Chapter 117 Ch. 87
“Do not look at me like that,” Ethan hissed, his chest moving up and down in quick, ragged breaths. He did not even have the words to describe how angry he felt at his father for this— for everything he had been doing.
If only it were easy to just take Zara and run somewhere faraway.
He was still standing in the middle of the dining room, his feet hovering just an inch off the floor before he finally dropped back down fully.
The guards in the corners did not look away. Their eyes were wide with surprise too. They had seen him fly, and now they looked at him like he was a prize they wanted to take for themselves.
“Ethan, listen to me very carefully,” Lorenzo said, stepping toward his son with his hands tucked into his pockets. He moved slowly, stepping over the shards of the broken vase without looking down at the mess.
“I am not in the mood for a lecture,” Ethan snapped, turning his head to watch the door where Zara had disappeared with Imogen. He felt a pull in his chest.
“You will stop all this hopeless pining that you are doing,” Lorenzo said coldly. “You are acting as if you are a prisoner here, but you are the one holding yourself back. You sit at my table, you live under my roof, and yet you pretend you are better than the rest of us.”
“I am nothing like you,” Ethan whispered, his hands curling into tight fists at his sides.
“Because you choose to be weak,” Lorenzo replied, a small, mocking smile touching his lips. “You think refusing blood makes you what? A hero to humans? Whether or not you drink, it won’t stop it from happening to them.”
Lorenzo barked out a sharp and bitter laughter. “It just makes you a walking corpse son. Look at you up until last night. Fucking weak! And being weak makes you very useless to the girl you claim to love.”
“I am protecting her from you,” Ethan said, taking a step forward until he was only inches from his father’s face.
“You are doing nothing but dragging her down with you,” Lorenzo scoffed, looking his son up and down with clear disappointment. “If you do not like this life, Ethan, you are free to walk out of that front door right now. Go. Get out of my house. Go back to your little races. Go beat Olympic records and live among the humans until you wither away and know that even though we are as good as immortal, you can still get yourself killed by this bullshit.”
Ethan went to speak, but Lorenzo held up a hand to silence him.
“But know this,” Lorenzo continued, his voice dropping an octave. “If you truly want to protect Zara, you will embrace what you are. You will stop this morality play and drink until you have the strength to actually keep her safe. Because right now? Any other clan could walk in here and take her, and you would be too weak to do anything but watch.”
“Is that a threat?” Ethan asked, his voice shaking with rage.
“It is a fact,” Lorenzo said, turning his back on him. “Decide what matters more, Ethan. Your pride, or her life.”
Lorenzo walked out of the room without looking back, his footsteps echoing against the marble floors. The guards lingered for a moment, their eyes still lingering on Ethan’s shaking hands, before they followed their master out.
Ethan stood alone in the quiet dining room for a long time. He felt like he was vibrating, the power from Zara’s blood still sending tingles under his skin.
He turned and almost ran up the stairs. When he reached his room, he slammed the door, locking it behind him. He could still feel the phantom sensation of his feet leaving the ground. It had felt amazing and terrifying all at once.
He had always wanted a way out of this life for centuries— ever since he knew how much of a monster his father was. And eventually, he accepted there was no leaving. He accepted what it meant to be a vampire, until they had moved here and he started running.
He looked at his reflection in the mirror. He was paler, his eyes looked sunken, and he looked like a shadow of the person he used to be. He hated the hunger, but he hated the feeling of being helpless even more. He stayed in his room for over an hour, pacing until the carpet felt worn under his feet, before he finally realized he couldn't stay here raging.
He needed to see her and needed to make sure she was okay.
Ethan walked back down the stairs and headed toward the lab wing of the house. The lights in the hallway were too bright, making his head ache. He reached the door where Imogen was working and pushed it open without knocking.
The room smelled like chemicals and of course, the coppery scent of blood.
Imogen was standing by a long metal table, her back to him. Zara was sitting on a stool at a different table across the room and she had her eyes fixed on a glass jar in front of her.
“What are you guys doing?” Ethan asked, his voice sounding rough as he walked toward the center of the room. He looked at the petri dishes lined up on the counter, each one filled with a small amount of Zara’s dark red blood.
“Shush,” Imogen said, not even turning around. She was holding a glass stirring rod, watching a small beaker of liquid that was bubbling softly. “I am waiting for this to cure. If you cannot be quiet, you can wait in the hall.”
“I am not going anywhere,” Ethan muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. He felt an annoyance bubbling up in him as he looked at the equipment. It felt so wrong to see her blood sitting in jars like it was just some ingredient.
He looked over at Zara. She didn't even acknowledge that he had entered the room. She was leaning forward, her forehead creased in deep concentration. Her hands were resting on her knees, and she was staring at a small glass jar filled with cotton balls that sat about three feet away from her.
“What is she doing?” Ethan whispered, looking at Imogen.
“She is doing what she’s supposed to do,” Imogen replied, her voice distracted. “Now be quiet. The energy in here is already contaminated enough without you stomping around.”
Ethan stood perfectly still, his eyes fixed on Zara.
Zara’s fingers twitched on her knees and there was some kind of static at her fingertips.
Slowly, the jar on the table began to wobble.
Ethan held his breath, his eyes widening. The jar slid an inch toward the left, then it stopped. Zara let out a small, frustrated huff, but she didn't look away.
“Fucking hell,” she whispered in annoyance. “Imogen I am thinking very hard and—“
“So think, and stop bitching about,” Imogen replied, without even looking at her.
Zara rolled her eyes, bit her lip, her eyes narrowing as she focused all her energy on the glass.
She was going to keep Imogen from being so… Imogen towards her by proving her skills.
The jar lifted off the table. It didn't rise smoothly like Ethan had; it was a clunky and uneven movement as it began hovering a few inches in the air like it was being held by someone with shaky hands. It began to float toward her, moving through the air in a slow, jagged line.
“You’re doing it,” Ethan whispered, a sense of awe washing over him.
Zara’s face was pale, beads of sweat breaking out along her hairline. The jar got closer, only a foot away from her outstretched hand. She reached out, her fingers trembling as she prepared to grab it.
Suddenly, Zara’s eyes went wide as the static in the suddenly intensified, turning into a sharp, localized pressure.
“Wait—” Zara gasped, her voice sounding panicked.
The jar didn't fall. Instead, it snapped backward with a violent force and flew across the room, moving so fast that Ethan barely saw it go.
It hit the far wall with a loud, explosive crash. Glass shards flew everywhere, and the cotton balls scattered across the floor like snow.
Zara fell back off her stool, hitting the floor with a thud. She was gasping for air, her hands clutching at her chest as she stared at the spot where the jar had shattered.
“Zara!” Ethan cried out, rushing to her side and dropping to his knees. He grabbed her shoulders, looking for any signs of cuts from the flying glass. “Are you okay? Did it hit you?”
“I... I couldn't hold it,” she panted. “Fucking hell. It felt like it wanted to go back. It felt like it was fighting me.”
“It is fine,” Ethan said, pulling her into him and holding her close. He could feel her heart racing against his chest. “You’re okay. It was just a jar.”
“It was not just a jar,” Imogen said, finally turning around. She didn't look upset about the broken glass. In fact, she looked almost impressed. “That was a lot of kickback for such a small object. You aren't just moving things, Zara. You are pushing against the world, and right now, the world is pushing back harder.”
“I don't want to do it again,” Zara whispered, burying her face in Ethan’s shirt. “It was… I dunno, intense as hell.”
“You have to,” Imogen said, walking over and looking down at them. “Because next time, it might not be a jar. It might be a person. And if you don't learn how to steady that pull, or know when to throw things back, you are going to break more than just glass and probably hurt yourself.”
Ethan tightened his hold on Zara, looking up at Imogen with a look of pure hatred. “She’s done for today. Can’t you see she’s exhausted?”
“She can rest for ten minutes,” Imogen said, turning back to her table. “Then we try again. The war does not care if she is tired, Ethan. And neither does your father.”
“Don’t—“
“Ethan, you seem to forget the exact reason why she is doing this,” Imogen said calmly. “Do not, give me that look. It is for her protection which in turn is your protection.”