“But I can’t just sit back and wait for him to be found. I want to punish him for what happened to Angela.”
“You won’t be doing any punishing, Darya. He’ll face a sentence decided upon by the Guard and the Hawthorn Council.”
“So you get a say, but I don’t? I’m the one he’s put his ominous mark on.”
“That might be the case, but that’s not how this works. Individuals don’t get to decide and dole out punishments.”
I folded my arms, frustrated. “Well, that’s just annoying.” I saw Dad hold back a fond smile as he glanced at me in his centre mirror. “When do you think Angela will wake up?” I asked, deciding to change the subject.
“Difficult to say, but I felt her strength returning,” Dad replied, and it was a relief to hear. My father had senses far beyond those of the typical vampire.
Rebecca was in the kitchen baking a pie when we arrived at the house. My sister always baked during times of stress, and I knew all this demon business was starting to get to her. She might not have been his target, but it was very likely I was, and it was probably bringing back traumatic memories of when she was kidnapped as a child. It had happened twice, all in the space of a few short months. First by a blood-hungry vampire and then by the tyrannical sorcerer, Theodore. It was hard to think that Theodore was Peter’s ancestor. I could never imagine Peter doing anything as despicable as kidnapping a child.
“That smells delicious,” I said as I peered inside the oven.
“It’s a chicken curry pie. I’m experimenting with flavours,” Rebecca said.
“Can I try some when it’s ready?”
“Yes, I always need guinea pigs.” Her eyes were etched in concern. “How was Angela?”
“She hasn’t woken up yet, but Dad said he can sense her strength returning.”
“That’s good. And how are you? This must all be very stressful.”
“It is, but I’m coping. The question is, how are you?”
“What do you mean? I’m perfectly fine.” She brushed away the question as she went to fiddle with the temperature on the oven.
“Hey, sit down and talk to me. I know you’re stressed because you’re baking savoury.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“You bake savoury when you’re stressed and sweet when you’re celebrating.”
She huffed out a breath. “Fine, maybe I’m a little bit stressed, but who wouldn’t be? One of my co-workers was murdered only a few weeks ago, and now one of my students was attacked and almost died. Not to mention Mum and Dad keep talking about this other dimension and demons and what Marcel Girard did to Granddad Martin. It’s bringing up memories of a time in my life I’d rather forget.”
“I’m sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”
“No. I want to bake.”
“Okay, well, if you ever want to talk, I’m here.”
Rebecca nodded, and the oven pinged. I sat by the counter, watching as she removed the pie, the pastry perfectly flaky and golden brown. She left it to cool then grabbed some plates and a knife. My stomach gurgled just looking at it.
As a dhampir, I had two kinds of hunger, one for human food, the other for blood. I’d been trying to ignore the hunger for blood, but it was growing stronger. It had been a few weeks since I’d fed from Angela, but with her in the hospital, it wasn’t an option to feed from her right now. Even when she was eventually well enough to leave the hospital, it still wouldn’t feel right to feed from her. I’d failed in my job of protecting her. By rights, she should refuse to be my blood donor. I didn’t deserve her loyalty.
I managed to block out my blood hunger and instead focus on the pie as Rebecca cut into the flaky pastry. The spicy aroma of the chicken curry made my mouth water. Rebecca placed a slice on a plate and pushed it across the counter to me.
She handed me a fork, and I dug in hungrily. “This is amazing,” I said through a bite. “Definitely keep this recipe in your cooking repertoire.”
“Thanks,” she replied with a small smile, then made up a plate for herself. We ate in silence for a minute or two before she said, “I’ve been having some nightmares, flashbacks from my kidnappings. I guess that’s why I’ve been baking.”
I glanced at her, surprised she was telling me this. Aside from the night a few weeks ago when she recounted her memories of the war when she was a child, Rebecca rarely opened up about her past.
“The first time was terrifying, but the second time I was taken …” she trailed off, her throat moving as she swallowed.
“That was the time the sorcerer Theodore took you?” I said, making sure to keep my voice as gentle as possible.