark.
The guard sat slouched on the porch steps, his attention on the dim light of his phone. He didn’t see Dylan coming, didn’t hear her at all. My wife was a shadow. She was in her element here, the darkness her ally as much as her enemy. It was only when she was right in front of him that he finally looked up, his eyes widening in shock.
I tensed in the bushes, my breath catching as I watched the scene unfold. The man’s mouth opened in a soundless gasp as he fumbled for the gun at his waist, but Dylan was faster. Her hand shot out, closing over his face, and with a quick, brutal motion, she slammed his head back against the wall. The sound of the impact was lost on me, but I saw the man’s body crumple to the ground.
He wasn’t dead, but he’d be in for a headache that would make him wish he was. A grim voice in the back of my mind noted that this was probably what she had intended to do to Don when she slammed him into the wall back at the gathering.
For a moment, I could only stare, my pulse racing. Dylan was already turning toward me, giving a curt nod. Her form flicked in and out of clarity like she was part of the darkness rather than shrouded within it. My mind recalled the early days of sharing her apartment, and the night she had drifted through the living room like a wraith. At the time, I thought I was dreaming. Now, I wasn’t so sure.
But there would be time to grill Dylan on the schematics later, when we lived through the night and made it to the morning. I hurried out of the bushes and up the porch steps, dashing past her and into my old home. The air inside was thick with dust, the darkness pressing in from all sides. The familiar sight of the grand staircase and slanted chandelier did little to comfort me. Every corner held a memory, every shadow a ghost.
I paused at the foot of the rotting stairs and glanced over my shoulder. Dylan stood in the doorway and I signed for her to keep watch.
A second later, the wall above the doorway caved in.
I couldn’t hear any of it, and it took a split second too long to realize what was happening. The facade crumpled inwards, crushed by a collision from the outside. Brick and drywall crashed to the floor, taking part of the collapsing ceiling with it. I stumbled backward, barely avoiding the falling debris. I watched in shock as a massive form burst through the crumbling plaster, dust and debris billowing outwards from where it crashed to the floor.
A reptilian creature, horned and scaled. Oksana, in her dragon form, wings extended and gleaming darkly in the dim light.
The sheer size and power of the shifter took my breath away. The dragon’s eyes glinted with a terrifying fury as she twisted in the rubble, her wings folding back against her sides. The ground shook beneath my feet, and I instinctively backed away. Oksana still showed human qualities, but barely. Only her eyes were truly her own, an abyssal black – but unlike before, it swallowed her pupils, irises and sclera alike. The dragon shifter blinked, nictitating membranes moving in the opposite direction of her eyelids.
Just beyond, Dylan was climbing to her feet, covered in dust, surveying the chaos with wide, horrified eyes. Behind her, there was motion and a new set of headlights silhouetting her frame. Oksana wasn’t our only problem. My blood ran cold in my veins. Don was here. Moments later, five more white-haired shifters barreled toward the porch. Behind them, I saw my father’s own men, armed to the teeth and making a beeline for the woman in their path.
Dylan’s searching gaze alighted on me, and with a quick, sharp gesture that matched her mouth, she signed, "Run."
I hesitated, gaze flicking between Dylan and the monstrous figure of Oksana. Dylan didn’t wait for me to decide. She lunged at the dragon shifter, her nimble speed giving her the edge, but I could see the way Dylan staggered slightly, her body already battered from Oksana’s chaotic entrance. The two creatures clashed, flesh meeting scale, and the house shook under the strain. Shadows danced around Dylan’s frame, more apparent in the yellow light of the last remaining bulb of the demolished entryway.
My mind raced. I had to help Dylan, had to even the odds. It was more of a hunch than anything else, but it was all I had to go on. I darted toward the old electrical panel I knew was hidden in the nearby alcove. The switch was stiff with age, but it moved with a resistant clunk that I felt in my fingertips. The sparse lights throughout the building flickered and died, plunging the entire place into darkness.
I could feel the shift almost immediately. The shadows deepened, and Dylan melted into them, becoming one with the night. I had to move, to make the most of the precious seconds she was earning me. But for a moment, I watched, awe-struck.
Dylan disappeared and reappeared at will, the darkness swirling around her like a living thing, fangs glinting before sinking into exposed skin. It was like watching a death dance – silent, graceful, unstoppable. She took down the men and dragon shifters alike, her movements fluid, her strikes precise. The terror on their faces as they realized they were being hunted by something they could barely see sent a chill down my spine.
But my moment of wonder was cut short. The egg. I had to find the egg.
With renewed urgency, I ran through the darkened halls, the only light coming from the occasional flash of moonlight through the windows, peeking from behind mottled gray clouds. I tore through rooms one by one, each empty of any furniture, covered in a filmy layer of dust. The narrow corridors seemed to close in around me, and I moved with a frantic urgency.
I couldn’t hear the chaos erupting behind me, but I could feel it, the tremors in the floor, the shifting shadows. With a timer ticking down in my head, I made it all the way to the scullery in the back without finding anything.
Then I remembered it. A small metal door outside the house – the one I used to crawl through as a child to escape into the garden. I burst through the back door, digging through the foliage at the base of the building, and found it, half-hidden by ivy. I tugged off my heels, hiking my dress up as I gripped the rusted handle.
I sat in the dirt and planted both feet against the wall on either side of the door, hauling it open with enough effort to make my shoulders pop.
It was a tight squeeze, and my pretty evening dress was practically ruined, but it was also a breakthrough, and the cold, damp air of the basement greeted me as I descended the narrow steps within. With little light to work with, I had to feel my way around, getting by on the slitted glow of swaying light that shone through the ceiling boards above my head. Someone had a torch up there, but with the way it was moving, they were clearly preoccupied with the murderous vampire rampaging through the building.
The cradle was exactly where I remembered it – my cradle – tucked away in the corner, now covered in dust. And there, nestled in the rotting wood, was an egg.
It was bigger than I expected it to be, the size of a football and covered in hard, silvery scales. I reached out and lifted it, cradling it carefully in my arms. A choking relief flooded through me, the emotion spurred on by more than just the retrieval of the egg. But it was short-lived.
A shadow fell over me and I turned my head. My blood turned to ice. Up the rickety stairs on the far wall, my father stood in the doorway, his silhouette sharp against the torchlight flickering behind him. He was holding a gun.
That menacing weapon in his hand caught the light as he descended.
Don took the stairs slowly, and I caught the faint movement of his lips. His words were lost to me, shrouded in shadow, but the glint in his eyes told me everything I needed to know. With my heart in my throat, I waited, watching, until he was level with me.
My father reached out a hand – reached for the egg. He waited expectantly and with my heart in my throat, I hung my head and shuffled toward him.
He didn’t expect a trick until it was too late.
With all the strength I could muster, I kicked out at the towering stack of old boxes and broken furniture beside us. The tower toppled, an avalanche of dusty keepsakes from a life he banished to the basement. I saw the leg of a bent chair nick him in the forehead and he stumbled, covering his mouth, gun in hand, as the billowing dust crawled down his throat.
I bolted, clutching the egg to my chest as I climbed the stairs and took off down the dark hallway. I didn’t need to look back to know my father was following me.
I couldn’t hear him, couldn’t tell how close he was. All I could do was run.
It took more than a minute for my frenzied mind to understand the holes appearing in the hallway around me. Small, black dots that appeared at random as I ran. A sudden, screaming pain shot up my leg as I scrambled around a corner and I glanced down to see a small gash sliced across my calf, blood streaming down to my heel. Then I understood.
The sound of the gunshots were silent to me but terrifying in their effect. I saw the walls splinter and the floorboards chip where the bullets hit, just inches from where I sprinted. Don was toying with me, driving me deeper into the house.
I ducked through a doorway, the egg clutched tightly in my arms as I tried to steady my breathing. Panic clawed at me, my mind racing as I tried to think of a way out. He was hunting me.
I fled through the hallways, slipping through the narrow spaces that had been my secret hideaways as a child. The house was a maze, but it was a maze I knew like the back of my hand. I had run from my father many times before.
I used every hidden passage, every trick I knew, to keep him off my trail. My heart raced as I reached the dumbwaiter. It was small, barely big enough for my body to bend into, but it was my only chance. There was a dead end ahead.
With trembling hands, I pulled myself inside and tugged the rope, hoisting myself upward as quietly as I could. The darkness closed in around me in the miniature elevator, the musty air cloying and claustrophobic, but I kept climbing, praying I would reach the top before he found me.
The dumbwaiter jerked as it reached the top floor and I crawled out, breath coming in shallow gasps. But I forgot one crucial detail from all those mad runs around the house back in my childhood. I had run from Don many times before, but my father always caught up with me.
As I stepped into the hallway, I froze. There he was, at the end of the corridor, his eyes locked on mine. The gun gleamed in his hand, and his chest heaved. His forehead was beaded with perspiration. His eyes were angry.
There was nowhere left to run.
He raised the gun, stony features cold and unfeeling as he aimed it at me. My mind screamed at me to move, but my legs wouldn’t listen. I clutched the egg to my chest, my heart battering against my ribcage. Some small, feeble part of me wanted to believe he wouldn’t do it.
But my father was decisive. He knew what he wanted, he always had. And he’d cut down his own daughter if he had to. I could see it in his eyes.
And then, beyond him, something strange caught my attention.
The darkness in the hallway behind Don seemed to ripple, like a shadow that was too solid, too tangible. For a moment my breath hitched in fear; something monstrous was lurking in the dark. But the twinge in my heart told me it was no monster.
Dylan emerged from the blackness, her eyes gleaming with a vicious rage. In an instant, she was at Don’s shoulder, her movements too fast for him to react. She slammed him to the floor with a force that rattled the walls, her fangs extending as she pinned him down.
Don’s face twisted in shock and anger, but I saw something else there too – a flicker of fear. Dylan leaned in, her fangs bared, ready to sink into his throat. But just as she was about to strike, Don’s hand shot out, pulling something from inside his coat. Red and bulky, with a nozzle pointed right at the woman I love. A flare gun.
Everything seemed to slow down as Don aimed the flare gun directly at Dylan’s heart. Before I could even blink, he pulled the trigger.
The flare shot out in a burst of blinding light and embedded itself into Dylan’s chest, a sickening sizzle eating at her skin. The flames sparked and burrowed into her flesh, the fire spreading quickly along her front.
“ No! ” The scream tore through me, though no sound reached my ears. I rushed forward, instincts screaming at me to help, to do something. Dylan’s grip on Don tightened, her nails digging into his flesh, drawing blood as she fought to stay upright. But the pain was clear in her eyes, and her body trembling as the fire consumed her.
Catching my eye, Dylan shook her head, halting me in my tracks. The red flames reflected in her pupils, lighting them up like cinders. She mouthed words I couldn’t hear but understood perfectly: “Get the egg to Oksana.”
I hesitated, my heart breaking at the thought of leaving Dylan behind. But her expression was one of desperation and resolve, silently begging for me to listen, to do what needed to be done.
Swallowing hard, I nodded, my body stiff with reluctance. I edged around her, my eyes never leaving Dylan’s, not until my back hit the banister behind me. Beneath her, Don writhed, but there was a twisted glint of victory in his eyes. He’d hurt her. And he was proud of it.
I wanted to hurt him back. Instead, I turned and ran, dashing down the stairs, each step taking me further away from the woman I cared about more than anything.
The house seemed to blur around me, my focus solely on finding Oksana and completing the ordeal I had started. I had to trust that Dylan would survive, that we would see each other again. But as I ran through the mansion’s twisted corridors, my heart ached with a fear that I might not.
I burst through another doorway, sprayed with the blood of one of Dylan’s victims, my breath ragged as I frantically searched for Oksana. I found her a moment later, lying in the middle of the room, her dragon form battered and wounded, but she was alive.
The room was carnage, the air thick with the scent of blood and scorched wood. But Oksana and her fellow shifters were already beginning to heal, their wounds closing up with each passing second. They all turned to look at me as I screeched to a stop. Oksana bared her teeth, and the white-haired crowd around her did the same.
I didn’t hesitate. I held up the egg, the precious cargo that had driven me to this point.
The shifters stilled on the spot, their aggressive stances softening as they realized what I was holding. Oksana’s eyes widened in disbelief, and then a look of pure relief and joy washed over her scaled features. With a tentative hand, she reached out and I stepped forward to place the egg in her open hands.
Oksana held it to her chest, cradling it with reverence like a mother with a newborn.
But it wasn’t over yet. My breath caught in my throat, my hands trembling as I tried to convey the urgency of the situation. I gestured wildly, trying my best to speak through my fear and exhaustion.
“You owe me. Help Dylan – kill my father.”
Oksana’s eyes flashed at the mention of Don, and she surveyed me with a contemplative stare. Her grip on the egg tightened for a moment, and then with great reluctance, she handed it off to a beautiful, white-haired man who kneeled at her side. She agreed with a simple nod, a fierce fire igniting in her gaze. At her snapped command, the dragon shifters surged forward, led by Oksana, as they moved to carry out my demand.
The dragon shifters moved with the precision and purpose of a vengeful storm as they navigated the narrow hallways. I followed closely behind. Up the stairs, we turned the final corner and found Don.
He was on his knees, beaten and bruised, with blood smeared across his face. His once-imposing figure was now hunched and defeated, and above him stood Dylan, lithe and powerful despite the ugly, cavernous injury in her chest. Her eyes flashed when she saw the shifters approach, and she stiffened instinctively, her claws extending as she prepared for another fight.
But her narrowed eyes alighted on me and her brow furrowed, before, finally, understanding dawned. The dragon shifters weren’t there to harm her. Dylan’s tense posture relaxed slightly, and a slow grin spread across her face. She took a step back, obligingly bowing out of the way to allow Oksana to have her revenge.
The dragon woman strode forward, her eyes locked on Don. With a swift, unmerciful motion, she gripped him by the hair and yanked his head back, forcing my father to look up at her. I watched as Oksana leaned in close, her lips moving in a language I couldn’t hear or decipher, but I imagined it was Russian.
Whatever Oksana said made Don’s eyes widen in terror. He began to tremble, his chest heaving with ragged breaths as Oksana opened her mouth, and then unhinged her jaw, row upon row of jagged teeth glinting in the dim light. Saliva dripped from her canines, dropping to trickle down my father’s cheek.
Don’s terror grew palpable as he struggled, but Oksana’s grip was unyielding. His rolling eyes searched frantically until they finally found me. He locked onto me with a desperate plea, his lips moving frantically as he begged for me to do something. I stood rooted to the spot, staring at him. I read the fast-moving lips, deciphering his words, but the impact of his desperation felt distant, almost unreal.
I was waiting, holding my breath as if expecting something inside me to break, but there was nothing. No pain, no guilt – just an eerie calmness.
When Don realized that begging wouldn’t work, his expression shifted. His eyes hardened, and I saw the flash of anger take over. The pleading melted into a sharp, biting demand as he ordered me to do as I was told, his lips moving with the force of someone accustomed to being obeyed.
But still, I didn’t move.
I felt at ease, as if a weight I hadn’t realized I was carrying had been lifted. A deep breath filled my lungs as I held my father’s gaze, a sense of finality settling over me. For so long, I had been haunted by the thought of this moment, afraid of what it would mean to see him like this. But now, as I stood there watching him struggle, all I felt was calm.
I understood that he was about to die, but the anticipated pain never came. Instead, I met his gaze and tilted my head slightly. I took one, slow, deep breath.
I kept my voice calm and controlled as I said, “I can’t hear you.”
I saw the moment horrific realization dawned in my father’s eyes. He understood then, that he had no power over me anymore. I was no longer the frightened child who would cower under his commands.
I held his gaze for a heartbeat longer, then turned away. I didn’t need to see Oksana’s jaws snap shut over his head. I didn’t need to watch him die. The chapter had already closed in my mind. Don was not the antagonist of my story; he was a footnote. His death was just an ending I had been waiting for, and now that it was here, it felt like nothing more than a necessary conclusion.
I walked over to Dylan, my wife, my shadow. She leaned heavily against the banister, watching the carnage behind me with a satisfied smile, her repulsion toward my father clear on her face.
She was severely injured, and the skin of her chest was still smoldering in places, but she was alive. The flare had left a gory, concave wound in her chest, and she was paler than usual, covered in blood, her strength waning. My heart clenched at the sight, but Dylan’s eyes still held that familiar fire.
Careful not to hurt her further, I slung Dylan’s arm over my shoulder, supporting her as we hobbled down the stairs and out of the house together. Every step was an effort, but we made it, a combined will carrying both of us forward.
We collapsed just outside the broken front porch, our bodies tangled together in the dewy grass as we gasped for air. Exhausted and battered, neither of us had the breath to speak. We simply lay there, side by side, breathing heavily, staring up at the night sky.
And finally – finally, my mind was at peace.
As the clouds began to dissipate and the first hints of dawn streaked the horizon, I could only marvel at the beautiful sight.