Yep, the bitch was his daughter.
And if we were to go just off the colour of all three of our eyes, there could be no denying the familial connection.
I smile about it now. At the time, I was seeing red. My gaze followed Calista's narrow back, her rigid frame wrapped in a black bondage dress that did nothing for her shapeless figure. You should have seen her; hips swinging, heels clicking against the tiled floor with each step.
My eyes twitched as I fought between the urge to go after her or shove my blade into Hollis' crazy bright eyes.
Yeah, yeah. I know what I said about the Papa Knight thing. Sue me, I was pissed.
Slowly, I turned to face the man. No sudden movements on my part or I might just act on my violent urges. My gaze rose to meet his, chest heaving with the effort it took to calm down.
I might have thought I looked like mum, and while I did share some of her features staring at Hollis was like looking in the mirror. I'm not an overly emotional person. However, those days following mum's passing had seen me go from bawling my eyes out, falling into bouts of silence to laughing hysterically. And now murderous rage.
"She's your daughter." My voice was barely a whisper as I faced him, the knife still gripped in my hand. "How old is she?"
I had to ask, since Calister didn't look much older than me. Shit she could very well be the same age as me or a year younger.
"Hollis." A cool hand closed around my trembling fist holding the knife. His fingers firm, but I felt no pressure from them. "My daughter."
A tear slipped down my cheek. Those two words healed and broke my heart at the same damned time.
"Why her, why not me?" The terrible words fell off my lips before I could stop them.
Pathetic.
Worse, I looked up and found Barat staring at me with pity in his sleepy eyes. Shame stole another drop of tear. It would be the last. Snatching my hand away I huffed out a breath.
"Fuck you." A surge of blinding rage rushed through me. "The only reason I came here was so you could see with your own damn eyes, I did just find without you. Fuck you." I lounged at him, swinging.
Hollis caught my arm and seized the knife from my grasp in one swift motion. "Stop."
The blood froze in my veins.
"You will not flip the switch with anger. Bravery, yes. But not anger, then I'll be forced to put you down. Do you hear me, daughter?"
I stood still, held captive by his eyes. They were both dreadfully cold and warm at the same time, if that makes any sense. Like locking gaze with the unflinching stare of a lion. A small part of me recoiled from the predatory coldness but I was also drawn to it. There was familiarity there, a primal connection I could neither break nor ignore. It was as if he was talking to me without saying a word and deep down, I understood.
My breaths evened out. And with each steadying beat of my heart, my anger simmered to a slow burn until I no longer cared. Yes, I had every right to be upset but I'd become coolly, detached.
Hollis released me from his gaze, his eye shifting to the switchblade in his large hand. He snapped it shut and stretched out his hand palm up, for me to take it. Reaching for it, I hesitated before finally grabbing it.
"Put it away and follow me."
He didn't wait for me to comply, trusting I would. As I tucked the knife back into my pocket movement in my periphery brought my attention to Barat. The older man dipped his head, turned on his heels and walked off in the opposite direction of Hollis.
What a fucking disaster of a start, you might be thinking. Don't expect me to beat myself up about it. Shit happens. And I wasn't a complete asshole, so devoid of self-awareness, to see I was in the wrong and needed to apologize. Bet, I planned to, once I got my answers.
Mum would say there's a season for everything; I should be patient. Clearly, Hollis had his own agenda and seeing as though this was his home, I needed to stop showing my ass and wait.
His long purposeful strides had already taken him halfway across the vast foyer, the dark curtain of his unbound hair swinging across the middle of his back. Collecting myself I hurried after him. Moments later we came up on a stately, cavernous sitting room. Rich cream and vibrant gold dominated the space.
Completely out of my element, I paused in the open archway and gave the room a slow, full sweep. A bank of immense windows covering the far wall revealed a colonnade overlooking a garden in bloom, lying in nighttime shadows. Cool air drifted in, carrying the sweet fragrance of roses.
Hollis stopped and turned to look at me. Imagined what my life could have been had he decided to claim me rather than toss mum aside like a used rag.
Biting back the bitterness I offered a tight smile and stepped over the threshold, my eyes sweeping over the dizzying layer of gilded finishes. Powder-blue wallpaper with metallic gold motifs climbed the soaring walls to a heavily corniced ceiling.
Fuck me, these people didn't do anything small, did they? I tipped my head back to take in the three-tiered crystal chandelier hanging over the center of the room, its brilliant light scattering sharp facets across the space.
The sitting room was not empty. Eight people occupied the tall-backed upholstered armchairs and settees, swathed in heavy brocade. You'd think I stepped into a museum by the way they were arranged in formal groupings, like select pieces, on the vast carpet, than furniture meant for comfort.
My eyes were quickly drawn to the square-jawed man with neat dreadlocks reaching down to his waist. His complexion was a shade darker than my own though it had a disconcerting greyish undertone. I had to wonder if he was wearing makeup to make himself look lighter.
People do the damndest things to fit in, you know.
If I'd thought we had an unspoken camaraderie, given we were the only two people of colour in the room, I was quickly disabused of the notion. Ash, that's what I decided to call him, barely glanced my way before dismissing me, finding the knots in the carpet at his feet more interesting.
Papa Knight made his way over to a polished sideboard lined with cut-glass decanters. He peered at me, meeting the gaze of my reflection in the mirror behind the bar as he picked up one of the decanters filled with something dark and rich, and poured himself a glass. Those eyes of his continued to glow with an unnatural shine, like an animal's eyes catching light in the dark.
"Would you care for something to drink?" He asked me, turning to face the room as I stood there like a smudge of dirt on white linen.
"Nah." Waving the offer away, I let my gaze wander back to the others.
Every eye staring back at me had the same 'moonshine' glaze as Hollis'. Even the pubescent girl sitting in an armchair by herself. She couldn't have been more than thirteen, yet she dressed as if she was going on forty and was raised in the fifties. Holding my gaze, she brought the flute of drack liquid pinched between her gloved fingers to her painted red lips and took a slow sip.
Let me tell you, I've never met another person as graceful as this child, all dolled up in a strapless, pink chiffon dress. Diamonds winked at her ears and neck as she shifted her shoulders to stop the white fur stole from slipping too far down her arms. With the palm of her free hand, she bounced the soft blonde curls framing her flawlessly made-up face; unnecessary, since not a strand was out of place.
Forgive me for going on, and on, it's not every day I run into someone who looks like they've stepped off a magazine cover. I couldn't imagine why a teenager was dressed the way she was. We were in the middle of May, so, it sure as hell wasn't Halloween. After another quick sweep about the drawing room, I could say with certainty, despite the fact they were all dressed like none of them owned a pair of jeans, I hadn't walked into some fifties-themed soiree.
The girl cocked a shapely blonde brow at me, watching with unnerving stillness. A flicker of movement stole my attention; otherwise, I might have stood there gawking at the child, trying to puzzle out what it was, aside from her eyes, which gave me pause.
Calista. The bitch sneered up at me from her place on one of the settees, seated between a man and woman. Perhaps it was their bleached white hair playing tricks on me, because both of her companions looked paler than everyone else in the room. And these people, Papa Knight included, were deathly pale. The three shared obvious familial traits, so it wasn't hard to guess the woman was Calista's mother and the male, likely her brother. He had his mother's chilling blue eyes and the same fixed interest in me, tracking every twitch I made like a hawk sighting prey.
Tempted to throw up both middle fingers, I ignored them and made my way across the room to the chair Hollis pointed me to.
"Husband, who is this girl?" The woman's cold gaze snapped up to Papa Knight where he stood behind the small round table separating my chair and his, waiting for me to sit.
I dropped into the armchair and crossed my legs; thankful I'd be sitting next to him with my back to a wall of old looking tomes. Each one bound in leather and was as tall as the length of my forearm.
When he simply sat and said nothing to appease his wife's curiosity she threw a curdled look in my direction.
Ha! I flashed a smile at her, because if she was this bent out of shape by my presence, what was she going to do once she learned my identity? For a second, I thought about ending the suspense and telling her myself.
Shit, this is the kind of mess I live for.
"She pulled a knife on our daughter like a wild animal—"
"Camile." The bored tone was the most affect I'd heard from Papa Knight since we met.
"If you're going to bring a stray into our home, at least see that its home trained."
There's that word again.
"I like your face," I said to the woman, flicking my switchblade open.
"Are you threatening me, you little creatin?"
"Threat?" I gripped the tip of my blade, seconds from using her face as a dart board. "Never."
"Hollis, you have an unhealthy attachment to that blade." Papa Knight cocked a dark brow at me, watching my reaction. "I'd hate to have to take it away."
Warning received. Rolling my eyes I snapped the knife shut and tucked it away.
Satisfied with my decision he took a sip of his drink, paused to savour it before taking another sip and then set the glass on the table. "Let's begin."
"Bash isn't here," Calista pointed out.
If looks could kill, I'd be a withered husk on the floor, from the way she and her mum cut their eyes at me. Too bad for them. To show just how little I cared what they thought, I stuck my tongue between the V of my index and middle finger and flicked it at them.
Twats.
Though I quickly turned my head in disgust, when the brother, I never knew existed, bit down on his bottom lip with a wild look of lust in his eyes.
My skin crawled and I had to suppress the need to throw up.
A bell like tinkle of amused laughter filled the room. I looked to my right and found the teen-girl smiling at me.
Blushing I fell back in my chair, a bit embarrassed I'd been caught acting immaturely.
"The boy can read the minutes." Ash grumbled. "This meeting has been delayed long enough. Some of us are hungry and would like to get on with our night."
"Ashon is right." A bent, crow of a man with sunken cheeks and a pointy hook for a nose nodded in agreement.
Ashon, I near cackled at how closed I'd come to guessing his name.
"Since when, do we wait on the likes of him for our family meetings." Crow's scratchy voice lingered on the air long after his lips snapped shut.
"Since he became a part of the family." The teen challenged in a conversational tone. "Or did you forget, Tolrin? I've heard rumours you were losing your memory, I hadn't realized how bad your faculties have deteriorated."
Tolrin bristled, his mouth trembling as if he'd kill to say something back. I wagered it was the dead stare she pinned him with, and matching saccharine smile, daring him to speak, that kept him silent.
Damn, who is this girl?
Bored waiting and having little interest in their weird family dynamics I twisted around in my seat. Neck straining as I tried to read one of the nearby titles, wondering what stories I'd find between their covers. Funny letters embossed in gold ran up each spine, in a language I didn't know, or hoped to understand. They reminded me of a book I saw in the storage bins mum kept in the basement. It had a lock on it and was three times as thick.
I wondered what happened to it, as I recalled the look of alarm that had come over my mother's face when I asked about it.
"Sorry for the delay."
My head snapped around at the sound of the manly purr. My God, tuhday. Friend, let me tell you, Bash's one tall, delicious drink of cool ice-tea. There's nothing I love more than a tall, dark and handsome man; bonus if he has big doe-eyes the colour of aged whisky and looked as if he should be playing point-guard for my favourite team.
His amber gaze found mine across the room and didn't break away, even as he walked to the last of the single armchairs and settled into it. Thankfully, he possessed neither the grey skin like Ash, nor the weird moonshine eyes.
As you know, I' m a big flirt. Best believe I had no qualms twiddling my fingers at the man in a room full of disapproving onlookers. His full lips slipped into a lopsided smirk.
Hmm, mommy likes.
Biting the stiletto tip of my index finger, I gave him a little wink. The air between us charged with an unspoken promise—the second we're alone my tongue's going down his throat.
"Sebastian, I understand you were called to aid Blake, should we be concerned?" Asked the only other woman present, apart from myself, the mother-daughter duo and teenaged girl.
"No." Bash, I prefer Bash, replied.
"No?" the woman questioned. "Blake is one of our best, if nothing went wrong, why would he have called in for help?
"Morana, perhaps you should leave Watch business to the Watchers."
"There's nothing wrong in double checking," Morana said to the teenager. "Better to know what we're up against, than to be taken unawares."
"Everyone." Papa Knight's soft, measured voice snatched our attention. "It is getting late, so I will be quick."
The room fell silent.
Shit. Here we go.