Bonus Chapter - Father and Daughter Moment

Bonus Chapter - Father and Daughter Moment
The attic was warm as the afternoon sunlight slanted through the small window. It was a little space, cluttered with canvases leaned against the wall, a cracked stool, jars of water tinted with old paint, and open sketchbooks with half-finished drawings.
Cillian climbed the narrow stairs only to pause as he took in the scene.
El sat cross-legged on the floor near the window, paint smudged across her cheek. Her hair was tied up in a messy twist with a pencil, and she wore one of Tilly’s old shirts, sleeves rolled to her elbows.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Cillian said quietly.
El looked over her shoulder and grinned. “You didn’t. Come in.”
He ducked slightly under the low beam and stepped fully into the attic. His gaze moved across the room, pausing on the little details of sketches of trees, animals, and people, pinned to the wall with thumbtacks.
“You paint,” he said.
El shrugged as she set her brush down in a jar. “I used to draw a lot when I was younger. Mom said it helped keep me quiet. Now it just… helps me think.”
Cillian smiled softly and moved to the wall, studying a watercolor of the lake near their home. “You’re very talented.”
“Thanks.” There was a moment of silence before she turned back toward him. “Can I ask you something?”
Cillian looked at her and nodded. “Always.”
“Mom told me she named me after your sister. What was she like?”
He took a moment before answering. “She was… warm. Fierce in ways you wouldn’t expect. She loved fiercely, laughed loudly, and once she found something she loved—music, drawing, people—she gave it her whole self. Even when it hurt.”
El tilted her head. “Did she draw, too?”
“She did,” he said, walking over to a sketch pinned to the beam above her desk. “She liked sketching people. Said it helped her see them better. Said the world moved too fast for her sometimes, so drawing slowed it down.”
Then, a silence fell between them. El rested her chin on her knees and watched him.
“She died young, didn’t she?”
“Yes.” Cillian sat down on the floor beside her. “It was a long time ago, and for a while, I carried that pain. Losing her changed me.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“She would have loved you.”
El’s eyes shimmered, just faintly. “I like that you told me. About her. Most people try to hide those parts.”
“There’s no shame in loving someone who left. Only love that stays, in other ways.”
“I hope I live up to her name.”
“You already do,” he murmured. “And more.”
Cillian’s gaze lingered on the canvas, but his attention was wholly on her now. There was something in Eleanor’s silence, a quiet bracing, a pause that stretched just long enough to signal she was gathering her thoughts.
“I knew about you,” she said at last. “I asked Mom once where my dad was. And she told me everything. About you. About her leaving.”
Cillian turned toward her fully now, his expression open.
“I didn’t know what it meant at the time,” she continued. “But when I got older, I started to read more. About Lycans. Mates. What being bonded really meant. I know she didn’t leave because she stopped loving you.”
Her lips pressed into a line. “But I still hated it,” she admitted. “I know it sounds selfish, but I did. I thought it was unfair… that she knew she was carrying me, and she still left you behind. I didn’t get why anyone would choose to be apart from someone who loved them that much.”
Cillian didn’t speak at first. He just watched her for a moment.
“She was grieving,” he said eventually. “Grief makes people do things. Sometimes, to survive it. Sometimes to disappear inside it.”
El nodded slowly. “I get that now. She was torn between a broken part of her heart and the one that wasn’t. I think… I think she just didn’t know how to hold both.”
Cillian’s expression softened further. “You’re wiser than most people I know.”
“You’re just saying that because I’m your daughter,” she said, grinning faintly.
Cillian smirked. “You remind me so much of her.”
El glanced up.
“You carry her eyes. Her wit. That same restlessness in your hands when you’re overthinking. But more than that… you have her depth.”
There was something unspeakably warm in how he said it—no sorrow, just a quiet love that had learned to live beyond the ache of loss.
“You two were close,” El said.
“We were. She was small and terrifyingly smart. And stubborn as hell,” he added with a short, affectionate laugh. “She drove me mad some days, but gods, I would have torn the world apart for her if she asked.”
El smiled. “Mom says that’s how you look at her sometimes.”
“Well,” he said, “your mother’s not wrong.”
They sat in silence for a few heartbeats before El shifted again, sitting up straighter.
“I think it’s cool,” she said, almost suddenly. “That you’re a vampire. Way cooler than being a Lycan. No offense to Mom, but turning into a giant angry wolf is kinda messy and sounds like it hurts a lot.”
“You think that?”
“I’ve seen her shift. But, well, mom thinks I might be a vampire, too. She says I’ve got your bloodline. That it’s possible.”
His brow lifted. “Does she now?”
El nodded, suddenly sheepish. “I… check my teeth in the mirror almost every day. Just in case the fangs start growing in.”
Cillian laughed. “That’s very on brand for a young vampire.”
“Have they started?” she asked, turning slightly to grin at him, her upper lip curled.
He leaned in, mock-studying her teeth. “Not quite. But don’t worry, they’ll come when they’re ready. And they’ll hurt like hell, too.”
She blinked. “Really?”
“Oh, yes,” he said with a smirk. “For natural-borns, the changes happen gradually. It’s not like flipping a switch. You’ll feel things before you see them—light sensitivity, maybe headaches, mild fevers after too much time in the sun. Probably some mood swings.”
“So like puberty,” El deadpanned.
Cillian laughed again. “Exactly like puberty, except with more existential dread and slightly sharper teeth.”
She groaned. “Ugh. That sounds awful.”
“It’s not all bad,” he said. “You’ll be stronger, faster. Your senses will heighten. Your dreams may grow more vivid. And when your fangs do come in, you’ll feel like you’ve survived something ancient. Like you’ve earned a new name, even if no one else knows it.”
El could feel the weight behind those words—an inheritance passed not through blood alone, but memory, survival, and the enduring love of someone who had lived a very long time waiting for this kind of moment.
She leaned into him gently, resting her head against his shoulder.
“I’m glad you’re here now,” she said.
“So am I,” Cillian murmured.
And in the golden quiet of the attic and the distant sound of summer beyond the window, a father and daughter sat shoulder to shoulder—bound not just by blood, but by the long road it took to finally find each other.