Chapter Four
He’s sitting across the small shop in a large leather chair, just a few yards away. Holy shit! What the hell is he doing here? As if my shocked expression was an unspoken invitation, he stands gracefully and strolls over to my table, standing directly across from me. I realize I’ve been holding my breath since I spotted him and will myself to let it out slowly. This man will not unravel me again!
“Gabriella,” his silky baritone croons, looking down at my dumbfounded expression. “How lovely to see you again.” He is perfectly pleasant yet he seems indifferent.
I haven’t muttered a single word to this man, in fear that my speech would be incomprehensible. He’s even more gorgeous now that I see him in the light, noticing that his skin tone is more olive than alabaster. His eyes literally glitter behind long dark lashes and his black hair is perfectly disheveled. Oh, what I wouldn’t give to run my fingers through his locks, to his shoulders, down his taut back… Chill out, Gabs! Enough of being star-struck; it’s time to redeem myself from the night before.
I gather my resolve and muster every ounce of confidence within me. “Hello, Dorian,” I say coolly. There, that wasn’t so bad. “Please, sit.”
“She speaks,” he whispers, smiling.
Great, of course he noticed. But I don’t have time to dwell on his perception; I am rendered utterly senseless at the sight of his stunning smile. He holds it for just a beat as he takes the opposing chair then he’s back to mystery and pleasantries.
“I was hoping I would see you again.”
“Why?” I ask a bit too hastily, my voice sounding unnaturally high. I take a sip of my warm brew in an attempt to swallow my giddiness.
“I’m new here. You seem like a friendly face. Those are so very rare these days,” he replies without missing a beat. Even the most innocent of explanations sound like sexual innuendos falling from his lips, bathed in his deep voice.
His explanation would be feeble, and frankly, creepy from any other guy but all I feel is the warm flush of my cheeks and a deep ache from below. I look down to recover and mentally chastise myself for being so easily roused.
“Do I?” I ask looking up at him through my long lashes. What the hell has gotten into me? I don’t play coy very well.
“Oh yes, most definitely. Very friendly,” he enunciates seductively.
Ok, enough of this BS! I’m a melting pile of slush over here. “Ok, Dorian, let’s be honest. You don’t know me from Eve. Why are you really here?” I ask, satisfied with myself. I can tell my candor has caught him off guard and his eyebrows rise in surprise.
“I simply want to get to know you better. You seem fascinating,” he recovers evenly.
“I am anything but fascinating. I can assure you that.” Well… that used to be true.
“I seriously doubt that, Gabriella. Would you happen to have time to meet me later tonight? Maybe for a drink?” Ugh! There’s that smile again. He’s laying it on thick, and I’m lapping it up like a kitten to milk.
I will myself to play it cool as I mull over his question. “Possibly,” I answer, secretly ecstatic at the thought of having more time with this enigmatic stranger. Yes! Say yes! I scream from within. “Ok, sure. I guess I can do that. But you have to promise me one thing.”
“Anything,” he breathes, sending my hormones into overdrive.
“Cut the shit. I’m not some giggling schoolgirl and I don’t take kindly to games. So save the googly eyes and phone sex voice.” And with that, I stand and throw my trash into a nearby bin, and stride boldly out of the café. “And I get off at 9:30,” I say over my shoulder as I make my dramatic exit.
Hell yes! I squeal to myself. I literally dig my fingernails into my hand to keep from turning around to read his expression.
At 9:20, I retreat to the stockroom bathroom to primp for my date. I’m way more excited and nervous than I’ll admit to myself. I fish my small makeup pouch from my new tote and commence to applying fresh coats of powder, mascara and lipgloss. I expertly line my eyes, courtesy of Morgan’s tutorial, and finger-comb my waves. Waving goodbye to my co-workers, I take a deep breath before exiting out through the employee entrance.
I step out and see random store workers but no sign of Dorian. Humph, for someone so adamant to get to know me, you would think he’d be on time. I glance at my watch; 9:30 on the dot. I try to stifle my disappointment and resolve to head to my car and go home if he doesn’t show up in a few minutes. I’m not a spoiled princess but I’ll be damned if I wait around outside in the cold for some guy I don’t even know, even if he is ridiculously gorgeous and alluring.
Then it hits me…I didn’t even tell Dorian where to meet me! I was so overwhelmed by his mere presence that once again, I turned into the bumbling village idiot, totally ignorant of conventional civilities and dialogue. Good going, Gabs.
Begrudgingly, I start to fish my keys out of my purse, and panic when I don’t see them. I pat my jacket pockets and come up empty. I peer into my purse again and find them in one of the many pockets. Whew! I sigh with relief and grasp them to my chest. Deciding that I might as well call it a night, I step towards my car and nearly walk right into a broad chest shrouded in a dark leather jacket.
“Gabriella,” he breathes, his smooth voice bathing my name in warm butter.
“You came,” I stammer, struggling to gain my composure under his penetrating gaze. I clear my throat and square my shoulders. “You’re late.”
“No, I don’t think so,” he says confidently.
Arrogant douche. I look down at my watch, prepared to prove his tardiness despite my own oversight, and it reads 9:29. Crap, looks like my battery has died. I shrug off my misstep.
“Ok, then, where to?” I try hard to seem unaffected by my slip and our near collision. The thought of actually touching him excites me more than it should.
“Why don’t you choose? I’m sure you know the area better than I do,” he replies. I can tell he’s trying to seem casual, putting his intensity on the back burner for now. I smirk with triumph.
We walk down to the nearby sports lounge in the mall complex. There are plenty of witnesses here just in case Dorian turns out to be an ax murderer and I just don’t trust myself with him in a quiet, more intimate setting. Psycho or not, I may just let him have his way with me.
“What would you like to drink?” he asks, politely as we settle into a booth.
“Um, just a Coke, please,” I reply.
He raises an eyebrow at me. “Is that what you really want? Please, order whatever you like.” He sounds a bit offended as if I’m insinuating that he can’t afford it.
“Well, I’d really like a beer but you know there’s this little thing called a legal drinking age. Just turned 20, remember?” I smirk.
Right on cue, the buxom blonde waitress strolls over to ask us what we’d like to drink. She instantly flinches once Dorian looks up at her to order our round of beer. All she can do is nod in response and retreat to the bar to fetch our beverages. She doesn’t even ask for ID, and I know I look young for my age. She’s obviously flustered, and I chalk it up to his captivating glacial stare and smoldering good looks. But when she returns with the beer, I catch a hint of fear in her stance. She looks down, attempting to avoid eye contact, her small mouth fixed into a tight, rigid line. Her hands wring her small black apron until her knuckles are white. Suspicion nags at the back of my head.
“Um, an ex of yours?” I ask once the waitress is out of earshot. I casually wave my hand in her direction. Dorian tears his eyes from mine and momentarily glances at her. She almost cringes under his gaze.
“No, I’ve never seen her before in my life,” he shrugs. I’m not going to argue with him. He has no reason to tell me anything; we’re practically strangers. I let the subject drop to avoid humiliation.
“So, Dorian, what is it that you want to know about me?” I ask, and then take a long sip from my beer. Ah! Refreshing.
“Everything,” he replies in a feathery breath. Then he smirks with nonchalance, no doubt toying with me by ignoring my earlier demand. “But I’ll start with your hobbies.”
“Ummm. I actually don’t have any, really.” It’s the truth, sadly.
“No hobbies? So there’s nothing you enjoy doing?” Dorian seems intrigued. He tilts his head to one side as if he’s trying to figure out the secrets hiding behind my hazel eyes.
“Well, when the weather is nice, I like to be outdoors. You know, just soakin’ up the rays. I like to hike I guess, though I’m no hardcore hiker with gear and stuff. Other than that, there’s just not much to me,” I chuckle, nervously. I know how unintelligent I must sound but being this close to Dorian, close enough to smell the captivating scent of his cologne, makes me anxious to say the least. “What about you?” Anything to steer the conversation from me.
“Oh, you know, the usual. Reading, sports, movies, music,” he prattles. “So when you aren’t out hiking, what are you usually doing?” He's really not going to let me off the hook.
“I’m a college sophomore by day and a lowly, underpaid retail clerk by night,” I joke. “And when you aren’t seducing young women in clubs and hanging out in coffee shops all day, what do you do?” I hope he’s not put off by my playfulness.
“Seducing young women in clubs? Who are these women you speak of?” he grins back at me. Whew. Intimidatingly gorgeous and a sense of humor? Pinch me.
“Oh, you haven’t counted all those pairs of panties that every chick in that club was throwing at you last night? Or did you lose count?” I snicker. Dorian returns my crass remark with a bemused expression, his brow furrowing for just a moment. “I’m kidding! Really. What do you do?” Maybe I shouldn’t scare him off with my vulgar behavior just yet.
“Hmmm,” he smiles slyly. “I’m in Law. But I’m taking a little break. Thinking about a career change.”
“Law, huh? So like a lawyer? Impressive.” Let’s just add brilliant to his list of attributes. “How old are you anyway?”
Dorian looks deep into my eyes with such intensity I can feel the electricity radiating from them. The sparks sizzle through my veins, making a direct path to the pit of my stomach. It feels as if I’ve swallowed a handful of Pop Rocks. Then the sensation sinks down South, turning from a fizzle to an aching throb. I catch myself before I reflexively put my hands between my legs to coax my raging desire. I squeeze my thighs together alternatively.
“Twenty five,” Dorian says. His lips twitch before spreading into a cunning smile.
“Huh?” I’m dumbfounded.
“You asked my age. I am 25,” he replies. Snap out of it, Gabs! My face is red hot with shame. Somehow I think he knows my dirty little secret.
“Oh yeah,” I recover. “That’s really young to be so accomplished.” I take a long swig of beer. “So tell me, Dorian, what brings you to Colorado Springs? Business or pleasure?”
Dorian licks his succulent lips and the dam breaks in my Victoria Secrets. “A little bit of both.”
For the next hour, we engage in easy conversation, offering everything from our favorite movies to our favorite books. It’s seamless, though I find myself getting lost in his eyes every few minutes. He acts as if he doesn’t notice and we press on about childhood memories and first crushes. I am just thankful he’s eased up on torturing me with his sex-drenched gaze. Maybe he noticed that I was turning into a pile of unintelligible mush and grew tired of trying to decipher my confused ramblings. Dorian is oddly… normal, despite his extraordinary good looks.
We skim through our family life vaguely, neither one of us wanting to give too much away about our personal lives. He has one brother and I simply tell him I was adopted with no other siblings. I’ve been so caught up in our relaxed exchange that I totally forgot to check in. Crap, Chris and Donna will be worried since I didn’t come home right after work and didn’t call to inform them otherwise. They probably think I went off the deep end with the sudden turn of events in the past 24 hours.
“Oh crap, Dorian, I gotta go,” looking at the time on my cell phone since my watch is out of commission. I also notice a text and 2 missed calls but ignore them for now and shove my cell back into my purse. My time is ending with Dorian and I’m ashamed to admit that I’m sincerely disappointed.
“Can I give you a ride home? I wouldn’t want to get you into trouble.”
I politely decline then Dorian motions towards the bar, signaling for the check. The blonde waitress reluctantly strolls over and drops the small black folder without saying a word. After Dorian stuffs a few bills into the small leather black folder we make our way outside. I notice that my car is the only one left in the empty side entrance lot of the mall.
“Maybe I should be asking you if you need a ride. Where’s your car?”
“Oh, it’s around the other side of the mall,” Dorian replies with his usual nonchalance.
Noting the extreme drop in temperature, a cold shiver crawls up my spine as we step out into the frigid night air. I pull my jacket around me, hoping to dispel the chill. “Let me drive you to it,” I say between slightly chattering teeth.
“That won’t be necessary. I can walk; it’s not that far,” he declines.
“I insist. Really. Don’t you know there’s a killer on the loose?” I say, waving him over to my Honda.
For a split second, Dorian grimaces as if the thought of a sadistic murderer physically pains him. He exhales nervously and reluctantly agrees. I’m grateful because I really didn’t want to stand out here and argue with him in the cold. Then I wonder why Dorian was so hesitant to accept my offer. Was he lying about owning a car? Or could he be embarrassed of it? I reprimand myself for being so pushy and try to plaster on a reassuring smile as we ride around the backside of the building.
“It’s right over there,” he mumbles, pointing toward a department store. He really does seem nervous and a pang of sympathy grips my chest. I can spot a shadow of a car but I can’t make out what type it is. I tell myself it wouldn’t matter anyway.
I pull up alongside the silhouette and my jaw literally drops. I can see the sleek, dark frame of a luxurious sports car twinkling under the moonlight and am instantly flooded with guilt mixed with embarrassment at my mental misstep. It’s a Mercedes-Benz SL 65 AMG, a car I recognize from one of the exclusive car shows Morgan has dragged me to, or as she calls it, ‘Sponsor Hunting’. As if his looks weren’t already so impressive, now he has to wow me with his exotic, expensive car? Mild humiliation washes over me as I take in my own 5 year old, trusty Honda Civic. Of course, he’d have a gorgeous car. It wouldn’t make sense for him to own anything otherwise.
“Nice car,” I stammer. “Black Series?” I only remember the model because it was one of my favorites, being that it is elegant and sexy without being too over the top. I try hard not to seem star-struck.
“Yeah,” he mutters with a shrug. Oh geez, is this his play at modesty? I roll my eyes in the darkness.
“So will I see you again?” my mouth asks before my head can stop me. So much for playing it cool!
Dorian’s mouth turns up on one side, the movement of his lips nearly causing me to gasp aloud. “Do you want to see me again?” he asks, his silky voice sounding even more sensual in the shroud of night.
“Yes,” I answer too quickly, growing angry with my mouth for yet another betrayal. I hold my breath in anticipation and to keep from saying anything more to humiliate myself.
“Then you shall."
Dorian leans over just an inch, his alluring azure eyes finding mine, holding my gaze. With just a dim streetlamp illuminating his face, he looks so…dangerously delicious. I want him. And the realization of how deep that hunger aches within me disturbs me. I can feel the heat radiating between my thighs, the pit of my stomach quivering in expectation. I blink rapidly, breaking our reverie and force myself to focus on something, anything, other than his beauty. Or his body. A body that I want pressed against mine, limbs and tongues twisted and tangled, our flesh contortioned into X-rated abstract art…
Ugh! What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve got to get out of his proximity.
“I better get home,” I stammer. I need to get away from him yet I don’t want him to leave. I feel like my erratic emotions are being completely ruled by my hormones.
“Yes,” he breathes.
Dorian takes another long, torturous look, causing my body to squirm one last time before he reaches for the car door handle. No, don’t go! I want to scream, but for the first time, my mouth checks in with my brain and stays shut. Dorian clicks open the door and steps out gracefully. He fishes out a key and hits a button, chirping the gorgeous car to life. After a sexy smirk in my direction, he folds his muscular frame in with precision and revs it up. Then he’s gone.
I gather my bearings, totally baffled at what just went down. I barely know this guy yet I’m imagining having sex with him? And not just any sex at that. I’m talking lip-biting, toe-curling, back-scratching, no holds barred sex. I’m no virgin, but the thought of intimacy with Dorian not only excites me, but scares me. Scares me because I want him so damn badly. I’ve never wanted anyone more, and so quickly at that. Dorian feels like a designer drug; I know I’m not supposed to do it but I want to anyway. And for that reason alone, I know I should stay away. But will I?
In an attempt to regain some sense of composure, I reach into my purse and fish out my cell phone to check my messages before driving home. It’s a text from Morgan asking if I’m still alive and hopefully not too hungover, and the missed calls are from my parents.
Parents.
Just a day ago, that had a completely different meaning. If someone asked me who my parents were, Chris and Donna were the only names that popped into my head. Not Natalia and some mystery baby daddy. And since there was such an overwhelming lack of evidence that my birth parents even existed, I just assumed they were dead and even started telling people that. Now all of my unanswered questions have created new unanswered questions, leaving me more confused and frustrated as ever.
But at least there’s Dorian.
His unexpected arrival into my once drab existence has definitely been a bright spot. Something different, mystifying, for a change. And after years of pining after a guy who only saw me as his BFF, Dorian’s interest in me is more than welcomed.
An inkling of movement out the corner of my eye shakes me from my musings. I quickly turn my head to look in the direction of a group of tall bushes lining the side of the department store brick wall. I don’t detect anything strange so I look down at my phone, beginning my “I’m ok” text to Morgan. But before I can hit send, I sense movement again. Only this time, when I look, I can clearly see the bushes quivering, as if something, or someone, is in them. Just a raccoon, I tell myself but I can’t truly believe my own theory. I throw my phone back into my purse but when I look up again to put my car in Drive, I see that the bushes are no longer shaking. Instead there is a shadowy figure standing in front of them, not 30 yards away from me. It’s too dark and too far away to tell if it’s a man or a woman but I can tell that whoever it is, they are glaring directly in my direction.
Before I can reach the steering wheel, the figure is moving towards me. FAST. In an unnatural, ghostly way, it’s closing the distance between us in an extraordinarily rapid pace. What the hell? Is it floating towards me? Like frames from a horrifying strip of film, the figure advances towards me in flashes of ethereal light, each mutated frame more distorted than the last. In the split second it takes to pry my terrified eyes from the approaching shadow, I gather my bearings and hit the gas, the tires screeching against the pavement. Whatever that was, it was unlike anything I’d ever seen. Yet something about it was oddly, horrifyingly familiar.
I pull up to my house in record time, thanking God for no red traffic lights or police cars in my path. What the hell was that? Before stepping out onto the driveway, I check around and behind me, ensuring that the coast is clear. Then I book it down the stone path and up the three stairs to our front door. I feel slightly foolish as I close and lock the door behind me and sink to the floor, suddenly exhausted with fright.
“Hey, Kiddo, is that you?” Chris calls from his study. Crap. He’s waited up for me. I pick myself up off the floor and kick off my shoes.
“Yeah, Dad, sorry I’m late,” I call out, reluctantly making my way down the hall to him, passing numerous family and school photos hung on the walls. A hallway of memories. It all seems like someone else’s memories now.
Chris is at his large oak desk, only the light from his computer illuminating his handsome face. He looks tired and I know I’ve worried him with my tardiness. He looks up at me and grins, little lines crinkling at his brown eyes. I know all is forgiven. He seems melancholy and a pang of regret squeezes my chest.
“Went out after work?” he asks. I can tell he’s dancing around the real issue. The issue of my biological mother and his part in the concealment of her existence.
“Something like that,” I shrug.
He probably thinks I stayed out because I wanted to stall our conversation, and he’s partly right. We stare in silence, neither of us knowing how to broach the subject. On one hand, I want to know more about my mother, the Light, and this new world of magic that I’ve been thrust into by birth. How does Chris fit into all this? Is he supernatural too? How does he feel about all this Hocus Pocus, being the straight-laced, no-nonsense guy that he is? Only one way to find out.
“So you knew my birth mother,” I say. It’s not a question but it’s the only way I know how to get the ball rolling.
“Yes,” he replies curtly. Ok, this is going to be like pulling teeth. I make myself comfortable and plop down in the chair across from his desk.
“Did you know what she was? Right away?”
“No, not right away. As your mother, I mean Donna, and I became more serious, it was brought to my attention.” Chris drums his fingers against the arm of his chair anxiously.
“And how did you feel about that?”
Chris pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, contemplating the answer. Then he rubs his weary eyes. I brace myself for the worst; he must’ve hated being coerced into all this.
“How did I feel?” He looks up at the ceiling and then returns his earnest gaze to me. “Your birth mother gave me the opportunity to meet the love of my life. And then furthermore, I was given the honor to love and protect the most beautiful, curly-haired little baby girl I had ever seen.” His solemn expression morphs into a heartwarming smile and my apprehension melts away.
My new knowledge of my birth mother must be incredibly hard for them. Maybe they’re afraid of losing my love. And with the discovery of a birth mom, comes the discovery of a birth dad. In all my confusion, I had hardly considered their feelings. They must be just as scared as I am.
Instead of launching into the interrogation I had rehearsed in my head, I get up and walk over to Chris and wrap my arms around his broad shoulders, giving him a heartfelt squeeze. He’s been my dad my whole life and I honestly could not imagine anyone else replacing him, blood or not. I can feel him instantly relax and before either one of us becomes emotional, I release him from my embrace.
“Goodnight, Dad,” I grin. He answers with a smile of his own and I turn on my heel as I notice his watery brown eyes. I’m not emotionally strong enough to see him unraveled.
I retreat to my disheveled bedroom and flop noisily on my bed, exhaling the day’s events. Donna’s Wiccan revelation, Dorian showing up at my job, having drinks with him after work, the eerie parking lot phantom… it’s been a helluva day. That was no crazed homeless person in the bushes outside the department store. Whatever it was moved in a way unlike anything I’ve ever seen. It was ghostlike. Alien, even. The thought chills me to my core and I shiver uncontrollably. Seeking comfort, I look at my mother’s book, resting on my nightstand. Surely whatever attempting to accost me tonight would be something she would know about.
Before I can flip to that page where I left off, my cell phone perks to life, indicating a text message.
Unknown, 11:46 PM
-Are you ok?
I usually ignore all unknown phone calls but an unknown text? Who would have my cell phone number? I know I haven’t given it out lately. I think about hitting Delete but my curiosity gets the best of me.
-Who is this?
-Dorian.
Damn. Amazing how one name can hold so much weight and instantly make my heart jump into my throat. A big, goofy ass grin spreads across my face. Wait, how did he get my number? Stalker alert! Maybe Jared is right. Maybe Dorian really is a creeper. A ridiculously sexy, alluring, gorgeous creeper that I wouldn’t mind being accosted by in a dark alley.
-Yes, why? How did you get my number?
-That is not important. You are safe?
Okay, now he’s freaking me out. Why would he think otherwise? He was long gone by the time that freaky apparition-like figure came out of the bushes. Right? I quickly text “I’m good” and plug my phone up to its charger, putting it on silent.
As much as I’d like to chat with Dorian, I can’t shake the unnerving feeling that something is wrong. Whatever was out there tonight was out to get me, I’m sure of it. Not only that, there was something strangely familiar about it, though it was obviously otherworldly. Why didn’t I ever notice these things before? Never in my 20 years have I ever seen something nearly glide across a parking lot, not to mention with such incredible speed. It was mostly blurred, though I could visibly make out its eyes. Deep, vacant, icy eyes, fixed on me with violent intensity.
I shudder and pick up the book, finding where I left off the night before. I indulge myself in Natalia’s account of her days living underground, preparing herself for her encounter with the Shadow. She was smart; it was two against one and she knew they’d have a chance to overpower her. Her plan was to have them come to her, on her grounds. No one knew the forests better than the Light, especially Dark Hunters. The Shadow would be disoriented, sitting ducks for her to take out at will. I was enraptured in her account and couldn’t wait for her to strike, putting a permanent end to her vile pursuers. My mom: bad ass, strong and cunning. She was the epitome of everything that I’ve ever wanted to be.
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I anticipate the Shadow’s arrival as I perch high upon the trees. I can sense them; hear their voices echo through the still night air. I crouch silently in expectance of their approach. Though it is dark, I can see them perfectly. I can see the tops of their dark, glossy hair and dark suits. I’ve heard of these two. They have a reputation for being exceptionally brutal and proficient assassins. No Enchanter or Dark Hunter has ever lived to tell their tales of carnage. They are, of course, gloriously handsome but their beauty is a lie; an accumulation of stolen souls and siphoned magic. They kill without mercy and supply their constant need for more magic to refuel. The thought infuriates me and I thirst for the vengeance of the countless lives taken to feed their greed for power.
I wait for my chance to strike yet when I prepare to leap down, something stops me short. A force, beckoning me, calling to me. I look down only to lock eyes with an endless pool of pale blue irises. He doesn’t look angry or vicious; he looks intrigued, curious even. Virtually silent, I leap down and face him. His looks are striking, unlike anyone I’ve ever seen. I know the Dark uses hypnotism on their prey but being a Light Enchantress, I am impervious to their charms. He doesn’t flinch, nor make an aggressive move. We just stare in silence, mere yards apart. It seems like we’ve been eyeing each other for hours. We are foreign to the other. Alien. I’ve never actually been this close or this peaceful with a Dark One, not to mention the Shadow, being the pack of ruthless savages their reputation boasts. But this one is different. Peaceful. Resigned.
The other Dark One calls out from a far distance, speaking in their native tongue, asking if he has found anything. Many Light Enchanters do not understand their language, but I have been versed in it as part of my training. A moment passes, and he responds, informing him that there is nothing. His eyes never leave mine. They are searching for something in desperation. And then just like that, he turns and flits towards his partner. And they’re gone.
I’ve never forgotten that night. Not only did my life change but the entire existence of our kind was forever altered. This was the first night I laid eyes on your father.
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My father. My father was a Dark One. An assassin of the Shadow. My father was a cruel, callous Warlock who killed innocents for their magic. He manipulated people’s minds to gain wealth and power. He frequently pursued Dark Hunters, like my mother, and took pleasure in their suffering. My father was the enemy. My father was the embodiment of evil.