Dahlia

  From fury came clarity. I wasn’t going anywhere with my father—not without a fight.

  With my free arm, I reached into my belt and gripped the hilt of the evemant dagger that had become my constant companion—my protection from the Imms, should they ever come for me. In a single motion, I pulled the blade out of my belt and slashed the sharp edge through the flesh on my father’s arm—the same arm he was using to drag me through the forest. As I cut through the tough skin and layer upon layer of flesh, his grip wavered enough for me to rip myself free. Finally loose, I collapsed to the ground with a whimper as I tried not to cry out in pain again.

  I could feel sorry for myself later. For now, I needed to prepare myself to face him.

  My father turned—face twisted with rage—but I was ready to defend myself. I gripped the hilt of the sword strapped to my back and drew it with my uninjured arm. At the sight of me ready to defend myself from him, my father paused, but only for a moment. He drew his own sword then and muttered, “I should have taken you away from here a long time ago.”

  “Then why didn’t you?” I snarled—my voice weak but still firm with my resolve, “Did you think I’d be too much of a nuisance for you in the Circle?”

  “You know what becomes of Halflings there! You’d be nothing more than a whore to the Mirnen. I thought you’d be smart enough to stay hidden—to lead a normal life here!” He retorted, his face twisting with disgust, “But you’re a fool. I knew it too, but I thought you’d at least have the sense to keep your identity to yourself.”

  He stepped forward, and I warned—my voice low and rough, “If you take another step, I will hurt you.”

  “Don’t make me laugh, Dahlia. You don’t have a chance.”

  He continued forward, and I slashed at him with my blade—nearly striking his chest—but he stepped to the side just in time. Had it landed, it would have been a fatal blow—I was certain of it. The thought bothered me but only for a split second. I was fighting for my freedom now. I wasn’t about to let him drag me away from the only life I’d ever known. My father’s eyes widened as he too realized I wasn’t going to hold back, but something like resignation settled on his face. He would do everything in his power to take me away from the Red.

  Maybe he’d succeed, and I’d fail, but before he got that chance, I would hurt him—just as he had hurt me.

  He leapt at me with the blinding swiftness of an Imm—swinging his blade at me without his usual restraint. Under normal circumstances, I’d be unable to defend myself from such a quick and brutal attack.

  But these weren’t normal circumstances—not anymore.

  My father was not prepared to face the secret I kept even from him. With the Sight, I knew his every move before he even made them. Even in the darkness, the barest twitch of muscle, change in footing, and shift of his gaze made every move he made predictable despite his quickness.

  So. Incredibly. Predictable.

  And while I may not have had enough strength or stamina to measure up to the Imms in a fair fight, the Sight made up for those weaknesses. This was especially true in the dark, where the Sight lit up the forest around us as if it were midday. The darkness was my dominion, and in the darkness, no one could defeat me—not even the most powerful Imm. My father was at a disadvantage he would never see coming.

  I blocked the first strike in a series of blinding assaults, but I countered every one of his moves with ease despite my exhaustion. Before my father could even recognize the signs that something was wrong—that I wasn’t as helpless as he seemed to think—I found an opening and screamed in defiance as I swung my blade at his leg. The sharp edge cut deep into the flesh of his thigh, making him cry out in pain and shock. Had it not been for the strength of his immortal bones, I would have severed his leg from his body entirely.

  But I wasn’t done—not yet. Before he could gather himself, I stepped behind him and severed his hamstrings—sending him face-first into the ground as he screamed out in agony.

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  And without his legs to support him, he was now utterly incapable of fighting me.

  I’d won.

  I watched my father writhe on the ground as he clutched at his wounds—feeling satisfied by the sight of the blood soaking into his trousers. He deserved that pain.

  When he finally collected himself, he twisted to look up at me. I smirked and nearly laughed at the look of shock on his face as I picked up his sword and tossed it away into the bushes.

  I bit my tongue against the curses and insults that swirled through my mind. There was so much I wanted to say to him.

  But I was simply too exhausted to put any more energy into speaking to this man than necessary.

  So instead, arm shaking, I sheathed my own sword and ordered in a low, forceful voice, “When you are healed, you are going to leave the Red—for good this time. Don’t you dare try to contact me again.”

  He stared up at me, eyes still wide with shock, but he said nothing—he was simply speechless. He didn’t even look angry anymore. Instead, he was looking at me as if I were some sort of terrifying monster sent to punish him.

  Good. Let him believe that.

  I turned to leave, but he finally found his voice to call out, “Wait! How in God’s name did you move like that? It's not possible!”

  I didn’t look back at him but replied in a soft voice I knew he could hear with his Imm ears, “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Father.”

  I left him there as I stumbled away—exhausted and wounded far worse than ever before. I didn’t know enough about regeneration to predict how long my wounds would take to heal—especially with poison running through my veins. The thrill of the fight had muted my pain, but now that there was nothing left to distract me, I was again in agony. My face throbbed, and every movement—every step—jolted my shredded and broken arm.

  But I slowly made my way back to Firen.

  In the early morning hours before the sun rose, there was little need to hide—no one was out—but I stuck to the shadows anyway. This added time to my journey, but I was in no condition to fight anyone off. All I needed now was my bed, and I would stay there until I recovered from the night’s ordeal—however long that might take.

  As I trudged along, my pain grew. Every move seemed to worsen my injuries. So, I nearly wept in relief as I turned the corner onto my street and finally approached my little home nestled between two larger homes.

  But as I lifted my foot to take the first step onto my front porch, I nearly screamed as I was whisked into someone’s strong arms. I kept quiet as I looked up into Simon’s enraged face. I considered trying to fight him off—to protect myself from this Imm man, but Carmen’s letter came back to me.

  Carmen believed I could trust him. She’d been vague in her letter, but that much was clear. Now, I’d have no choice but to believe her. I was too weak—too vulnerable tonight.

  “Simon,” I mumbled, succumbing to my exhaustion as I closed my eyes and focused on staying conscious.

  “Who did this?” Simon asked in a low voice that shook with rage.

  “It doesn’t matter. Just leave me—”

  “I only smell Ash on you, Dahlia,” Simon’s face twisted, “Don’t tell me your father is responsible for this.”

  It took a moment for me to comprehend his words.

  “Who?” I choked out—stunned to hear my father’s name on Simon’s tongue—especially out in the open like this, where anyone could hear him.

  “Ash Reed!” he snapped, though his voice was low now—too low for anyone but me to hear, “Your pathetic excuse for a father. The one who clearly laid his hands on you tonight. That Ash.”

  It was all too much. I was utterly exhausted, and hearing that a Calo knew my secret after the fight with my father was enough to send me over the edge. I turned my face into Simon’s tan tunic and cried—soaking it through with my tears in seconds. I had to hope Carmen was right about him because if she was wrong, I’d soon be dead.

  But Simon didn’t complain. He didn’t even speak. Instead, I heard the turn of a doorknob and the creak of hinges as he opened my front door. He stepped inside and slammed the door closed behind us. I kept my face hidden in his chest—strangely comforted despite the danger he posed to me. I’d never been so close to an Imm man—not that I could remember. I could hear the steady beating of his heart and feel his warmth on my skin, both reminding me that he was alive, even if he was something more than human.

  Simon carried me straight to my unmade bed and placed me gently on top before covering me in a light blanket as he murmured in a forceful whisper, “Sleep, Dahlia. I’ll watch over you.”

  I felt the brush over his fingers on my forehead as he moved my hair out of my face, but I kept my eyes stubbornly closed. I turned my head away from him, but it was no use trying to hide my face. He’d seen my pain—weakness. No one had ever seen me this vulnerable.

  As if sensing my concern, Simon took the hand of my uninjured arm and held it gently in his own as he hummed low in his throat. I didn’t recognize the tune, but this calmed me enough to help me drift closer and closer to slumber.

  “That’s lovely—an Imm song?” I asked—slurring my words now.

  I shouldn’t have said anything, but the tune was beautiful—his voice was beautiful.

  The humming stopped, and Simon took a deep, shaky breath.

  “No. This song was written by a human long-forgotten—,” Simon explained, his voice growing distant as I fell deeper into sleep, “—in a failed world that once had so much potential.”

  I wanted to ask what he meant, but the call of slumber was too strong. The last thing I heard as I fell into the abyss of sleep was Simon’s voice shifting from a hum to the words of a song as he sang in a language I’d never heard before.