I couldn't sleep.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw those claw marks on the wall. They seemed to pulse in the darkness, like they had their own heartbeat. By three AM, I gave up trying and decided a hot shower might help clear my head.
The master bathroom was one of my favorite parts of the penthouse. All marble and glass, with a rainfall shower head that felt like standing under a warm waterfall. Usually, the hot water relaxed me enough to think clearly.
Tonight was different.
The moment the water hit my skin, something shifted inside me. That humming sensation I'd felt earlier returned, but stronger now. It started in my chest and spread outward, like warmth was flooding through my veins.
I closed my eyes, letting the heat wash over me, and that's when the first flash hit.
A woman's voice, screaming. High-pitched and desperate, calling out a name I couldn't quite catch.
I jerked my eyes open, heart hammering. The shower was still running normally, steam rising around me like it always did. But for just a second, I'd heard something else. Someone else.
I shook my head, telling myself it was just stress. Too much information, too fast. My brain was probably just processing everything Marcus had told me about my parents.
But when I closed my eyes again, it happened again.
Fire. Everywhere. Not the silver-gold flames I'd produced earlier, but red and orange and angry. Wood cracking. Glass exploding.
This time I didn't open my eyes right away. Something about the vision felt familiar, like remembering a dream you'd forgotten upon waking. I let myself sink into it, following the memory wherever it wanted to take me.
I was small. Very small. Someone was carrying me, running through smoke and chaos. Strong arms holding me tight against a chest that smelled like jasmine and fear.
"She's just a baby!" The woman's voice again, closer now. "Please, she doesn't understand what's happening!"
"The bloodline ends here." A different voice. Male. Cold. "No exceptions."
"Victor, please. Look at her. She's innocent."
But the cold voice didn't soften. "Innocence is irrelevant. She'll grow up to be just like them. Just like you."
Growling. Low and menacing, like a pack of dogs circling prey. But these weren't dogs. They were bigger. Hungrier.
"Elena, take her and run!" A man's voice now, desperate and commanding. "I'll hold them off!"
"Vincent, no!"
"GO!"
The arms carrying me tightened, and we were moving again. Running. But not fast enough. Never fast enough.
Behind us, a sound that would haunt me forever—a man screaming as something tore him apart.
I gasped and my eyes flew open, but the bathroom around me had changed. The water hitting my skin felt like it was burning, and when I looked down, I saw why.
My hands were glowing again. Brighter than before, bright enough that the steam rising from my skin looked like actual smoke. The shower water hissed where it touched my fingers, turning to vapor before it could reach the floor.
"No, no, no," I whispered, trying to will the heat back down. But it was building faster this time, harder to control.
Another flash hit me, and this one was the worst yet.
Elena—my mother—on her knees in the dirt, her dark hair matted with blood. Around her, a circle of massive wolves, their eyes reflecting firelight. One of them, larger than the rest, stepped forward.
When it shifted back to human form, I saw his face clearly for the first time.
Ice-blue eyes. Silver hair. Features that would become familiar to me for the next twenty years.
Marcus.
"I'm sorry it has to be this way," he said, but he didn't sound sorry. He sounded tired. "You know I can't let you leave."
"The child," Elena gasped, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. "Promise me—"
"She'll be safe. I give you my word."
"Promise me you'll tell her the truth when she's old enough."
Marcus knelt down, close enough to touch her face. "I promise."
Then he shifted back to wolf form, and I squeezed my eyes shut because I didn't want to see what came next. But I could still hear it. The wet sounds. The silence that followed.
I stumbled out of the shower, my whole body shaking. The bathroom mirror had fogged over from the heat radiating off my skin, but I could still see the outline of my reflection. I looked like I was glowing from the inside out.
"Liar," I whispered to the steamy glass. "He's a fucking liar."
The memory was too clear, too detailed to be anything but real. Marcus hadn't been Elena and Vincent's ally. He'd been their executioner.
And he'd looked me in the eye twenty minutes ago and lied about it.
I wrapped a towel around myself and stormed out of the bathroom, my bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor. Marcus's bedroom was at the opposite end of the hallway, but I didn't care if I woke him up. I didn't care if I woke up the whole building.
I hammered on his door with my fist. "Marcus! Open up!"
No answer.
I tried the handle. Locked, but that had never stopped me before. I'd been picking locks since I was twelve—a skill Marcus himself had taught me, claiming it might be useful someday.
The master bedroom was dark except for the city lights filtering through the windows. Marcus's king-sized bed was empty, the covers undisturbed. His suit from earlier was draped over a chair, but he was nowhere to be seen.
"Marcus!" I called out, louder now.
"I'm here."
His voice came from behind me. I spun around to find him standing in the doorway, fully dressed despite the hour. He looked calm, composed, like he'd been expecting this moment.
"You lied to me." My voice was shaking, but I didn't care. "Everything you said tonight was a lie."
"Phoenix—"
"No. Don't you dare call me that. Don't you dare use the name they gave me." The heat was building in my hands again, making my palms tingle. "I remember now. I remember what you did to them."
Marcus stepped into the room, closing the door quietly behind him. "What do you think you remember?"
"I remember my mother begging for my life. I remember you promising to tell me the truth when I was old enough." I took a step toward him, and he took a step back. "Twenty years, Marcus. Twenty years of lies."
"The memories you're experiencing aren't reliable. Dragon blood can cause hallucinations, false—"
"Bullshit." The word came out as a hiss, and I saw Marcus's eyes flick to my hands. They were glowing again, brighter than they'd been in the shower. "I saw your face. I heard your voice. You killed them."
"I did what was necessary."
The admission hit me like a physical blow. Part of me had hoped he'd keep denying it, keep trying to convince me I was wrong. Because believing Marcus was capable of murder meant accepting that everything I'd thought I knew about my life was a lie.
"Necessary?" I laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Murdering my parents was necessary?"
"You don't understand the situation—"
"Then explain it to me!" The shout tore from my throat, and this time I didn't try to hold back the heat. Flames erupted from my hands, silver-gold fire that danced between my fingers. "Explain why you had to kill them! Explain why you've been lying to me for twenty years!"
Marcus's expression shifted. The careful composure cracked, and for just a moment, I saw something raw underneath. Fear, maybe. Or guilt.
But then he reached into his jacket and pulled out his phone.
"Dr. Reeves? Yes, I know what time it is. I need you at the penthouse immediately." He paused, his eyes never leaving mine. "Phoenix is having an episode. Bring the strongest sedatives you have."
"Sedatives?" I stared at him in disbelief. "You're going to drug me? Again?"
"Again?"
The word slipped out before I could stop it, but as soon as I said it, more pieces clicked into place. All those times I'd felt drowsy after family dinners. The "vitamins" Marcus insisted I take every morning. The way certain memories from my childhood felt fuzzy around the edges.
"You've been drugging me all along," I whispered. "Haven't you? Keeping me docile, keeping my abilities suppressed."
Marcus didn't deny it. He just stood there, phone still pressed to his ear, watching me like I was a dangerous animal that might bolt at any moment.
"How often, Marcus? How often have you been poisoning me?"
"It wasn't poison. It was protection."
"Protection?" The flames in my hands flared higher. "Protection from what?"
"From yourself. From what you could become if your abilities fully manifested."
The honesty in his voice was almost worse than the lies. At least when he lied, I could pretend he cared about me. This felt like he was talking about managing a dangerous pet.
"Ten minutes," Marcus said into the phone. "And Dr. Reeves? Double the usual dose."
He hung up and slipped the phone back into his pocket. When he looked at me again, his expression was unreadable.
"You need to calm down, Princess."
"Don't call me that." I backed toward the window, the flames around my hands growing brighter. "Don't you ever call me that again."
"Phoenix, then. You need to listen to me. The memories you're experiencing—they're not complete. You're seeing fragments, pieces taken out of context."
"What context makes murdering my parents okay?"
"The context where they were planning to kill hundreds of innocent people."
The words stopped me cold. "What?"
"Elena and Vincent weren't the peaceful diplomats I told you about. They were extremists, Phoenix. They believed dragons were the superior species and that werewolves should be eliminated entirely. They were planning a coordinated attack on pack territories across the entire West Coast."
I stared at him, trying to process what he was saying. "You're lying."
"I'm not. Your parents were terrorists, Phoenix. They had to be stopped."
"And you just happened to be the one to stop them?"
Marcus's jaw tightened. "I was part of a joint task force. Multiple species working together to prevent a genocide."
"Convenient."
"It's the truth."
"Then why didn't you tell me that in the first place? Why the story about them being your allies?"
Marcus was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was softer. "Because you were five years old, and you'd already been through enough trauma. I thought... I thought if you grew up feeling loved and protected, you'd turn out different from them."
"Different how?"
"Less angry. Less willing to see violence as the answer to every problem."
I looked down at my hands, still wreathed in fire, and felt a chill despite the heat. Was he right? Was I turning into exactly what my parents had been?
The sound of the elevator arriving at our floor interrupted my thoughts. Dr. Reeves was here.
"Phoenix," Marcus said, his voice taking on that commanding tone he used in board meetings. "I need you to trust me. Let Dr. Reeves give you something to help you sleep, and we'll talk more tomorrow when you're calmer."
"Help me sleep? Or help you keep me under control?"
"Both, if necessary."
The honesty was brutal. At least he wasn't pretending this was for my own good anymore.
Footsteps in the hallway. Dr. Reeves's voice calling out a greeting. In about thirty seconds, he'd be in this room with a syringe full of whatever chemical Marcus used to keep me compliant.
"What happens if I say no?" I asked.
Marcus looked at me for a long moment. In the dim light from the windows, his ice-blue eyes were almost colorless. When he answered, his voice was perfectly calm.
"Then Dr. Reeves will sedate you anyway, and tomorrow we'll discuss increasing your daily medication to ensure this doesn't happen again."
The casual cruelty of it took my breath away. This wasn't the man who'd braided my hair and read me bedtime stories. This was someone else entirely. Someone who saw me as a problem to be managed rather than a daughter to be loved.
"Mr. Blackthorne?" Dr. Reeves's voice was closer now, just outside the door.
"Coming," Marcus called back. Then, to me: "Last chance, Phoenix. Make this easy on yourself."
I looked at the flames dancing around my fingers, then at Marcus's composed face. Twenty years of love, twenty years of lies, twenty years of being slowly poisoned to keep me from becoming who I really was.
"No," I said.
Marcus's expression didn't change. "I was afraid you'd say that."
He opened the door, and Dr. Reeves stepped inside. He was a small, nervous man who'd been the Blackthorne family physician for as long as I could remember. In his hand was a medical bag that probably contained enough sedatives to drop a horse.
"Hello, Phoenix," he said in that overly gentle voice doctors use with mental patients. "Your father tells me you've been having some difficulties tonight."
Father. The word made my stomach turn.
"My father is dead," I said. "Marcus killed him."
Dr. Reeves glanced at Marcus uncertainly. "Perhaps we should start with a mild anxiolytic—"
"No." Marcus's voice cut through the room like a blade. "Use the ketamine compound. Full dose."
Dr. Reeves's eyebrows rose. "Marcus, that's quite strong. Perhaps we should—"
"Full dose, Doctor. She's stronger than she looks."
The way he said it sent ice through my veins. Like he'd done this before. Like he knew exactly how much it took to put me down.
Dr. Reeves opened his bag and began preparing a syringe. The liquid inside was clear, innocuous-looking. Just another way Marcus controlled my life.
"How long have you been doing this?" I asked him. "How long have you been drugging me?"
"Since the night I brought you home." Marcus moved closer, and I realized he was positioning himself between me and the door. "Every birthday cake, every glass of milk, every vitamin pill. Whatever it took to keep you stable."
"Stable?" I laughed, but it came out cracked and broken. "You mean compliant."
"I mean safe. Safe from yourself, safe from others who might want to use your abilities, safe from becoming what your parents were."
"Ready," Dr. Reeves announced, holding up the syringe.
I looked at the needle, then at Marcus's calm face, and something inside me snapped.
"I trusted you," I whispered.
"I know."
"I loved you."
"I know that too."
"And you never felt guilty? Not once in twenty years?"
For just a moment, Marcus's composure cracked again. I saw something flicker across his features—regret, maybe, or sorrow. But it was gone so quickly I might have imagined it.
"Guilt is a luxury I can't afford," he said. "Not when your life is at stake."
Dr. Reeves stepped forward with the syringe, and I realized this was it. My last moment of clarity before they put me back to sleep. My last chance to be angry, to be myself, before the chemicals kicked in and I went back to being Marcus's perfect, obedient daughter.
I closed my eyes and let the flames consume me.
The heat that erupted from my body was unlike anything I'd felt before. Not the controlled fire from earlier, but something wild and desperate. The air around me shimmered, and I heard Dr. Reeves gasp as the temperature in the room spiked.
When I opened my eyes, both men had backed against the far wall. Marcus's face was pale, and Dr. Reeves looked like he might faint.
"Phoenix," Marcus said carefully, "you need to control yourself."
"Why?" I asked. "So you can drug me again? So you can keep me locked up in this pretty cage you've built?"
"So you don't burn down the building with innocent people inside."
The words hit home. Even in my rage, I couldn't ignore the logic. There were other residents in the tower, people who had nothing to do with this. I wouldn't be responsible for hurting them.
I forced myself to breathe, to pull the heat back inside. The flames around my hands dimmed but didn't disappear entirely.
"That's better," Marcus said. "Now, Dr. Reeves is going to—"
"No." I shook my head. "I heard what you said on the phone. 'Double the usual dose.' 'She can't awaken again.' This isn't about helping me, Marcus. This is about controlling me."
"Control and help aren't mutually exclusive."
Dr. Reeves stepped forward again, syringe ready. "This will only sting for a moment, Phoenix."
I looked at the needle, then at Marcus's cold eyes, and made my decision.
I lunged for the window.
"Phoenix, no!" Marcus shouted.
But it was too late. I hit the glass with my shoulder, and it shattered like paper. For a heart-stopping moment, I was falling forty-two stories toward the Seattle streets below.
Then my dragon blood surged, and suddenly I wasn't falling anymore.
I was flying.
Not flying, exactly. More like controlling my descent, using the heat radiating from my body to create thermals that slowed my fall. It was instinctive, like breathing, though I'd never done anything like it before.
I landed hard in the alley behind the tower, my knees buckling on impact. But I was alive. More than alive—I was free.
Above me, I could see Marcus's silhouette in the broken window, backlit by the bedroom lights. Even from forty-two stories down, I could feel his eyes on me.
Then I heard his voice, carried on the wind with impossible clarity. He was talking to Dr. Reeves, but his words were meant for me.
"Increase the dosage," he said. "Double it. Triple it if you have to. She can't be allowed to awaken like this again."
The words followed me as I limped out of the alley and disappeared into the Seattle night.
Marcus wasn't trying to help me. He wasn't protecting me.
He was keeping me prisoner. And now that I'd escaped, he was planning to drug me so heavily that I'd never be able to break free again.
Twenty years of lies. Twenty years of poison. Twenty years of being slowly murdered by the man I called Daddy.
But not anymore.
Now I was awake. And I was angry.
And I was never going back.
End of Chapter 3