(Please read Theron 1 before moving on to this book)
A stranger washes ashore on a deserted beach.
With no memory of who or what he is, the only clue he has to his identity--the only thing he recalls from his past life--is a single, solitary name:...
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"I want the boy," my mother declares.
The whole ride to the airport has been silent up until this point. Other than an occasional sniffle from me, there is only the sound of the road and the exotic scent of these leather seats to keep me company.
And here I thought she was quietly contemplating how to get me out of my ten year sentence... stupid me.
Just one more thing to add to the list of idiocies I have believed in the last year.
"What boy?" I ask, half heartedly. I don't exactly care what she wants. I am drowning in my own misery and don't have the capacity to entertain whatever the hell she's obsessed with now.
She never tears her eyes from the window. I, myself, am sick of this fucking scenery. If I never see another snow covered mountain in my life it will still be all too soon. She rests her chin on her hand, "Imagine how powerful the blood of that child would be... what we could use it for?"
I've lost my patience at this point, "For fuck's sake mother, what child are you going on about?"
"Theon," she looks at me as if she shouldn't have had to explain further before returning to her window.
Our limo has pulled onto the tarmac and is awaiting our departure from this torturous vehicle in this hellish state of this boring country but my mother doesn't concern herself with time. "His name means hunter... no doubt named after his father, Theron," she continues as if any of this matters to me; as if I have a say in anything she does. "If the father was the Lone Ancient, then that means this boy is the only one of his kind in the world--a baby created of two Ancients! What power must course through those veins..."
I am appalled, too slow to comprehend the magnitude of what she is implying, "You're talking about sacrificing a child?"
A wave of nausea hits me as I witness her shrug one shoulder carelessly, "It was just a thought." As if murdering a child was as simple a decision as what we were eating for dinner tonight.
I can't be assed with her today.
"And it better stay that way, mother," I warn her. "I barely left with my life! If you even think about harming that boy, twelve different kinds of hell will reign down upon us and all I really want is to go home and forget this ever happened. I'll serve my time and--"
She slaps me across the face.
My cheek instantly burns like searing fire and I wince as I gently cradle it to lessen the pain.
It doesn't work.
I wish I could say it was the first time she has used this technique to shut me up but that wouldn't be the truth.
"Learn this and learn it well, Eve," her eyes are violet gemstones, glowing with pure fury and determination, "You are a DuBois, and we do not bow down to anyone--least of all to a bunch of hairy moon fucking mutts! They have no magic! They cannot control us! If you are going to take my place one day, you need to think outside the box."
"Bleeding a child isn't thinking outside the box, mother." I rub my cheek gingerly, "It's barbaric."
"It's the bigger picture that counts."
"And what is that exactly?"
"I don't know yet, but I will consult the book when we arrive in Barbados."
"Fine, you do that but leave me out of this. I want nothing to do with anything that involves those wolves ever again."
"Oh, Evie," she pats my hand, her voice is soft and sweet and a lie. Her eyes are back to their normal green color making her look more motherly than she really is. It is her snide comment that reminds me she feels nothing for anyone but herself, "I would never involve you. You can't do magic, remember?"
