The Beast

Chapter Thirty-One

Hemorra paced the length of the small room, concerned thoughts over her father consuming her. She would have gone to her hideout house, but it was too close to the castle. It would only have made her more anxious to be there with her father and his fate so close without being able to do a thing about it, or at least being too much of a coward to do anything about it.

"You know," Raela spoke up from the corner, "he's not going to come back any faster if you do that."

"I know," Hemorra said shortly, still pacing. "I can't help but worry, though. He's my father."

"He's my father, too, but you don't see me pacing and muttering like a madwoman," she replied coolly.

Hemorra halted her steps, facing her sister. "How can you be so calm about this?"

"I trust his skill," Raela responded with a shrug. "You should, too."

"Of course I trust his skill," Hemorra said weakly. "But I also don't underestimate that of the...monsters."

Raela said nothing.

Hemorra studied her sister questioningly. "Why are you here?"

"To make sure you don't do anything stupid."

Hemorra believed her, but it still seemed like an excuse. "You're worried about him too, aren't you?"

Raela said nothing again, neither confirming nor denying the claim.

Hemorra sighed, then turned towards the door. "I need to get out. You can follow me if you like," she said, leaving without a glance behind.

She hopped onto the street, immersing herself in the crowd. She walked aimlessly down the many winding roads, her eyes taking in everything and nothing, forcefully trying to avoid thoughts of her father, but only thinking more of him in the process. Every little thing reminded her of him, no matter how far-fetched the connection would seem.

She started to feel guilty for having avoided him more and more as time had passed. He was her father; she should have involved herself with him more. Maybe then, he wouldn't have felt the need to go to that stupid castle, or at least, she might have been able to dissuade him. Maybe if she was stronger, braver, she might have gone to the castle herself. If she was just more like her sister...but even her sister hadn't gone.

Suddenly, a somewhat familiar voice broke her out of her tortured reverie. She stopped, turning about in the middle of the street as passersby shoved and shouted at her for being stationary, their complaints going unnoticed as she strained to find the voice's owner.

There he was, golden blond hair shining in the sun like a beacon, swarms of young ladies fawning and cooing sympathetically over him.

"Yes, those creatures were a force to be reckoned with. And what's more, they had the souls of the damned on their side that night. Sadly, none of my men made it," he said with mock sadness. "But I avenged them as best as I could. I fought off and slayed many a beast, but there were far too many to take on myself. I would surely have worked myself to death, had I stayed to fight them all."

Hemorra froze, dread and horror washing over her. Dead? Was her father truly gone? Without thinking, she fought her way through each one of those perfumed, silk-laden women until she was right in front of the nobleman, grabbing him by the collar of his fancy shirt to see her tear-streaked face.

Lord Celic instantly recognized the red-haired beauty, unsure of how to handle her sudden madness. He wondered how he had not recognized her insanity earlier. The signs had all been there. She had shown no interest in his person, denied his gold, and insulted his status. Now she was manhandling him in public, clearly in hysterics, though it did not detract from her fair features, surprisingly. He found her as beautiful as ever, but her behavior was simply unacceptable.