Chapter 17 Sweet Dreams
SWEET DREAMS
When he finally lifted his gaze to his daughter, there was no softness, no welcoming her home. There was only harsh evaluation, as if her very presence in his home was a disappointment.
“Late,” he said in a voice that carried even through the glass, clipped and cold. “Once again.”
Alora flinched. It was small. A tightening of her fingers around the strap of her bag. A brief dip of her chin. Most people would have missed it. However… I did not. That single, involuntary move lodged like a splinter under my skin.
“I went to the library,” she replied quietly. I could make out every word clearly, and I had quickly heard enough to know all I needed to. These people weren’t her family, not in the real sense. She was an adult, and yet here she was explaining herself like a scorned child standing before a judge.
He scoffed. A short, displeased sound. His hand tightened around his phone.
“Our driver said you were seen leaving the campus two hours ago. The library is not outside on the street, Alora. Who were you with?”
“You sent a driver for me?” was her answer, that slight bite of defiance finally rearing its head, and I would have let my demon roar with pride if I was not trying to remain hidden.
“Of course, I did! I can’t have you seen walking around the city like some lost cause and bring disgrace to this family…
now tell me, who were you with?!” he snapped, and my demon snarled inside me.
A raw, violent sound that had my fingers curling around the rail with enough strength to make the metal protest under my grip.
‘He watches her.’
It hissed angrily.
Of course he did. Men like him often wrapped their obsession for control in the language of knowing best and the chains of that control were described as parental guidance.
I had known men like this all my life. Some had been my employers, some my targets.
It never ended well for either when they crossed the line with me.
She lifted her chin just a little, that spark I had seen in the cafe flickering back to life. My brave little dreamer.
“A friend from class,” she answered in a way that I could tell she was biting her tongue.
“Friend.” He spoke the word like it tasted foul before continuing with his scolding. “You are not here to make friends. You are here to study. To do what is expected of you. You know the rules.”
I remembered the way she had said that word to me earlier… Rules. The bitterness underneath it. The resignation. It sounded different now from his mouth, turned into a weapon.
“I know,” she said, and there it was, that thread of fear tightening her voice. “I was just getting something to eat.”
“With a male student, no doubt,” he pressed. “You are already on thin ice with your little daydreams. Do not add reckless behavior to the list. This city is not a damn playground. Do you understand me?”
She nodded quickly. Too quickly.
“Yes, Father.” She swallowed the rest of the words I knew she wanted to speak.
Any argument she no doubt wanted to give.
The part where she might have said that she was nineteen, not a possession.
That she could go outside without a fucking chaperone!
That the boy she had called Luca had not even been the one she had truly been with.
No… I was the one who had walked her home.
I was the shadow he did not yet know to look for.
My demon wanted to break him.
‘Let me in.
Let me spill blood.
Let me feed from his fear.’
It snarled, pressing hard against the inside of my skin.
‘Let me show him what it means to be afraid.’
“Not yet,” I told it, forcing air between my teeth.
A woman drifted into the room then, elegant in that way that meant everything about her had been curated, just like this prison in the sky.
Perfect hair, flawless make-up, clothes that matched the apartment.
She barely glanced at Alora as she crossed the space, instead going first to the man, touching his arm, brushing a kiss against his cheek.
Staking her claim before only then allowing her eyes to move to the girl standing with her shoulders hunched… our girl.
“You are upsetting your father again,” she said in a tone that implied this was simply another inconvenience.
“He has had a long day. You should try not to add to his stress, Alora, and do as you are told.”
I watched as the girl I had just spent the afternoon with, the one who had spoken about books like love letters and who had smiled when I told her I liked her hair, folded in on herself just a little more.
Her expression shuttered. Her gaze dropped.
She murmured something that looked like an apology, and I hated the way the word shaped her mouth.
She should not be apologizing!
‘We should take her.
We would protect her.
Worship her.
Our Queen.
Our Goddess.’
The demon insisted, its voice a rough purr now, dangerous with its intent to steal her away.
And despite how much I tried to hold it back, the image rose unbidden in my mind.
Alora, in my space. Not in this sterile box of glass and marble with its cold lighting and even colder people.
But in my apartment, where the world could not reach her.
Wrapped in new colorful blankets I would buy for her. With new books in hand, her hair a wild halo around her head, loose and untamed. Eyes softly looking up at me, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth because she felt safe.
The thoughts were so vivid they nearly knocked the breath from me. It was wrong. Impossible. I had no right to want something so simple yet so enormous.
I forced the fantasy away and focused. Information first. Control yourself. You cannot rip her whole world apart because you dislike the way her father looks at her, I told my demon… At least not yet.
The conversation continued. Questions about her grades.
Thinly veiled threats about what would happen if she did not meet expectations.
A reminder of how much they were paying for her education.
Every sentence weighed, every word turned into pressure.
She stood through all of it like a small ship in a relentless storm, never entirely capsizing, but battered all the same.
“You will come straight home after classes tomorrow, no exception,” her father finished. “No more wandering. No more library stories. I will not have you throwing away this opportunity the way your mother would have.”
The way he said ‘mother’ turned my blood to ice, and at the same time, Alora went utterly still.
For a moment, every negative emotion showed on her face.
Just for a heartbeat. Pain flashed through her eyes, so raw and deep that it made something inside me roar in response.
Then she smoothed it away, burying it under obedience.
“Yes, Father,” she said again, but this time the words sounded like they scraped against her throat.
‘Enough!’
My demon snarled, thrashing against its confines.
‘He speaks of her dead mother!
Mocks her memory.
Hurts our female.’
My hand tightened so hard on the balcony rail that a sharp crack split the air around me.
It was quiet, not enough to be heard over the sounds of conversation and distant traffic, but the metal beneath my grip had bent.
I forced my fingers to uncurl, breath coming harder now, the effort of restraint suddenly feeling like a battle.
I couldn’t storm into that room. Not yet.
I couldn’t wrap my hand around the man’s throat, lift him off his feet, and show him what real fear felt like.
No matter how much my demon burned to do exactly that.
It would only bring more danger to her doorstep, not less.
And as much as I craved the satisfaction of putting an end to his cruelty, I wanted her to feel safe around me even more.
I needed her to trust me before I could snatch her away from this cruel world masked by an ivory tower.
‘She is not safe here.
He could hurt her.’
The demon whispered.
‘They will break her.
They will dim the light of her soul.’
I knew it was right. I had seen too many souls broken without a single blow being struck, words and rules and cold affection cutting far deeper than any weapon.
They left her alone eventually. The man retreated to what I assumed was his study, the woman drifting away with him, their conversation shifting to business, money, and social events.
Alora remained where she was, alone in the center of the room for a few long seconds, as if her body didn’t know where to go now that it was no longer required to stand and listen.
Then she moved. Slowly. Carefully. Like someone crossing a floor of fragile glass.
She sank onto the edge of the sofa, curled her legs underneath her, and for the first time since entering the apartment, she let her shoulders drop.
Her head tipped back against the cushions, eyes closed, lips parted around a breath I couldn’t hear but could feel. A quiet, exhausted exhale.
The urge to go to her hit me so hard I had to press my palm flat against the glass to steady myself.
‘You cannot stay away from her now.
No matter how hard you try.
She needs us.’
Satisfaction deepened as our thoughts mirrored each other.
Because he was right, I couldn’t walk away now.
I knew that. I had probably known it the moment she had sat across from me at that small café table and said that my name suited me.
Like she didn’t realize she was speaking directly to the part of me I hated most. Every moment after that had only been proof.
The way she had listened when I had given her more answers than I ever offered anyone else before.
The way she had spoken about her mother with grief and love intertwined.
The way her hand had felt in mine when I told her I was sorry for her loss and meant it.