Family Vengeance

The nightmare always begins the same way.

"Val, where are you hiding?" My parents' voices echo through our small cottage, panic threading through each syllable.

I'm seven years old again, standing on tiptoes to reach the jar of candied berries on the kitchen shelf. "Coming!" I call out, dropping back to my heels and abandoning my quest for sweets.

Something in their voices makes my stomach twist. I know before I even reach the main room—we're running again. The bad people have found us.

When I enter, Mom's face is ashen, Dad's jaw clenched tight. They don't need to explain. I've lived this scene too many times already.

"They're close," Dad whispers, scooping me into his arms. Mom unfurls the enchanted cloak—our shield against those who hunt us—and wraps it around our huddled forms. Her lips move in practiced incantation, words I've memorized without understanding their power.

We slip out the door just as flames begin to lick at the walls of the only home I've known for the past eleven months. Another safe place reduced to ash. Another piece of childhood sacrificed.

Dad carries me with preternatural speed into the forest, trees blurring around us. But we don't make it far.

The impact sends us sprawling. When I look up, dozens of figures surround us, their faces hidden in shadow. All except one—my uncle Richard, my father's brother, standing at the front with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

"Jonathan," Uncle Richard says, his voice carrying through the clearing. "You know this little game of yours was always going to end."

"You promised you wouldn't harm her," Dad pleads, pulling me against his chest.

Uncle Richard's laugh makes me tremble. "She possesses what I need. What I deserve."

"Please," Mom begs, "leave Valeria alone. We'll do whatever you want."

"I want what she has," he snarls. "I'm tired of being merely a hybrid. I want to be a tribrid—like her."

I feel my parents communicating silently above me, a plan forming between them.

"You leave us no choice," Mom suddenly shouts, her power surging outward, sending our attackers flying backward.

"You'll pay for this, Diana!" Uncle Richard howls as he's thrown into the air.

Dad turns me to face him, his eyes filled with tears. "Remember everything we taught you, Val. We love you more than anything in this world."

"We'll find you again," Mom whispers, her hands beginning to glow with ancient magic. "No matter how long it takes."

I nod, too frightened to speak as Mom begins the spell she's been practicing for years—words that weave through time and space, words that will send me somewhere safe.

"We'll come for you," she promises.

Then everything disappears.

I jolt awake, sweat-soaked and gasping. The same dream. The same memory.

My bedroom is dark, the digital clock reading 3:17 AM. Sleep won't return now—it never does after the nightmare.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, running a hand through my tangled hair. My name is Valeria Knight. I am eighteen years old. And I am the only tribrid in existence—part vampire, part witch, part werewolf. A walking supernatural trifecta with a target on my back.

Eight years have passed since that night. Eight years of waiting for parents who never returned. Eight years of hiding what I am, of learning to survive alone.

"Another bad one?" The voice in my head belongs to Selene, my vampire aspect.

"The same one," I reply silently. "Always the same."

"We should hunt tonight," suggests Mira, my werewolf side. "Clear your head."

Thea, my witch consciousness, remains quiet but I feel her agreement. My three natures have distinct personalities—Selene is calculating and cold, Mira is fierce and instinctual, Thea is methodical and wise. Together, they're my constant companions, my protectors, my curse.

I stand and move to the window, pressing my forehead against the cool glass. The small apartment I've been renting for the past four months is on the outskirts of town—isolated enough to be safe, close enough to blend in. I've gotten good at disappearing.

Selene is right about one thing—I need to feed. It's been nearly three days, and the hunger is becoming difficult to ignore. The burning sensation in my throat, the heightened awareness of every heartbeat within a mile radius.

I pull on black jeans and a deep red top that hugs my curves—a necessary tool for tonight's hunt. Ankle boots, minimal makeup, hair loose around my shoulders. The perfect bait.

I don't teleport directly to the club—too risky. Instead, I appear in the alley behind it, checking carefully before emerging into the dim light of the street. Music pulses from inside Club Obsidian, a steady heartbeat drawing in the night crowd.

I've been careful to rotate between five different clubs in the area, never establishing a pattern. Tonight's choice is busy enough to provide cover but not so crowded that I can't isolate a target.

The bouncer nods me through without checking ID—a subtle glamour spell ensures I'm never questioned. Inside, the air is thick with perfume, alcohol, and desire. And something else—the unmistakable scent of supernatural beings.

I count at least seven werewolves, four vampires, and three witches mingling among the humans. They won't detect me—Thea's magic masks my true nature, making me appear completely human to their senses.

I slide onto a barstool, catching the eye of the bartender, Ethan. He's human, attractive in a conventional way, and completely oblivious to the predators surrounding him.

"Haven't seen you in a while, Ember," he says, using the alias I gave him months ago. "Thought you might have skipped town."

I offer a practiced smile. "Just busy. The usual, please."

He nods and begins mixing my drink—vodka cranberry with a splash of lime. I've never used compulsion on Ethan; it's safer to maintain the illusion of normalcy with him.

"This one's on me," a deep voice says from beside me. A werewolf, tall with dark eyes that gleam with interest. He slides a fifty across the bar.

"Thanks, but I prefer to buy my own drinks," I reply, deliberately cold. I can't afford entanglements, especially not with werewolves who might sense something off about me if they get too close.

He raises an eyebrow but backs off. "Suit yourself."

Ethan returns with my drink, looking disappointed. "He was hot. And loaded."

"Not my type," I say, taking a sip. The alcohol does nothing for me, but it's part of the human charade.

"And what exactly is your type?" Ethan asks, leaning on the bar. "In all these months, I've never seen you leave with anyone."

If only he knew how many I've left with—just not through the front door.

"I'm picky," I say with a shrug.

I scan the crowd while we talk, assessing potential targets. I need someone alone, preferably male, definitely human. Someone who won't be missed for a few hours. Someone whose blood won't be traced back to me.

There—by the pool tables. Early twenties, attractive enough, drinking alone and checking his phone repeatedly. Stood up, perhaps. Perfect.

I finish my drink and slide off the stool. "Thanks, Ethan. See you around."

"Be careful out there, Ember," he calls after me, and for a moment I feel a pang of something like guilt. Ethan is probably the closest thing I have to a friend in this town, and everything he knows about me is a lie.

I weave through the crowd, positioning myself near my target but not approaching directly. I wait until he notices me, until our eyes meet across the room. I don't need vampire compulsion for this part—just the right smile, the right tilt of my head.

He makes his way over, drink in hand. "Haven't seen you here before," he says, his eyes traveling down my body and back up.

"I'm not here often," I reply, letting my voice drop to just above the music. "What's your name?"

"Jason," he says, moving closer. "And you are?"

"Ember," I lie. "Looks like we're both drinking alone tonight."

His smile widens. "Doesn't have to stay that way."

Twenty minutes of meaningless conversation later, he's suggesting we go somewhere quieter. I lead him toward the back exit, away from the main crowd. The alley behind the club is dark, secluded—perfect for what comes next.

"My place isn't far," he says, his hands already finding my waist.

I allow him to pull me closer, to press his lips against my neck. His pulse thrums beneath his skin, calling to me. I can smell the alcohol in his system—he's had enough that his memories will be fuzzy, but not so much that his blood is tainted.

"Actually," I whisper, "I have a better idea."

I let my eyes meet his, and this time I do use compulsion. His pupils dilate, his body goes slack.

"You won't remember this," I tell him softly. "You'll think you had too much to drink and decided to go home early."

Then I let Selene take over, my fangs extending as I sink them into the soft flesh of his neck. The first taste of blood is always a rush—warm, metallic, alive. I take just enough to satisfy the hunger, careful not to drain him too much.

When I'm done, I seal the wound with a quick healing spell and step back. Jason blinks slowly, disoriented but unharmed.

"Get a cab home," I command. "Drink water. Sleep."

He nods dumbly and walks toward the street, already forgetting our encounter. I wait until he's gone before teleporting back to my apartment.

The hot shower washes away any trace of the club, of Jason, of the night's activities. As steam fills the bathroom, I examine my reflection in the mirror. Sometimes I barely recognize myself—the hardness in my eyes, the wariness in my posture. I wonder what my parents would think of what I've become.

I've spent years tracking down those who were with Uncle Richard that night. One by one, I've found them. Some I've killed. Others I've left alive but broken. All in the hopes that someone would lead me to Richard himself.

But he remains elusive, a shadow I can't quite catch. The mastermind behind my parents' disappearance, the man who wanted to steal my power for himself.

I wrap myself in a towel and move to the living room, where a wall is covered with maps, photos, and notes—my investigation board. In the center is a decade-old photo of Richard Knight, my father's brother, the man who destroyed my family.

"I will find you," I whisper to his image. "And when I do, I'll make you pay for everything you've taken from me."

The three voices in my head murmur in agreement. Selene, Mira, and Thea—the three parts of my supernatural heritage—united in purpose if nothing else.

I may be forced to hide what I am from the world, to reject any chance at connection or belonging, but I won't stop until I have my revenge. It's the only thing that keeps me going, the only purpose that makes sense of my fractured existence.

Tomorrow I'll continue my search. Tonight, with the hunger sated, I can finally sleep without dreams.