Chapter 101: A Father’s Fury
"And does he know who I am to him?"
"Nope," Phoenix repeated, hurrying over to pour his mistress a drink, which he promptly slipped into her hands.
She downed it in a single gulp under Kiyan's silent gaze.
"Pyjamas?" Blanche asked, while Asmodeus watched their exchange with growing curiosity.
"Some demons, like Asmodeus, are too powerful to come here in their original bodies," Kiyan explained, deliberately raising his voice. "So they borrow human ones. Demonic possession. Last century, our friend here was blond, had long hair, and green eyes."
"I liked that one," the prince said. "Unfortunately, I got bitten by a shapeshifter. Had to get rid of it."
Blanche, fully aware that a demon couldn't care less about a troublesome mortal shell, paled.
"I was talking about the word pyjamas. That's not cool. What did you do to Nathaniel?"
"Is that what he's called?" the higher demon asked, sounding genuinely surprised. "I thanked him with a generous payment and enough money to start a new life. I'm not a monster, despite popular opinion. He served me well. Besides, I saved his life."
A sigh of relief nearly escaped Blanche.
She glanced awkwardly at Phoenix.
"How long have you known?" she asked.
"You're the one who told me just before you left."
Blanche thought for a moment, turning the empty glass between her fingers.
The crystal rotated slowly through her grasp as she studied the last amber reflections clinging to the bottom.
Her biological father's words weren't entirely absurd.
Unfortunately.
That was exactly the problem.
They made sense.
Enough sense that she couldn't simply dismiss them with a shrug.
She let out a small sigh, legs slightly apart.
It was logical.
And she hated it when people were right.
Especially when those people happened to be millennia-old demons with crimson eyes capable of turning a family conversation into an existential crisis.
Her gaze drifted toward Kiyan.
Seated nearby.
Still impeccable.
Still calm.
Still dangerously attractive without making the slightest visible effort.
Honestly, that should have been illegal.
She watched him for several seconds.
Then a thought crossed her mind.
A highly problematic thought.
She was drinking alcohol in front of him.
And he wasn't reacting.
Not a disapproving glance.
Not a sigh.
Not a comment.
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Yet a few weeks ago, she would have sworn that ordering a glass of cider in front of him would earn her an entire lecture on responsibility, caution, and probably long-term liver damage.
And yet...
He hadn't even raised an eyebrow.
Blanche frowned slightly.
Then her mind continued down that dangerous path.
The earring.
The alcohol.
The manor.
The secret passages.
The private clubs frequented by mythical creatures.
The outrageously expensive gifts.
The cigarettes.
The Italian-runway-worthy suits.
The collection of magical mirrors.
The decidedly unconventional acquaintances.
And that deeply concerning ability to kiss her forehead while somehow maintaining the perfectly respectable appearance of an honorable man.
None of it fit the image of her best friend's father.
None of it.
In her mind, Eva's father should have looked like...
She didn't know.
Someone who hosted barbecues on Sundays.
Someone who owned beige polo shirts.
Someone who asked whether school was going well.
Someone who fell asleep watching wildlife documentaries.
Not this man.
Not Kiyan.
Kiyan looked more like someone who secretly possessed three identities, four hidden properties, and a past complicated enough to require several libraries.
She suddenly imagined Eva discovering certain aspects of his life.
"Dad, what's that secret door?"
"Nothing important."
"And why is a snake woman calling you by your first name?"
"Long story."
"And the private club?"
"Very long story."
"And the magical mirrors?"
"Even longer story."
"And why does Blanche blush every time you walk into a room?"
Well.
Perhaps some conversations were best avoided.
Absentmindedly, Blanche raised her empty glass to her lips before realizing there was nothing left inside.
Tragic.
She set it down slowly.
Then looked at Kiyan again.
Still calm.
Still elegant.
Still utterly incompatible with the mental image she had built of her best friend's father.
And yet...
The most unsettling thing wasn't that he failed to fit that image.
It was that she was beginning to understand why.
Because deep down, Kiyan wasn't just Eva's father.
Nor just her teacher.
Nor even just the man she had fallen in love with through an extraordinary talent for making catastrophically bad decisions.
He was a complete person.
With a life.
Secrets.
Friends.
Habits.
Contradictions.
And the more she discovered that version of him...
The more she liked him.
Which, given the circumstances, was truly a first-rate disaster.
She sighed.
"Would someone please tell me what is going on here?" the prince growled, finally losing patience.
Blanche ordered another drink and moved to the sofa, where Kiyan and Asmodeus soon joined her.
This time, she chose her words carefully.
Nightingale wouldn't activate again for another hour.
"The day you found me at Elizabeth's house, I had just come back from the hospital after a car accident. I was a complete wreck," she said, remembering her condition perfectly. "They patched me back together with magic. I have no idea who I was more than sixteen years ago."
Asmodeus frowned.
The simple motion transformed his face instantly.
Until now, he had worn that relaxed, almost amused expression typical of people who considered the entire world an exceptionally entertaining spectacle.
But something changed.
Blanche saw it immediately.
His red eyes narrowed slightly.
His jaw tightened.
A shadow crossed his features.
Everything she had said was true.
And he clearly did not like it.
Not at all.
He remained silent for several seconds.
Which, for a demon as talkative as him, was already a bad sign.
A very bad sign.
Instinctively, Blanche felt her stomach knot.
Because she was beginning to understand that Asmodeus wasn't the sort of man who became angry for the sake of being angry.
Quite the opposite.
He seemed to enjoy provocations.
Absurdities.
Disasters.
Probably absurd disasters involving provocations.
So if something genuinely managed to anger him...
It was probably serious.
Her gaze slid toward Kiyan.
As if seeking confirmation.
Or perhaps clinging to the ridiculous hope that someone would tell her she had misunderstood.
Kiyan simply nodded.
Once.
Calmly.
Without hesitation.
Yes.
It was true.
And that was exactly the wrong answer.
Suddenly, the prince exploded.
Even more violently than the waitress had.
Blanche nearly jumped.
Because it wasn't a loud anger.
Not at first.
It was worse.
Far worse.
It was the anger of a man still trying to keep himself under control.
The veins in his jaw stood out sharply.
His fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
The muscles in his forearms flexed beneath his shirt as an almost tangible tension spread through the room.
The air itself seemed heavier.
Like the moments before a storm.
Like realizing lightning is about to strike, but the sky hasn't yet decided where.
Blanche watched, fascinated despite herself.
Because he was terrifying.
Truly terrifying.