"Oh, Vivianne, hi," I say as I come down the stairs. "You didn't tell me you were already on your way over."

She walks from the front door, past Adam, and toward me. I can immediately tell that they spoke, but I have no idea for how long or about what. Adam watches me. I give Vivianne a quick hug but maintain eye contact with him. There's a sense of anger building inside of me, and I have to snuff it before it catches and ignites me from the inside, burning until there's nothing left. I desperately want to know what he told her; I'm sure it has to do with keeping me in the house—or maybe he warned her about my mood.

"Well, I'm here now," she says lightly. "I'm sure we have plenty to talk about, right?"

I force a smile and Adam says, "I'll be back in a few hours. Yuke left dinner in the fridge." He glances at Vivianne and adds, "Make sure she eats."

I clench my jaw. We both know my appetite has been anything but timid. He's treating me like a child—hiring me a babysitter all because he still doesn't believe I can handle myself. Forget the godly powers, apparently they mean nothing to him anyway.

"Actually, I'm a little hungry now," I mutter. "Have a nice time, Adam. Don't hurry back."

I grab Vivianne's hand and take her into the kitchen. She's quick to question my words along with the very apparent tone of boredom laced in them, but I wait until I hear the front door open and close to speak.

"It's nothing," I say and open the fridge.

"Nothing? Don't hurry back—what's nothing about that? Did you two have an argument or something?"

I turn to her and gaze directly into her sweet eyes. "It was just a stupid little nothing, I promise. His parents are coming back and it has us on edge. We're stressed, so it's easy to get on each other's nerves."

"His parents are coming back?"

"Yeah," I breathe, "tomorrow. I still haven't completely processed it yet, but it'll be fine I'm sure. We'll be fine."

"Okay," Vivianne reluctantly accepts. "Just don't fight too much. Adam can have a short fuse sometimes, and pushing too much might cause a spark."

Vivianne watches me eat dinner after assuring me that she's not hungry. She watches with a sense of both awe and confusion. I'm sure she's never seen me eat so much; it's possibly more than she's seen me eat all together. "My appetite has been insane the past week or two," I ration, noticing her eyes following my fork.

"No kidding."

"It's probably my body making up for all the days I didn't eat because of Adam not being around."

She nods. "Sure. That makes sense, I suppose."

After I clean off a hefty plate, we sit together in the family room and talk. Vivianne lays down and pulls a blanket over herself as she updates me on Elara's condition—heartbreak in its final, yet longest stage.

"I saw her today and she seemed pretty happy. I think it's because her cousins are coming to town for Christmas, which will be a nice distraction for her."

"Have you heard anything about Eli and his mate?"

Vivianne sighs. "Not much. I send him a text every now and then to check-in, but he doesn't reply with anything good. All I get is a 'doing fine, thanks' or a 'we'll have to meet up soon.' He must be pretty busy with his mate who I would very much like to meet. I mean, it's been weeks since she showed up."

"I'm sure we'll meet her soon," I say and throw my feet up as well.

"Imogen said that she saw them in town together last week. She said she's not ugly, if that means anything."

We chat for a while longer about pointless things until I notice the time in between Vivianne's sentences stretching. Her voice becomes airy and her breathing slows. I peer over at her face and notice that her eyes are closed. "Vivianne?" I gently call. She doesn't even stir. Her hand grips at the blanket as her chest rises and falls like the water of a calm ocean. I watch it come up and down and up and down until I'm sure she's out. My movements are stealthy and calculated, and before I know it, I'm tip-toeing into the hallway. Once there's a wall between us, my body relaxes.

The antique grandfather clock sat at the end of the hall reads ten o'clock. Believing I have plenty of time, my feet swiftly carry me to the backdoor. The windowpanes on the door are frosted as an unforgiving freeze creeps in for the night, but I swing them open and venture out as if July is just around the corner.

I walk past the stump of my chopped-down fruit tree, my eyes peeled for any movement—my ears perked for any sound. The frozen grass does no harm to the bare soles of my feet, but a gust of wind tousles my hair, and when I swipe the strands from my face, I notice a light from the trees. It's a warm light; it flickers and dances like the flame of a candle. I make my way toward it cautiously, not looking away from the anomaly for one second. When I pass through the trees, I feel as if they are parting for me. I feel as if the earth and all its inhabitants are aware of my presence and stand at my beck and call.

The light grows dim, but I continue on. Soon I recognize where I am when I come upon the small clearing where I woke with newly-blossomed plants all around me. My father is there, in the middle, standing. He watches the warped ground as it steadily morphs back into the forest floor I know of. Its blackness—charring—becomes green, but will soon freeze like all the earth around it. I swallow a cold gulp of air as I realize he created this. It was a flame I saw through the trees. There was a fire that burned the ground, melted it so he could dig through like the living dead.

"Finally you have come to your senses," he says then turns to face me. "I have no patience for anyone, yet you prove me wrong."

"Please," I say with hardly a sip of air in my lungs, "you have to tell me. I need to know why I'm here. Why did you create me?"

His eyes, darker than I remember, stare through me. Or maybe he's looking at something inside of me that I cannot see myself. "So you want to know your purpose? Does having a purpose at all not satisfy you?"

"You need me for something. What is it? What am I supposed to do?"

As usual, his face is blank. My father fails to portray much emotion, yet I'm sure it is due to his lack of it. He may be here, in front of me with the body of a man, but I know that he is far from his guise. I am incapable of imagining his true form.

"My child," he murmurs, something bizarre that I've never heard him say, "when it is time for you to know, I will tell you. For now, you will accept more of your power. It has been far too long since the last time, and I am sure you are capable of more, am I wrong?"

I bite down and shake my head.

"Good. Come. Give me your hand."

I do as he says because I know I need it. I reach out my hand and he takes it with both of his. He covers it and squeezes as if I may run off. The prickling of hundreds of needles comes again, but unlike the times before, I feel it in my feet as well, as if they are rising from the dirt and puncturing my soles. He watches my face as I cringe.

He finally lets go and says, "More than usual. You waited too long. The longer you wait, the more it hurts."

"When will you tell me? When can I know?"

"Soon, Wrenley. But hurry back now—that is if you desire your mate to be kept in the dark."

I take a few steps back. My father looks off and wanders further into the forest, further into a darkness that welcomes him as if he created it. I hold my tongue and dash back the way I came. The longer I run, the more I realize how far the light really was. My heart rattles like an engine as I weave through the trees, but my perception is off, and I find myself nearly colliding with the rough trunks again and again. My body is struggling to accept all he has returned to me.

I reach the end of the forest and stumble onto the crunching grass of the clearing where Adam's house stands tall. I peer up at it and all it's glowing lights, feeling like my head is about to cave in. All of my movements cease when I notice Adam standing on the back porch.

Every organ inside of me plummets. I wasn't fast enough—I couldn't have been with my head pounding so relentlessly.

Bracing for what is to come, I straighten up and head over, enacting some sort of walk of shame. I'm afraid that I did exactly what Vivianne warned me not to do; I pushed too far.

Adam stands with his arms crossed. The hardness of his face, the bulging muscles, the betrayal in his eyes—all of it hits me, each blow harder than the last. Why can't he see that I'm doing this for him? I'm ruining myself for him. I'm taking power from the devil all to give him hope for the future. He won't have me, but at least he'll have this baby to keep his bloodline alive. I refuse to watch his pack fall apart from the boiling depths of my prison below. I'll concentrate with every last drop of my sanity to feel for a baby sprouting inside of me because it may be the only good thing I do with this cursed life. I was born with the flames of hell in my heart—I know it. And as he looks upon me now, I can't help but feel like he is beginning to see this evil as well.

The stars that sprinkle the sky sway back and forth. The lights scattered around the house bleed into the air then pull back again, breathing, nearly flashing in my face. I would do anything for him—I really would—I really am. I would dance with the devil and pledge him my soul, sign his book and cut out my heart if it promised Adam's safety.

He thinks I'm a fool. He thinks I'm choosing my father over him. I wish I could yell the truth but my throat is swelling, and even if I managed to cry it out, it would only upset him more. Adam thinks he can save me.

With two more steps, I reach the porch. I battle the urge to both vomit and cry because this feeling of the human inside of me being eaten by corruption is utterly unbearable. My father was right; I waited too long. Little did I know that avoiding him would make the acclimation process horrendous.

"I got back and found Vivianne asleep on the couch," he says. "She has no idea that you had left the house."

"W-Where is—"

"She's on her way home. I thought I would spare her from hearing this."

I try to focus on his face, but the more I try, the worse my nausea gets. The grass beneath me is either sinking, or I am shrinking a little every minute. "Please don't be upset," I manage to get out.

Is my brain consuming itself?

"You were with him, weren't you?" He questions, knowing the answer.

My eyes water. I need to collapse. I take in an uncertain breath then mumble, "Oh my god. Oh my god. I can't do this," followed by a long, tremulous whine. A memory comes to me then from a few years ago. I had a cold that I had gotten earlier in the week at school, and couldn't find it in myself to attend that day. My mom told me to take a hot shower, so I did. The steam somewhat cleared me up, so in an attempt to break my cold, I wrapped myself in towels and a heavy robe right after turning off the water. My body was very hot from the shower, and I trapped the heat in with layers and layers of fabric. Soon I felt dizzy, then the sudden urge to throw up. I began to feel so sick from overheating my body, that I tore off the layers and laid on the cool tiled floor of the bathroom. I laid there—nearly falling unconscious—and was convinced that I was dying.

And now I stand here, needing to lay down because I am sure that death is coming. All I want is to feel the cool grass against my sweltering skin, but I can't feel cold anymore. All I feel is defeat and the beading of sweat.

"Wrenley? What is it? What did you do?"

Adam comes down the steps and I grab onto him. "Stay with me," I beg, scaring myself, "please. I-I didn't think he would do anything to kill me, but—but that's stupid because he's evil. Why would he care if I die or not? C-Can we sit down? Please? Just—sit with me, stay with me."

"You're skin," he breathes, "you're hot to the touch. What did you do? Damn it, Wrenley, I told you not to go!"

My knees jolt so Adam slowly brings me to the ground. He holds me up in his arms, convincing me more that the grim reaper is almost here. "I'm sorry," I say, using the rest of my energy to speak, to say something worthy of being my last words. "I know, I know. And I'll try to act brave, but I don't want to die. I-I want to be here with you."

Panic sets in as Adam blinks away his own tears. I never thought I would see him cry, but instead of letting them slip, he suddenly picks me up. I groan—my bones aching. His heart beats so loudly; I can hear the thumping as I fight to stay conscious.

"Damn it, Wrenley. Damn it," he mutters, moving as quickly as possible. We come through the backdoors and into the kitchen. Adam places me down on the counter island. I watch the ceiling as an orchestra of noise plays around me. I feel him place things under my arms, then under the crook of my legs. He lifts my head and places a bag of something under my neck then something else on top of my forehead.

"I'm going to fall asleep," I murmur. "I don't know if I'm going to wake up. Adam?"

He covers my body in things. I feel buried.

Finally, he comes in my line of vision and says, "I'm here. Don't fall asleep. Come on, stay with me. Wrenley. Wrenley. Come on, Wrenley. Don't fall asleep. I'm right here. You're going to be okay. Okay? Wrenley, come on. Stay awake. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. I feel your temperature—it's falling. Wrenley? Wrenley don't—"

"Rest. Let your body accept what belongs to it."