Chapter 154: At Argy’s Place

Argy watched his mother from his desk as her gaze slowly wandered around the student's room with the almost clinical thoroughness that defined her.

For a student bedroom, it was remarkably spacious—closer to a private suite than university housing.

The polished light oak floor complemented cream-colored walls accented with dark wooden panels that lent the room understated elegance. A massive bed dressed in immaculate white linens occupied one side of the room, flanked by walnut nightstands topped with hand-blown glass lamps. Opposite it, a seamless wardrobe blended almost invisibly into the wall, while a custom-built bookcase alternated leather-bound volumes with carefully selected works of art, arranged with almost obsessive precision.

A desk carved from a single slab of fine hardwood faced a broad picture window overlooking the penthouse below. A leather office chair, a state-of-the-art stereo system, a thick geometric-patterned rug, several impeccably maintained plants, and the subtle scent of sandalwood completed the space. Nothing was out of place. Nothing had been left to chance. Every piece of furniture looked as though it had been chosen by an interior designer accustomed to furnishing luxury hotels rather than a young man's bedroom.

It was understated.

Elegant.

Even luxurious.

Yet it was as impersonal as a page torn from an interior design magazine.

No photographs.

No travel souvenirs.

Not a single decorative object without a purpose. No blanket carelessly tossed at the foot of the bed. No forgotten book left open halfway through a chapter.

The room was beautiful...

And yet it revealed absolutely nothing about the person who lived there.

The complete opposite of his room at the barracks.

There, despite the aging walls, mismatched furniture, and lighting that was often far too dim, life spilled from every corner. Family photographs hung above the bed. Nicky's drawings shared space with keepsakes from past adventures. A precarious stack of books always threatened to collapse, and a colorful blanket invariably lay abandoned across the bed. Nothing matched perfectly, but every object carried a story.

This room was more beautiful.

The other was infinitely warmer.

It only reinforced the thought that perhaps he would have been happier with Kiyan.

Even if Blanche had only just realized that, under those circumstances, he would have become her older brother rather than her son.

Was that it?

Had she chosen the wrong path for him?

While Blanche drowned in her own questions, Argy simply watched her.

If he had ever dreamed of seeing his mother here, he had never imagined her looking quite so... comfortable. Blanche seemed perfectly at ease, despite still having no idea how she had ended up in this world.

She had a goal.

And nothing would distract her from it.

Not even the wrath of both father and daughter.

"Does Sebastian know?"

Munin had slipped away.

They could finally speak plainly again.

Unlike Blanche, Argy was visibly uncomfortable, and the question did nothing to help. He didn't answer. Instead, he looked away and absentmindedly twisted the edge of his comforter between his fingers. He sat on his bed, leaning back against charcoal-gray pillows.

"I know... there's something stopping us from saying it, but... he's still your father, isn't he?" Blanche ventured.

"No," Argy answered defensively. "Well... yes, in a way. I know that in his twisted, prehistoric vampire mind, he loves me, but... he's not Aaron. He's my dad. The one up north. The man who saved my life more than once. Just like you're my mom."

Blanche nodded.

She understood.

He had been allowed to choose his parents.

He'd had that chance.

But then...

Why was he here?

She, on the other hand, had been left with Elsa—who had been a mother in name only—and a demonic prince she had only just met.

"How did it happen?" she asked softly. "Why did I leave you with Sebastian?"

No one had ever told her.

But after everything she had pieced together in the Otherworld—and from the heavy looks the rest of the family kept giving her—she had realized that something terrible had happened to the child she had raised.

Argy lifted his eyes toward the ceiling.

"Like a nightmare."

"My biological father is alive. He's here, in the infirmary."

"In a coma."

"I visit him sometimes..."

"And every time I do, the memories come back."

He rubbed at his eyes, fighting back tears.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was thick with pain.

"He came home exhausted from work. I was happy because earlier that week he'd promised Mom and me we'd go to the movies. He'd even bought the tickets in advance. I was sure we were going."

A bitter smile crossed his face.

Blanche pulled her chair closer and rested a hand gently on his knee.

"But my biological mother saw how tired he was and insisted we postpone it. I was disappointed. I went to my room to sulk."

A tear rolled slowly down his cheek.

"Those were the last words I ever said to her."

"They were awful."

"Mom..."

"I said horrible things to her."

Blanche wrapped him in her arms.

"Don't worry," she whispered. "She knew you didn't mean them."

"One word."

"I know."

"You've already told me that."

"And you know because you're my mom too."

She smiled as the man—older than she was—curled against her like a child.

It took him several minutes before he found his voice again.

"I heard her scream."

"That scream..."

His voice shook.

"I ran into the kitchen."

"And I saw him."

"The first vampire I'd ever seen."

"He was draining my mother's blood."

"She was dead before she even hit the floor."

"Dad came running out of the bedroom."

"And when that monster lunged at him..."

"My legs moved on their own."

He looked up at Blanche.

"When I came to, Sebastian was holding me."

"Apparently, I begged him not to leave me alone."

"It took me months before I spoke again."

"And every single night..."

"I spent it with you."

He hugged her tighter.

"I was the one who insisted on staying with them."

"On being there."

"So it would never happen to anyone else again."

"And besides..."

"Someone has to keep an eye on Sebastian for Dad."

"So you're his spy?" Blanche asked with a faint smile.

"Obviously."

"And can you imagine if I'd lived with you two?"

"Two little girls underfoot?"

"My own mother as my little sister?"

"No thanks!"

Blanche smiled sadly.

She hadn't abandoned him.

Neither she nor Kiyan had.

He was their son...

No matter where he slept.

"I can't even remember her face anymore," he continued quietly. "Without the photographs... I wouldn't know what she looked like. She wasn't as beautiful as you, but... she was lovely."

He slowly opened the top drawer of his desk, searched for a few moments through neatly organized folders, then withdrew a single photograph.

The edges were worn with age.

He handed it to Blanche with almost reverent care.

Blanche accepted the photograph between her fingers.