Blood, Fire, and Trust
"Even if you come to despise me for it, I would do the same again," her mother said, the sound low but unflinching, heavy with the truth that could neither be apologized away nor refuted.
For one heartbeat, the room seemed to curve, leaning drunkenly as if the very air had felt the confession and bowed beneath its weight. The words landed on Victor with the accuracy of flames, burning through him so acutely it was almost as if his chest could open like a book. His fists convulsed, nails digging into his palms until the flesh ripped, and the accompanying sting made a jolt of pain shoot up his arms.
His purple eyes flared, a tempest of struggle and unbridled emotion. One of him seethed with warrior-like fury, eager to strike out at those who dared imperil what he had, yet another—that tender, orphaned boy who had so newly found the treacherous warmth of being desired—shuddered, shivering under the ferocity of a passion he didn't know how to define.
