Page 40 of Saving Her Vampire
“What you should be doing,” I say.
“That was the entertainment.”
“Women that are forced are not my kind of entertainment,” I say dangerously. I see that Ryker has emptied half the club but is occupied with a vampire. “If I were you, I would cut my losses and leave. The other vampire with me is three times your age and way more powerful.”
“What about you?” he asks snidely.
“I have my own tricks.” I grin as I pull on said tricks. I clench my hands and tilt my head. The ball of power within me builds, doing my bidding and wrapping around the vampire. The best way I can describe it is your insides are being twisted into a knot. I was curious to see what it felt like when I witnessed Ryker doing it. He gladly gave me a taste of the sensation when I pissed him off. He drops to his knees, holding his head. “What do you think? Are you ready to leave?” I ask. My demon is speaking through me; my voice is emotionless. “Ryker is much better at this than me. Should I call him over?”
“No, please,” he begs.
“Leave,” I order, releasing him.
He crawls away, struggling to get to his feet. The rest of the humans in the club are huddled together, watching us work with fear.
Fuck, it’s going to be a long night.
***
I shut my car off with a sigh. The more I use my gifts, the more blood I need to restore my energy. I drank three blood bags that Ryker brought for me, but I still crave more. Marie is affecting me. The bags don’t quench my thirst as they did before.
Ryker helped weed out the humans looking for a good time and those who needed to be influenced to travel a different path. The night's events are bringing back memories that I try to forget.
Brandon escaped out the back, but he won’t get far. I am determined to find him and make sure he doesn’t continue with his games. I regret letting him go the last time. I would be tracking him now, but my body refuses to leave my mate. I’ve only been away from her for a short time, and that’s way too long.
I open the door, and she jumps to her feet. Bishop is lounging on the couch.
“Are you alright?” she asks. She’s holding back, not sure if she should approach. Her instincts are correct.
“I’m fine.” I go directly to the fridge. “Bishop, you can go now. Thank you for taking care of her.”
“No worries. I have no complaints about sitting with a beautiful woman.” Bishop walks toward Marie.
“Bishop,” I warn.
“Right,” he says. He turns sharply towards the door. “I’ll just go.”
“Thanks, Bishop,” Marie says. He nods at her as he walks out.
I grab a couple of bags of blood, draining them quickly. I close my eyes and lean on the counter.
“Bishop, are the women alright? Is Tabitha?” She cautiously moves closer.
“Tabitha will be confessing everything to her husband. She will never willingly see Brandon again. He got away, but we will find him soon. Jax is working on getting the ones who wanted a job and counseling if they want it.” Her eyes are filled with concern. “It could have been much worse. I’ve seen much worse.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.
“I do not,” I say firmly.
Her face falls, and she backs away. “I think I’ll go shower and get ready for bed.”
I watch her slumped shoulders as she walks away. Fuck. “I killed my father.” She stops, one foot on the stairs. Her hair flies around her with the whip of her head. “Being there tonight, seeing those women doing things they didn’t want to, brought it all back.” She slowly pivots and walks to the couch. I move to the window in front of her, turning my back to her, not able to see her face as the story unfolds. “I was born in a different time; it was a different world than what you know. Life was hard. People were small-minded and unwilling to accept anything or anyone that didn’t fit the mold. I was born with white hair. It was shocking for my parents; there wasn’t a name for it then. My mother learned to look past it; she loved me. My father didn’t. He ridiculed me for it every day. It was shameful to him. When I was old enough to lift a rake, he worked me to the bone. We lived on a farm. It was small, but we had animals and fields to work in. He would find any excuse to reprimand me, both verbally and physically.
“I ached for his approval. He was my father, and I wanted to make him proud. The word love was foreign to him; he never said it to my mother or me. She tried to make up for his shortcomings but failed. He punished her when she did, so she stopped. She did anything she could to keep the peace and to please him. He couldn’t be pleased.” I clasp my hands together behind my back.
“I was a small child, awkward and gangly. It was twice as hard for me to do the things he demanded. It was customary to work your kids from a young age, but usually, the work was balanced with love and family. There were no late nights of games or reading stories in front of the fire. My nights were for recovering from the day, if I was lucky. If I wasn’t, they were filled with the sound of arguing, sex, or flesh punching flesh. My mom had no clue what kind of mood he would be in and what kind of night she was in for. She was forced to have sex with him, even after the arguing and hitting. It makes me sick to think about it.” My knuckles turn white.
“Sometimes I would walk in the house during the day to get water, and any of those things would be going on. It became normal for me to see it. I learned quickly not to interfere. Of course, the first few times, I tried to stop him. Those times he would make me watch. I couldn’t stand it. I stopped going into the house. I stopped trying to help her. I was weak. I couldn’t save her; I couldn’t save myself.