Part 6 (2/2)

”Zahruk, give her some options first,” Ryder said moving to lean his shoulder against a barren wall. There was nothing else I could immediately see inside this room other than white walls and marble flooring, also white. It looked sterile and that just made me want to run away.

”Choices are overrated, she won't tell us anyways,” the one called Zahruk said. He was dressed in a white a.s.sa.s.sins Creed looking robe, his face was hidden before he turned and looked directly at me. ”Tell us why you hate the Fae. Marie couldn't explain it since it was not her story to tell us.” I watched him push his hood back revealing yet another Fae, beautiful and yet deadly. His eyes lit up in an electric blue color, which only made him more beautiful with his dark, shoulder length, wavy blonde hair and perfect bronze skin.

”f.u.c.k. You.” I snarled tearing my eyes from him and leveling Ryder with a murderous glare. They had no f.u.c.king right! ”You want me to work for you? Fine, but that doesn't give you the right to ask stupid questions!”

”Told you, she's got stubborn written on her forehead Ryder,” Zahruk laughed harshly.

My knees were kicked out from behind me violently. The same as had been done the day before inside his safe. I kept my eyes leveled on the Dark Prince. ”I came with your f.u.c.king mark on me, because you said it would protect me!”

I flinched as a knife blade was brought to my throat as my hair was grabbed hard from behind, ”You will address him with respect b.i.t.c.h,” the words were cold, calculated and filled with promise of death dripping from each syllable.

”I said no other Fae could touch you without my permission Synthia. Do it Zahruk, no more f.u.c.king around, if she won't tell us-we will take it.” Ryder's voice trailed off sending s.h.i.+vers racing down my spine. The knife was removed from my throat and the slithering on my skin intensified.

The room's air grew thick and tainted, dark magic running through my skin and searching inside my mind. My lips quivered and my hands shook where they were still balled up at my sides. ”Ryder, don't...please.” It took every ounce of pride inside of me to say it. I could feel something searching my memories.

Too little.

Too late.

I was no longer in the room with the Fae.

I was in a worse place than the Fae club now, one I hadn't been to since that ill-fated day. Tears swam in my eyes, but I refused to allow them to fall. I knew what was coming, knew it like the back of my hand. Voices I'd thought to never hear again laughed in front of me echoing around the walls.

”Darling, she's too young. She needs time,” my mother's gentle voice sang with laughter as her ocean blue eyes lit up with her smile.

”Nonsense, she's old enough to dance with me Syrina,” my father's deep baritone came seconds before his features smoothed out enough that I could see him motioning for the child who looked on with uncertainty. My father's dark brown hair framed his face perfectly, as his eyes smiled with their perfect navy blue depths.

”Daddy, play our song!” The soft voice sent chills down my spine. That child was weak, pathetic.

I hated her.

I wanted to bury her.

And I had.

Long ago.

Journey's Faithfully came on, his hand never touching the stereo. Magic, he'd been the Head Master for the Spokane Coven. He'd been my hero and my teacher. I turn my head to the left and watch as the child decides if she should go, unsure of her place.

”Come darling,” he said with so much love in his voice that a single tear drops from mine and the child's eyes in sync.

My mother laughed and slowly walked over to the five year old I had been, her hand coming up to catch the tear and wipe it away with a smile. I was such a crybaby as a child, unsure of my place in the world, unsure of so many things that I shouldn't have been.

The child moved closer, a small smile on her face. My father smiled warmly, welcoming her into his arms before allowing her to step upon his feet and dance with him. I watched them from where I sat on the thick blue carpet of my family home's floor, my stomach flipping over with horror, regret and fear of what was to come.

I hated Ryder more for this, more than I did for his Fae f.u.c.king me on the highway.

My mother laughed, as she sat on the wooden chair she had always despised even though my father loved it. Her radiant smile is like a knife through my heart, I want to scream, to warn them but I know nothing I do now would change what is coming. I've relived this nightmare until I know every detail intimately.

The song ends and the child stays, she's mesmerized by him-my father. He's her everything. Always kissing sc.r.a.pes and scaring the fears away. He'd always been there, always. Until they took him from me.

I look towards the door, I know what is coming. It always does.

The door shook from the impact of a heavy fist pounding on it, they both go stiff. The wards in the house pulse and flared with angry red lettering, warning them of evil intent. They knew. Every time I see this, they knew what was coming, what was happening and every time they are still helpless with what is in store for them. I want to scream, I need to. I don't. I settle for shaking my head, it too is useless.

”Synthia, come with Mommy. I need you to be big for me, can you do that?” Her voice was low, and trembled.

Every. f.u.c.king. Time.

I want it to end. I search wildly with my eyes for a way out. I hate this part. I don't want to see it. ”Stop this!” I cry to no avail.

”I can Mommy, I promise.”

I want to slap the child, make her blind. Make her not see it and then maybe, just maybe I'd have lived a normal life. One not haunted by this dream.

My mother opened the hidden door behind the fire grate. She stopped long enough to kiss the child on her cheek. She wanted to say something, but the door was splintering and cras.h.i.+ng into the house as it was kicked in. ”Go,” she whispered pus.h.i.+ng the child through and closing it.

Five men swarmed the room, death in their eyes. Their strides. f.u.c.king Fae. All of them, Dark and Light. Working together. f.u.c.king Fae. One swung what looked like an oversized bat to my five year old mind, threatening my father. Now I knew it was called a cudgel, or a club.

”Where is the Gift?” The tallest one screamed, his voice shrill as it came out in layers.

”Gone,” my father said standing up tall, undeterred by that wooden club, or the deadly creatures he was facing. Pride swelled inside of me, inside of the child me. He was so brave.

”I can smell the Gift, show us or the pretty blonde gets to entertain us until you do,” the dark haired one growled his voice multilayered. His eyes were black and grey, marking him Fae, even at five, I could tell that they were evil.

I turn looking at where my child-self had been hidden, she should've turned away. She should have done something, fight, scream, give them something to use besides her parents. She but she just stood there behind the grate, watching with horrified terror. I glare at her, as if it would make her do something, this happened so long ago. Nothing changes, ever.

My mother screamed as they descended upon her, one held the ropes and attacked my father. I was their weakness, they knew it. They couldn't fight, to use magic would have disrupted the house and to keep me safe they'd had it balanced far enough away from the leyline they needed to use for casting. In the end cost them their lives.

More screaming followed as my father was tied to the wooden chair and left helpless to do anything but watch as they tore into my mother. He tried fighting them to get to my mother. This was when it turned ugly. The sound of wood breaking bone is hard to forget, sickening, the crunch audible and unforgettable.

Blood was everywhere.

The sound he made when he tried to call for my mother took my breath away. I want this memory to stop. I don't want to watch this. I sink the rest of the way to the floor. It's too much.

Eight.

The child didn't know what was going on, only that the bad creatures were hurting her parents. Not that four of the Fae were raping her mother, stealing her mind and killing her soul. She couldn't know that the grunts and grinding were torture to make her father talk. That her mother's cries were from pain and pleasure alike.

Her father's outrage covered some of the screams, but not all. Shock kept her eyes locked on the horror that was befalling them. The club smas.h.i.+ng into her father over and over again, her mother screaming and moaning until it was nothing more than moans leaving her lips.

When the last one climbed off my mother I could finally see her beautiful face. She was beyond pain, her mind fractured. She begged for more, wanted more of what they had done to her. Bile rises in my throat, the child I was is just now figuring out what has happened.