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For Ahren. Takes place immediately after joining.
[bic] such a softer sin
After Jasper left, Anya wasn't sure how long she lay there in silence, trying to find her voice. Her body hurt from the fall, but after what seemed longer than the few moments it was, she forced herself upright against a tree, and blinked to clear her vision. Her senses were prickling, her father was nearby. And this wasn't a male that looked like Ahren de le Poer; this wasn't another sibling. Her stomach turned. She was hungry, having not eaten but once during her trip, but the flashes of sickness that kept her half-starved during the long trek here were not subsiding. In fact, they seemed to be growing worse, and longer. The tingling she felt was making it worse now, infact. Like there were a million insects crawling around her her stomach. He was there. She couldn't see him, but he was there. He'd been there. He had to be.
She wasn't crazy enough to hallucinate that vividly, was she?
After all, it was easy enough for her mind to create an likeness of his body, or of his voice. This was imagery and acoustics, and despite how recherche his features, his body, even his voice was... it was just a sound, an image, an animated, refined memory. As if her mind had built a puppet to his exact specifications and was using it for its own purposes now. She always knew it wasn't real, because things were missing. His scent, and the aura around him that made her body near-convulse with a mixture of love and disgust. Granted, he was her father. She accepted that as a reason for loving him in spite of his cruelty, his sickness, his disease, which caused the contrasting disgust. And she had no right to dislike him; she barely knew him, truly, and she didn't believe in judging others on what someone said about them.
Truth be told, she was quite simply drawn to him. Not in any sexual way; she wasn't that insane yet. But she wanted to know him... if only to have the right to dislike him. She wanted to understand what happened between the two, or at least understand his side, as she understood her mothers. After all, she had scars beneath her fur to prove the pain her parents had caused her last time she saw her father. If not for her grandmother, Ceres, she likely wouldn't have lived beyond what happened when she and Aiji came to these lands. She was grateful... and, despite the pain, she would not dishonour her grandmother's efforts. She would stand up tall... or as tall as she could, laying against a tree.
"Come out," she said with certainty, knowing he was there. "I think you've done enough hiding today for both of us."
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indent The Sight was gone, nearly completely. His visions had faded in the years of drink and drug abuse, but prophets never completely forget themselves. Ahren knew she was here because he sensed her. His daughter’s voice spoke in his head, though the sound carried vibration and came from not that far off. He couldn’t remember when he first came to this spot or when he had stopped moving, but it had been a long time. Waiting, like the elder gods and beasts of old, as if knowing something was to come. She arrived at the borders looking so familiar that it drove something sharp and cold into his chest, trying to crush it from the inside out. It was Jasper, though, the only son who had not abandoned his father (for reasons Ahren did not understand) who found her.
indent He watched. He waited. There was a moment he was sure that she had seen him, but he made no sign of it. Indeed, it was not until after she fell and Jasper went running to find him that he moved, drawn by her voice. Three solid, certain steps brought him into her line of sight and he could only marvel at how closely she looked like her mother. Time had changed them both—no longer did he have the dirty, long hair. His tattoo had long since faded to a dull yellow, like a dirty sun, and his scars were aging. The only constants that had not changed were the necklace he wore and the way he carried himself. Ahren’s pride, his ego, they would never be broken. They were the only things he had left. “Are you all right?”
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[bic] such a softer sin
As he moved into her line of sight, her heart skipped a couple of beats. This wasn't the delusion that helped her (nearly) survive the encounter with her half-brother. This wasn't fancy mind manipulation, not somply an image or a sound. Now, Ahren was real. If she could have gotten up, she could have touched him, but she couldn't lift herself up, and she doubted he would let her touch him if she'd wanted to. It was unclear whether pain or fear kept her down, but either way, she made no attempt to get up or move towards the male who had given this existence to her. She gazed at him, the fire in her heart mirrored in her eyes, her pain pouring off her in torrents. 'Are you all right?' All right? Who was he kidding? She wasn't right at all. She wasn't meant to be here. She had never been meant to be born.
Still, she didn't snap at him, or curse him, or even prod at the irony of that question. His calm, his almost-caring... were they false, as fleeting as the kind image of him, the hallucination that got her by? Something in her insisted differently. 'Give him a chance,' her mind begged her, and she heeded it, offering a wry smile and a bitter, humourless laugh to the male she knew as her father. It wasn't much, but it might be a start, and the next step was to answer his question. But what could she say? In so many ways, the answer was no. No, she was not all right. She was broken, and hurting, and driven by fear and unavoidable ignorance. That last bit, that was why she was here... to kill it. To find the knowledge she needed. But to do that, she would have to hold her temper. She would have to work as hard, if not harder, than Ahren... just to survive this.
"I plan to live," she stated softly, keeping her eyes fixated on his form, cautious, and yet offering vulnerability in the form of a weakened yet welcoming smile. "And yourself?" Perhaps not the right phrasing, in terms of grammar or speech. But it was honest, raw and real... and when you can dig deep enough to break the shell of cautious speech, there was something real, something right. Something worth living for.
And, if she wasn't careful, dying for.
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indent He regarded her, his first born, the way a man would regard a child he has not seen in many years. While a stranger, there is a connection—and yet he watched her as one might watch an unfamiliar dog. It may be friendly, or it may bite. Ahren, by this point in his life, was wise enough to know this was how it had to be. He could not welcome her with open arms yet, lest she try and cut him down. He could not shun her because it was his blood in her veins and he knew that. He knew that all too well.
indent Not once did his face or body position change. He remained stoic, still, indicating he was not a threat. Vaguely, he remembered some flash of a dream (or a dream within in a dream) in which he had killed her mother. They looked too alike, he settled on. If she had any idea of those things he had dreamed and wished, she might have gone running now. He would never tell her. Ahren was too wise for a yearling mistake like that.
indent “I’m alive,” he suggested, and while he gave no indication of this, he found that a curious statement. Each day he woke, and he performed the acts that promoted life, but he didn’t live much these days. Reconstruction required time, silence, patience. Ahren was as patient and unforgiving as death, who came in white and took both the young, the elderly, and the sick in her hand. “I didn’t expect you to come back.” I didn’t expect you to be alive.
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I just woke up. Yes, I know it's midnight. I went to sleep at eight and thought I'd sleep until morning... fuck that, I see. -Yawns and stretches.- At least you left me a treat to wake to. <3
[bic] such a softer sin
He wasn't open. She could tell, he was staying neutral, feeling her out. She didn't know if it hurt her or not. She was very much the same... she wasn't letting her guard down yet. It hurt, in many ways, to be seeing her father now. After all, it was to escape her mother and find her father, that she had once knocked Aiji unconscious in a fight, and gotten away. She'd come here, and gone somewhere and to someone safe: to Syemv, and Phasma. Somewhere she knew she could find security and, in her own time, seek her father out and deal with these things. Her mother hadn't been ready or willing to let her do this; hell, she hadn't really even been ready or willing to do it herself. Something happened between Aiji and Ahren, beyond what Anya could know or imagine, and the sickening feeling that developed as a result had overtaken her. She wanted to know. She needed to know. And one side of the story wasn't the truth.
But fear had consumed her, and she had found herself running away, back to her mother, where it was familiar. While everything was complicated in her life with Aiji, and there was much unknown, and much that was painful, there were reasons she could never explain to others, for returning to the atrocity. Her mother, unconscious, was the first cause of her return. Unsure of her mother's safety, or even whether she was still alive, she couldn't find a way to clear her conscience if she didn't go back. Her mother's debilitation was her fault, and she wouldn't become a murderer, just for her own selfishness. She wasn't like that. 'I'm not a de le Poer,' she thought to herself, her jaw tightening slightly. 'I'm not even a Sadira. My mother accepted me as neither her own, nor my father's... I belong nowhere, to no one.' Her stomach was a certain shade of sour, and she couldn't say if it was hunger or bitterness. It didn't matter. She was here for a reason, and not for reminiscing over her pathetic existence. She turned her mind back to her father.
'I’m alive,' he had said, and she knew he meant it much as she did. A heartbeat kept him functioning and not much more, from what she could figure. She felt a twinge of emotion towards him, wanting, yearning to relate to him, to admit that she knew that he didn't mean what it sounded like, but simply not what he said. Her reply had been that she planned to live... and that, while to the average ear would sound like she was saying she was fine, it wasn't; she meant simply that her heartbeat, her breath, her body... those were the only things keeping her classified as 'alive' anymore, yet someday, she planned to truly live. She understood. But acknowledgement was not her strong point, and so she simply nodded at this statement. She couldn't open up to him, not just yet. He could probably see right through her anyhow, so she figured that keeping what she could hide of herself hidden might be her best option. The safest option.
The next statement roused bitter laughter from her core, out into the cold air. 'I didn’t expect you to come back.' Truth be told, she didn't expect herself to come back, either. Last time was a failure, and Anya didn't like to fail. Not ever. And honestly, she'd failed so much in her short life thus far, that she honestly couldn't say she ever liked the way she lived. She had failed the day she was born, or so she perceived it, if she thought too long. Then she'd taken off the first time, and gone to her grandmother... but only after days of bloodshed and tears spilt. The scars were still there, beneath her coat; faded with time, not to mention covered by the newer ones, these ones not self-inflicted as the first had been. After she'd nursed her mother back to health, it was clear that the coma which had taken her, that Anya had handed her over to, had not been kind to the older female. Insanity plagued Aiji, and her life was short after that. Anya had held her mother as she passed, and for the first time, there had truly been silence. Aiji had passed with pleas for life, for second chances. She had begged her daughter for life, for love. And Anya could give only one of those.
The question Anya had to ask, would make or break her, truly. She knew she couldn't sugarcoat it. Honest answers only came for honest questions. Maybe she should have thought of that before, when her mother was alive. Maybe a more direct question, could have gotten her a more direct answer. But she hadn't... so many regrets... why couldn't she have just said what she meant? Her body trembled; she shoved the feeling away. Her throat was closing, and this wasn't the time. She addressed her father's statement quietly, the soft volume covering the cracking sound. "Do you mind that I did?"
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indent Anya was the earth’s child. She had not had to see the terrible things that a father could do. Even now, Ahren could blame his father and revel in his hatred for the man. It didn’t change anything; Damian was long dead and gone. Those scars, the fact he could no longer see blue, those things he had to hold onto. They wouldn’t go away. It was wrong for him to have wanted to try and help Aiji; it was wrong for him to care. It was wrong for him to stop caring when she had pushed away. That was his nature, though, and could he really be blamed for that? Yes, a voice that he no longer recognized offered quietly.
indent “No,” he said, volume and tone remaining smooth. He would offer her no ground until she showed him that was what she wanted. He considered telling her and asking her a thousand things, but none would do yet. “This is your home. You have more right to be here then I do.” That was not a lie. Ahren didn’t consider Clouded Tears his home—that place, he had burnt it down not all too long ago. Chimera was gone. Why here? For the only person he considered his friend? You fucked him, a cruel voice reminded. What does that make you? His eyes turned dark and went hazy as he stepped away from himself, if only for the moment.
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[bic] such a softer sin
A sort of relief washed over the girl, her breath audibly releasing. She was welcome; this wouldn't be a war against the flesh and blood that had created her own. She wasn't concerned, truly, with the rest of the pack. Jasper had welcomed her, and that was well and fine, but if her father had not wanted her here, she'd not have stayed. And even so, he had not made it clear that he wanted her here, only that it was her rightful place. And it was, in all reality. This was her mother's home. The home of her grandmother, whom she was nearly positive would not be here to greet her. Ceres had been so good to her. There was no doubt to Anya that her grandmother had been, what her mother could have been... if not for a blonde male with eyes matching her own... crimson. The colour of blood. A colour associated with death and war and abomination; a colour thought to show destruction, like fire, like Hell. That was what it had always meant to her. She was the spawn of a demon, the product of the curse placed upon her mother.
The thoughts were better developed now; she no longer thought of it as she had upon first coming here as a pup. Then, she had only known it as that her father had harmed her mother, that Aiji had not been prepared for motherhood, and that Ahren had forced it upon her. In her young mind, this had played out as Ahren holding her puppy form and laying it before Aiji, and when Aiji refused, attacking her until she agreed to take the girl. Now, she understood the truth of what happened. She knew that rape was not a matter of Ahren forcing the burden of a child upon Aiji, but that Anya was the unexpected result... Ahren had just wanted the sex. What happened hadn't mattered to him then. Anya hadn't mattered, before her conception, nor afterwards, or after her birth. But now, nearly three years after the act... did it matter now?
'No,' he had told her. 'This is your home. You have more right to be here then I do.' She had the right to be here. That much was true, and she knew it. But did she have his welcome? What was she to him? It was a question she had long asked herself, and yet, the answer was never apparent with Ahren. Opening up to him, she felt, would be equivalent to spilling her heart to a brick wall. Pointless. Never an answer, never a sign. Always silence, and never sympathy. Not even aknowledgement. She remembered feeling, with her grandmother, that the female would need to choose between what to give. It was either love or sympathy, and never both. Ceres had given her sympathy, or at least outwardly. Her grandmother had cared for her. But 'cares for' isn't 'cares about.' She knew that.
'What'll it be, Ahren,' she thought to herself. 'You were hiding less when you were behind the tree. At least then, I thought you cared.' The mere thought stung. She didn't even know this male, but she was so easily controlled by him. The pang of realisation resounded within her. Pain, sadness, grief, anger, loss, frustration, agony, confusion. Where did she stand with her father? Was she his daughter... or just another mistake?
Her words were careful, but she couldn't keep the emotion out of her voice. "You're right. I have every right to live on these lands. By blood, it is my home." The strain on her was growing, but she had to stay grounded. "But I am not a Sadira. I cannot claim that name, any more than I can claim yours. I am your flesh, your blood, as much as I am that of my mother." Her stomach turned. He didn't need to know about her loss yet, because she wouldn't make his decision. If he felt anything for her, she didn't want the pity. It would have been worse than his hatred, for him to show her caring out of pity. So she kept it to herself and continued.
The next part was the hardest. She didn't want to anger him, nor cause him pain, but she knew that if she didn't risk both, there would be nothing worth saying between them "Genetics don't make family, Ahren. You know that as well as I. As it stands, I have no more been your daughter, than you have been my father." Her eyes met his, and for a split second, she thought she felt something. Just a moment. Whether it was from him, or just within herself, she wasn't sure. Her voice shook a little. "But everything is fluid. The rules are not stone." She knew she sounded cliche, but she didn't have the words on her own, and she turned to her knowledge and the stories she knew, to give her guidance. But there was nothing more there, no more guidance. She was on her own.
She made herself clear. It was the only way to know for sure.
"I made my choice; I stand before you now. Now you make yours."
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indent If she asked him why, he would have lied. Only Laruku had heard the truth of that one terrible incident in his past. It had not been for pleasure, but for power. Anya had been the unfortunate, though somewhat planned, outcome of that situation. Had the Sadria’s remained in power, had he not lost his head, he might have used her. Instead, this pack had crossed over to a grinning madman. Ahren could have taken Clouded Tears out from under Laruku had he chosen. What he had done, though, was nothing. He didn’t want that power. He didn’t want that responsibility.
indent Frankly, he never had. “Did she ever tell you I tried to help? I wanted to raise you. She wouldn’t let me near you.” Tactic, but truth. He pushed her attention away, pushed towards the woman who was not here. Even now, after all the turmoil in his life, Ahren remembered that first day. He remembered everything except the moment he had struck her mother and taken her. He couldn’t remember anything that day, except the reasoning and the remarkable sense of regret that he had let go of crossing the sea.
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[bic] such a softer sin
It wasn't an answer. It wasn't a decision. She felt the level of hope, of anticipation, just drop. Down, down, down. He wasn't going to give her an answer. He wasn't going to give her anything. Her mother, she was dead. Aiji Sadira, the only one she could ever rely on, no matter how much the stability in it was anything but. She could handle her mother. She knew exactly what to expect, and how to deal. Ahren was something different, and the sickening darkness within her was all consuming. She didn't want his song and dance; she didn't want his excuses. She wanted him to make his choice. He wouldn't. She'd have to try harder if she wanted anything out of Ahren de le Poer. A lot harder.
Her voice was desperate, but she soaked it in some verbal equivalent to liquid nitrogen, to try to hide her pain. "You don't have to tell me what happened, Ahren. I know the story, read all the books. I know any fact you could lift high enough to throw." She knew that must have sounded so bitter, but she didn't care. She was bitter. If he didn't want her, if he didn't care about her, he could at least be merciful and say it to her. She didn't care about how she felt, as long as she wasn't in the dark anymore. She wanted truth. She wanted to know where she stood. But it seemed like he was going to keep the lights off forever.
Her voice, once an icy near-whisper, became a venomous snarl. "I don't blame my mother for shoving you away. She had every right, and bless her broken soul... for all that blessing shit is worth... she was the smart one of us two." It was burning, everything she'd bottled up, and she couldn't keep it in and she couldn't control it. No matter what she tried to disguise it as, threatening and soft, or loud and cruel... she was desperate, and there was no disguise, no cover that was thick or sturdy enough to hold that inside. She hated Ahren de le Poer. He was her pain, her suffering... he was the death of her. He was the reason she had come to exist in the first place. She hated him...
Because she loved him, despite it. And that was the real killer.
She glared at him through welling tears, and lifted her form off the ground, a whimper escaping her as her shoulder groaned with the pain. Still, she knew that laying down was not going to show him what she wanted him to see in her. Her shoulder was cut and bleeding, and there was a bit of dirt in it, though most of both that and the blood had been rinsed away and absorbed by the snow that had melted with her body heat. She figured she must have sliced it on something on the ground. Her bag was about a mile back on the path; she'd have to retrieve it later. For now, she couldn't walk away. Not without an answer.
"I'm a fool, Ahren, but I'm an honest one if there ever was. I came here to seek out the remainder of what I could begin to call 'family,' at least by blood." Her tears were threatening to fall, but she couldn't be weak, because she would never get respect that way. The blood on her shoulder was drying into her pelt in the air. It stung. She laughed at it; that was no pain compared to the kind that didn't bleed. The sight of it refreshed her, because this was what had come of her weakness before. No more. She was stepping up to the plate... but would he?
The slight smile triggered by her laughter didn't fade much as she looked again upon her father. "You wanted me from her then. She was alive to fight you, but I'm here now, and there's not a trace of her. So where's your fatherly desire now?"
Again with sounding bitter... but she said she was honest, right?
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indent He could see her mother in that weakness, and he did not want to see Aiji. It was not until she broke, and she turned vicious, that he saw himself. Perhaps that had been the cue he was waiting for, or perhaps she had touched a raw nerve with that laughter. Regardless, the change that overcame the impassive male was sudden, as sudden as a summer storm. His face cracked and broke into a vicious sneer, ears forward, hair beginning to stand on end. Whoever she thought she was, she had no right to demand a goddamn thing of him. “Two fucking years, Anya. I can’t make up for that, and you know it,” he hissed, hands curling instinctively. He didn’t even realize that the right hand, a fist, was bleeding from the pressure of his own nails in his palm.
indent “You don’t know anything. You know what she told you. I tried, I fucking tried.” The urge to move came, but he ignored it. The earth was pulling and pushing all at once. “You’re here, and that’s enough for me. I can’t expect you to forgive me, and you can’t expect me to welcome you with open arms. I don’t even know you.” He didn’t know any of his children. It was safer that way. When they ended up hating him, as they all did, it hurt less. Finally, to spite her smile, he returned it—though it was thin, vicious, and did not meet his eyes.
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Verbose little bitch. Damn.
[bic] such a softer sin
Anya wasn't sure what had come over her, but from her father's reaction, it was plenty clear that it had been his genepool within her. Her eyes focused on him, on every movement, every expression, ready to defend herself, but not to attack. Anya truly was mostly defense, because she'd learnt that offensive actions had never gotten anyone anywhere. She'd managed to live through a lot of things without bringing blame to herself, nor much harm to any of the parties involved, by just defending. 'Except Aiji,' her mind taunted, and she snarled despite herself. She hadn't been able to avoid harm to her own mother in her defense. 'Because I was emotional,' she reminded herself. 'I can't let my emotions rule me.' With Ahren, it was a challenge. But she welcomed it. She welcomed the challenge of dealing with him. Maybe then she'd get her answers.
'Two fucking years, Anya. I can’t make up for that, and you know it,' he'd said, and a hybrid between a laugh and a snarl danced in the back of her throat. She thought she might've lost it and taken him down then, but she didn't. 'I'm not him,' she told herself. He was angry. He was being vicious. He was offended. She didn't have to be. 'Not a de le Poer,' she remembered, then added to that. 'But the genes are there. Watch your instinct.' It was true. She would have to watch every move she made. She couldn't be like her father. Not ever.
His hand appeared to be wounded, and she recognised it as the same type of wound she'd ever had for him... self-inflicted. Both of anger, frustration, helplessness. He felt something towards her, or because of her. This would be the opening she needed, if she took it. Perhaps she could manage to get under his skin, as he'd lived under hers for her entire life. 'Is that all this is about? Revenge?' The thought crossed her mind, but she pushed it out. She wasn't here for revenge. She was here for the truth. Whatever else she got, was extra. Like a bonus. Only not as promising.
'You don’t know anything. You know what she told you. I tried, I fucking tried.' Those words weren't the ones that fazed her. She knew he was right. She didn't know but what she'd been told by her mother. But what difference did it make? The words were starting to form, but she let him finish first. 'You’re here, and that’s enough for me. I can’t expect you to forgive me, and you can’t expect me to welcome you with open arms. I don’t even know you.' His smile shook her, but she didn't look away. He couldn't scare her. Even if he killed her... she wouldn't die pleading, or crying.
For her mother's sake, she would never give him that.
Her eyes refocused from his face, to glancing up and down him, then back to his face. Where to begin? "You know," she said quietly, though her voice was not soft in the least, "You're so right. You can't make up for it. Hell, you can't even make up for my mere existence, let alone not being a part of it." Her eyes burnt through his, trying to find an opening, a way to trigger his memories, his pain, where ever he might have hidden it away. Surely, he couldn't be soulless. She had to find the inside. "And you're right about me not knowing anything but what my mother told me. I don't. Why the hell would I be here, if I did? What would bring me back here, if I were all-knowing? I certainly would have no reason to play fuck-around with you, which seems to be your gift these days."
She wasn't being kind. She wasn't even being fair. But she was going to his level, in hopes of getting him to hers. If she played his game, maybe he'd figure it out. "This isn't about whether I forgive you, or whether you want me to call you daddy and frolic through the fuckin' flowers with you. The latter isn't possible... and currently, neither is the former." Her eyes narrowed. This was getting ridiculous. The anger was welling, and she couldn't keep it in. "I don't know you, Ahren. And I don't know your side of the story. I'm not sure I even care to, if this is the behaviour I have to deal with to learn the truth. But in all the madness my mother existed in a year and some ago, she would have wanted me to know. It's just too bad she didn't have enough breath left to tell me that in the end." She took a deep breath, and fired her last round. "I didn't see you doing her any favours when she was alive. How about now that she's dead, you quit telling me how much I don't know, and fix it."
Using her mother as a way to dig into him was cold. But so was he. She was fighting fire with fire, vicious cruelty with more of the same. It wasn't right, but what about this was, really?
She just hoped the fire wouldn't burn this all to the ground.
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indent The smile remained like a mask, for Ahren was unwilling to give her ground. She didn’t deserve his sympathy or his pity, and he didn’t expect her to want either. It was in her blood. He remained still, watching her, reading her. Each word she spoke offered him insight, showing that she thought she was wiser then she was. Ahren would be five this year, and he knew that everything he had once believed was wrong. Until she realized she was in that position, he would never be able to reach her. Even the news of Aiji’s death was taken like a wave against a rock—he showed no sign that this perturbed him. He had never loved her.
indent “She came to my father and lived in Chimera, even after I took it. She supported this, despite what I had done to her.” Smooth, nearly practiced. He was still very much a politician. “I kept trying to help her, to make things right. The day you ran off, I think she might have forgiven me.” Enough for a fuck, right? His eyes had become red walls, denying access to the vicious thoughts that circled his head. “You can call me whatever you want. I’m not going to make excuses for what I did or did not do.” Pausing, he finally offered humanity: “I’m sorry that she’s gone,” he said quietly. Because you didn’t get to do it?
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And just as he managed something non-asshole-ish... xD
Doubtful that he would... but he can go after her if it's realistic and you want to. She's just bored with this.
[bic] such a softer sin
No wonder her mother had hated him. She wasn't sure how she could even consider what she felt for this male to be love. It wasn't. He was wearing on her nerves, making her colder, making her angrier. She didn't have time, nor patience for this sort of behviour. She didn't want to leave, but she knew that he was getting close to being able to be considered as wasting her time. It was clear that he wasn't sorry for her mother's death, nor for anything else. He'd not loved Aiji Sadira any more than he loved his daughter, herself, standing before her. She had been better off without him. That was not in question. But she was strong willed, and she needed truth. She needed closure. She wouldn't live the rest of her life with grudges towards her mother for what she could not have conceivably told Anya: How Ahren felt. The sickness, the disgust that the male induced... she was perfectly calm now. She still didn't have reasons, but she had emotions, and she had gut instincts. And her gut instinct told her now, that she couldn't control how she felt. She hated Ahren de le Poer.
She just... hated him.
Truth be told, in order to truly hate someone, you have to care about them first. And she knew that she cared about Ahren. He was her father. She felt helpless to control that. But she hated him, for all he was. She knew she'd never be able to hold in the screaming forever. So she prepared herself for the beauty that would be her healing. If she couldn't get answers from this bastard, the ruthless, selfish waste of life that he was, then she would turn him into a verbal punching bag for her own benefit, and then go find her brother. Jasper. 'Ahren's son...' Of course he was Ahren's son. But surely, being condemned to carry not only the de le Poer genes, but also the label... Jasper hadn't been as sick as their father, at least not outwardly, and she felt he might understand this pain. For now, it was her time to let go of the pain.
"No, Ahren, you're not sorry. You're not sorry in the fucking least. Not for raping Aiji Sadira, nor for creating me, nor subjecting me to the same life you live. You can't stand to suffer alone, can you? You have to share the pain. Well, it's my turn now. It's my turn to subject you to what I've lived. If you could call it living, really. " Her eyes were burning in technicolour emotion, and she wasn't going to quiet herself until it was over. "My mother was too good to you, as much as you feel so wronged. You didn't deserve me. I'm not yours, Ahren. Not everything is for you to take. Maybe someday you'll learn that. But probably not." Her voice was a complete inversion of her normal self. If her old packmates had ever heard her like this, they'd think she'd been possessed by a demon or a spirit of some sort. In many ways, she had been. The ghost of what she was when she didn't try to hold it back.
This was not for her mother, although it could have been. It was not for her poor, pathetic existence, though it may have construed as such. This was not revenge, as she had described it. It was pure, raw emotion, the kind that couldn't be tamed or bridled. It was everything she had ever felt since the moment she first found out what was real and what wasn't. And it wasn't because she wanted him to feel it.
It was because she didn't want to feel it herself.
"You can make your confessions and you can tell your lies. Hell, you might even believe them. But truth be told, you're lying to yourself as much as you are everyone else. You don't care about anyone but you; you don't want anything unless it benefits you. That's how I ended up here. Because you couldn't keep your cock to yourself when it wasn't wanted." Her breathing was ragged. She was screaming; the windows to her soul were shattering. "You can tell me you're sorry, but I'll never believe it. The only regret you'll ever have is that you couldn't hurt anyone enough to make up for what you feel yourself."
A deep breath, and she raged on. "Your pretty storybook words don't work on me, Ahren. You can't be diplomatic enough to make me buy your bullshit." Her eyes were shimmering with something sick, something she'd buried for so long. His mindset. His games. "I'm not your child, sweetheart, but I sure do have a lot of your genes, don't I?" Laughter threatened to ripple through her at this new feeling; she'd never let this out, not since the first time anyhow. It'd scared her mother so bad, Anya had nearly died on account of those personality traits. Now she was going to die without them.
And not the kind where she got to stop existing.
"Let's be clear now. Next time you feel like playing mind games, don't use them on me, because the beauty of it just lost novelty. Didn't anyone teach you, everything in moderation? I guess not. That's what gave me life, after all. And it's what took that of Aiji Sadira. How sad... she didn't beg for you at the end. Are you heartbroken?" A pause. "Didn't think so." She didn't need his words. She was done here. Next time, he was going to have to come to her... because fucked if she was going to be wandering back into his trap.
"I'm going to go find my little half-brother. Maybe he'll prove to be less of an utter disappointment than you. Pathetic... you disappoint your own child. Isn't that just a little backward." Not a question. There was just one more thing to say, and she made a point of saying it as she turned away and began to move towards where Jasper had gone.
"Oh, and... this is what it means to be loved by someone... Father."
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