Father (Blood Brotherhood 1)

“God just really wanted an angelic basic bitch on the planet?”

“I’m sure God would not describe you that way.”

“Do I have a destiny? Special powers?”

“I believe you move fairly quickly and glow sometimes.”

“Fucking great. So I don’t even get one useful power. I’m just a target for bullshit. You know what? I don’t give a fuck. It obviously hasn’t done anybody any good. It's not useful in any way.”

“It could be if you wanted to learn how to channel it. I’d say it would be useful for spreading more angel blood in the world, but Bryn’s not the kind to make or tolerate infants.”

“What does Bryn have to do with this?”

“You belong to him.”

If it wasn’t for the hope of dessert, I’d throw my napkin down and leave right fucking now. There’s no hope of help from this man. He is living some kind of archaic code as part of some odd society that I have no interest in. I do not belong to Bryn.

Thor tells me I have angel blood. So what? I could have neanderthal blood, or I could have some ancestor from Russia or Mesopotamia. None of it matters because I am only me, and I have never in my life felt lower, weaker, or less important.

“Jonah is dead. Everybody in my family is gone. I’m next, and there’s nothing I can do to change that.”

“You could not run away to a large and cursed city and roam it without any form of protection,” Thor suggests. “Or means to support yourself in any way.”

“What do you want from me?” I change the subject because I don't know what he wants from me, and because I don't want to discuss how short-sighted and foolish I was to come here. London is not a good place to be if you have nothing to your name. Even the people who do have something to their names struggle here.

“We are all looking for you, my brothers and I. It’s time you went home.”

“To America?”

“To Bryn.”

It takes all my self-control not to throw the remnants of my plate directly at his handsome face.

“Bryn is not home. Not my home.”

“You've been with Bryn.” There is a certain inflection that indicates he means sexually.

“Yeah. And?”

“I assume he did not use protection.”

I feel myself blushing at the direct question. “Is that any of your business?”

“He has claimed you. He has laid his seed inside you and marked you as his. You belong to him.”

“No. I absolutely fucking don’t.”

“But you do. You chose him.”

“How did I choose him!?”

Thor cocks his head and gives me a knowing smile. “I assume he did not force himself on you.”

“Well, no, but…”

“You belong to him, Nina. I am sorry, but that is simply how it works.”

“According to fucking who?”

“According to the laws above and below. According to the law of your own desire. And according to the fact you’ve been roaming the streets of London as a homeless person instead of going to a consulate or police station and asking for help.”

“The police think I’m an international drug dealer. And the consulate… I don't know.”

“You’ve been waiting to be found. Don’t worry, little one. We’ll always find you. The Dark Knight Brotherhood never loses a pretty angel.”

Of all the patronizing, paternalistic… kind of nice guys who bought me food, this guy takes the fucking cake.

“I’m never going back to Bryn. He’s obsessed with my mother. He doesn't care about me.”

“You don’t think his love for her could be the root of his love for you?”

“I think he’s a literal psychopath incapable of love and my mother ran off to America and married the first halfway normal guy she could find just to get away from his creepy ass.”

“Ivy and Bryn were never romantic,” Thor says, as if he knows. “Your mother belonged to another of our Brotherhood. Their relationship was not a happy one. She left England and moved to America. Bryn was her guard. Not her lover.”

“Bryn probably killed the guy.”

“That's a heavier accusation than you can fathom. Do not be so reckless with your words, Nina. And do not take everything at face value. There are greater forces at play here. You know very little of your own history, or how Bryn came to be what he is.”

He's lecturing me now.

“Excuse me, I’m the victim here.”

“Victim of what? Your own sexual choices?”

“I didn't know fucking a guy was making an eternal commitment, douchebag. And you know what? It's not. Fuck you guys and your patriarchy bullshit. Thanks for the meal. I’m out.”

I throw down my napkin and storm out of the restaurant. I don’t care that I made a scene. I hope I embarrassed him. He deserves to be embarrassed.

Unfortunately, what’s outside doesn't look like London anymore. Fog has come in up the Thames, thick and almost impenetrable. The people who thronged the streets half an hour ago seem to have deserted the road entirely.