Cathedral (Cradle of Darkness 1)

“By all means.” The same wrist was offered, the greedy girl I was nervous to so much as scratch his skin.

My lips hovered there, amidst the wreckage of my tantrum, and mental scar tissue snapped apart and made me hate myself more.

I remembered so many disgusting things I’d done. And considering what I’d recalled before, felt so dirty in my flesh that I wished the fading sun would literally burn it all away. Breathing over his skin, over that wrist filled with truths and punishment, I fell to my knees.

They were cut apart on shards of glass, the pain welcome and not nearly enough. “I’ve destroyed families. I’ve rewritten histories, done terrible things… because I loved my father and craved his love in return.”

As if he were some ancient saint and I a supplicant, he put a hand to my head. “Do you not want your mother’s love?”

No. “My mother is dead. I doubt she had much love for me when I ripped my way out of her body.”

“What a sad tale…” Said with what felt like real remorse. Ancients couldn’t feel real anything. He pressed his wrist closer to my hovering mouth. Offering another taste.

And I was too young to know better. “The more of me you undo, the uglier my life will be. You should have just left me alone.” Yet still I sunk my teeth in.

And unlike that first sip, I drank.

Remembering rapes, sodomy, prostitution, the ways in which my father had sold me for whatever gain he might. Tears when it hurt, until it didn’t hurt. Until it didn’t feel like anything. Until I was fucked like a robot, or bent over and took it like a cow might take a bull—chewing cud and bored in my field.

I don’t know why it was the sex that broke through first. Perhaps because under my father’s influence, it bothered me the most. I was a dishtowel, a tissue used and discarded. Nothing more than a thing to wipe fluids on and cast to the floor.

What search was there for a grandchild in this? This lazy approach of bending my body to every immortal male’s whims.

Two thrusts had come from Malcom as I’d bent over that table while my father had watched. I’d been physically ill afterward. Two thrusts after my sire had left the room and Malcom, the first ever, asked me if I wanted him to stop.

And he had. Just like that. No complaints. No violence.

Instead, he’d tried to comfort me as I cursed his cock and threatened his life.

For the life of me, I couldn’t understand why the idiot might think he loved me. I was not worth loving. Perhaps age had made him as mad as the man whose black blood trickled like sludge down my throat. This man who had physically pieced my skull back together ages ago, who now mentally ripped through so much damage I’d never be the same.

Never.

The scar tissue was still there, I was just aware of it now. And in many cases could see exactly what was hidden within its knots and gnarls.

And the lies… the untruths planted to make me compliant. Losing those stopped my heart.

Because I knew the answer the rest of the flock would give, I broke suction from that vein of death, and looked up at the smiling figure before me. “Do you find this all amusing?”

“When I made your father, I knew he’d do great things. Build empires. Slaughter enemies.” Soft, manicured fingers ran through my hair. “But you might be his greatest accomplishment.”

It was just the type of lie that fed me more deeply than any blood might. How I craved acceptance. How it had made me tolerate hell for another taste.

“You won’t be a good king. Not if you created Darius and let him run wild for thousands of years.” It had to be said. “You don’t care.”

“Can a father not love his son despite his… shortcomings?” The tip of a finger tapped my nose. “Can he not love his granddaughter?”

I was not falling for it. Not again. “You only saved me because Malcom traded eternal fealty. Otherwise I would have dragged myself to my death, alone, scared, and missing half my brain!”

“We could debate why I was where I was when your lover found me and fell to his knees. I could spin tales more beautiful than any your father planted in your mind. But to be true, I can’t recall exactly why I walked where I walked that day. There is something else here that draws my thoughts. Something I want but can’t find.”

Negotiation, politics, and plain demands. This was my safe space. This was comfortable. So I rose from the ground, bloody knees ignored, and asked pointblank what the sire of my father could possibly lack.

All I received for an answer was a kiss on the cheek. And then he was gone, right as the sun vanished and night broke in.