Marcus' Prey

Chapter Two

Heyo!

So, finally, a chapter in Marcus' mate, Kaiah's, POV! YAY!

You get a bit of her backstory and you get to see if your predictions are correct. Plus I also have a soft spot for her, because she is nothing like the lowkey bitchy and bloodthirsty Ammi (we love her anyways tho). 

I hope y'all enjoy this, and her!

Enjoy,

E <3

~~~

My mother was not a whore.

Despite what my many, many siblings will tell you.

My mother's family died far before I was born, and my siblings held no love for her. Because of this, I was the only one to grieve her when she passed away. Cancer, they told me. Lung, fourth stage. Inoperable, aggressive.

Terminal.

Even if we'd had the money to pay for the futile treatment that would only cause her more pain, she refused. She kept working until the cancer made her too thin and frail for the "rigors of exotic dancing". Which, by the way, was a blatant lie. What the beer-bellied pig that was my mother's boss meant was that her pale, sickly form was no longer appealing to her clients. My mother's long black hair, golden complexion, and "exotic" almond-shaped eyes from her Native American heritage had once made her the most popular among the club's customers. The severance check had been poor recompense for the once constant income. Unfortunately, the hadn't made enough to put much in savings, and whatever she did put away drained quickly for everyday essentials like groceries and clothing. I'd been too young at the time to get a job, too young to drive, too young to be in charge of my ailing mother.

That didn't matter. I did what I had to.

I had counted myself lucky that I had turned sixteen shortly before she'd gotten sick. I was able to drop out and take care of her full-time. I lied, of course, saying I was going to be homeschooled by an uncle or something along those rights. My mother had tried to convince me that my studies were more important, but I was sure she secretly didn't want me taken from her. It was a sentiment we shared. As far as I was concerned, it was my responsibility to take care of her as she'd taken care of me. I kept my mother's worsening decision a secret, so we wouldn't be separated. I'd burn before I ever let my mother waste away anywhere but by my side.

But then, the doctors took it out of my hands. They called my father. A father that, up until that point, I hadn't known existed.

Yes, I knew somewhere deep in the recesses of my mind that a man had to have donated a little genetic something for me to exist. Of course I did. I wasn't that sheltered. But, whether it be willful denial or general idiocy, the thought of a father had never crossed my mind.

It had seemed like a blessing. But I'd been naïve. I was stressed out, at the end of my rope, and on the verge of crying at any moment. Nothing I had ever felt quite lived up to the emotional trauma that came with taking care of my dying mother.

My father had seemed like a superhero. He'd been tall, blond, handsome, and charming. He'd been the man every girl who'd grown up without a dad wished for at night. He'd swooped in, taken the enormous burden from my shoulders, and absolved me of any guilt while he did so. Something about those deep, dark blue eyes and reassuring smile just made my worries melt away.