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4 Son of a demon

Asepsis movement = a group of commoners that hates supernaturals

Oracle = a commoner that can talk directly to Selene (Moon goddess)

***POV - Zagon

A man with a hard face is sitting on one of the chairs, his focus on the laptop screen on the small table before him.

“I just have to finish something quickly.” He doesn’t even look up, so I stroll around to the large windows to look at the view. Then a flash on the glass draws my attention. It’s a vague reflection of what must be displayed on his screen, just clear enough to make out.

“I’m sorry, will only be a minute.” This time he looks up halfway at least.

“I’m in no hurry, I’m admiring the view.” And I’m way more interested in what you’re doing, demonant.

He scrolls through some pictures of blonde girls, their species written in big black letters above the picture. Funny thing … they all seem to be wolves. Underneath each photo is the words ‘false - killed’.

These must be the kidnapped girls that have been all over the news lately. Close to 100 girls so far, all found burned to a crisp just a few days after their disappearance. The strange thing about what I’m seeing is that they’re all one species and even more the word ‘false’. Why would the girls be labeled like that? Are they looking for the ‘true’ ones? And how would a ‘true’ one differ from the ‘false’ ones?

The demon seems agitated about something, maybe because they’re having difficulty solving this case. Then he clicks on a new file, I can barely make out the title as ‘suspects’ (thank the skies for super-demon-sight), and this time the photos are all male, and all vampires. The man scrolls impatiently through them, his face an angry mess.

Why would vampires kidnap these girls? Are they feeding on them? Strange cause vamps usually are not fond of wolf blood. And why kill and burn them? Maybe to destroy evidence.

Then a dark face flashes across the screen and it feels as if someone drops a bucket of ice water over my head. My eyes are glued to the window from where the photo is smiling as if provoking a reaction from me. Then the Demonant deletes the photo from the file as well as the ‘recycle bin’.

He curses and slaps the laptop closed, removing the mirrored image on the glass. I turn around and for the first time, our eyes meet. He gestures for me to take a seat opposite him.

I pick up the rather thin file that he drops onto the table in front of me. He leans back in his chair and leisurely crosses his legs.

Slowly I open the file, expecting to find some information about why I’m here, but it only contains images of myself and my family. I read the info, but it’s just the usual stuff: my birthday, zodiac sign, eye color, and so on. As far as I can tell it doesn’t contain any information about my biological father, the letter, or any prophecy for that matter.

I close the file impatiently. Why the hell am I here?

“Zagon A.n.d.e.r.s.o.n,” the man says cynically as he pulls out my surname. Yeh, that is the surname on my birth certificate, but I’ve never used it … wasn’t allowed to. Later I realized that lots of supernaturals prefer to be a single named entity. So I became Zagon … just Zagon.

“It’s actually only Zagon.”

He looks a bit surprised but continues as if he wasn’t rudely interrupted.

“… the youngest brother of three, but the only one with the ‘different’ gene.” He air-quotes the word ‘different’. Is he trying to rattle me out? Waiting for me to tense up and make a mistake? Well, I don’t like being played, so being my normal fucked-up self, I feel like poking the bull (or in this case the demon) to see how far he can be pushed.

“Yeh, mom always said my father knotted his wiener when they made me and therefore I’m special.” I give him my best innocent smile and it hits a nerve, his eyes turn dark for a moment. Not a fan of comedy it seems.

Does he know the whole story? Or is he fishing for information? Either way, I have to be careful what I say.

“You don’t have any contact with your oldest brother, Ethan. I can only wonder why?”

“Probably because he’s not a fan of us,” I answer as if I’m talking about the weather. Well, Ethan and I never truly connected, not even when we were young - him being brainwashed by our … his father, forcing his beliefs onto his son since birth, didn’t help. And after the incident … well, let’s just say he got WAY worse. He broke all ties with me and eventually also Luan.

“Did you know he’s now one of the leaders of the Asepsis movement?” I didn’t know that. Not that I’m surprised – I guess joining a supernatural-hating group, after everything that happened, makes perfect sense.

“I can see why. He did lose everything because of you, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” It’s true, Ethan suffered a lot, but he was a hater even before it all, now he’s just a bigger hater. Especially of me.

“You however stay with your other brother, Luan … the turned-wolf. You’re lucky he survived. How old was he? 18?”

I nod, not sure where this conversation is heading. Yes, Marrok turned Luan when he was 18, and yes we’re very lucky he was one of the 5% that miraculously survived a wolf turning, but it had to be done and it’s not illegal when done with consent.

That said, it still was one of the most difficult decisions we ever had to make, but Luan is the kind of person that gets into trouble constantly, and no matter how hard Marrok and I tried to protect him during hunts, he repeatedly got seriously hurt. So turning him was the best way to keep him safe. We considered making him a vampire (because the transformation is simpler and safer) but Luan has hemophobia so that was not going to work out for obvious reasons.

“You met your BFF, Marrok when you were around 12, is that right?”

That’s right yes, I stumbled upon him during one of the adventures my nonbiological father forced on me – one of those icy wilderness outings when I was just left in some brutal no-mans-land to fend for myself. I just nod again, trying to figure out what he wants from me exactly.

“Your mother and father were murdered soon after, leaving you three on the street.” He looks at me as if he’s expecting me to say something, and then after a few seconds, he continues his seemingly well-prepared speech.

“They never did find their murderer, did they?” I turn my head to the side to compose my emotions, then I look back at him.

“No.” I look at the woman with huge soulful chocolate eyes, smiling lovingly from the photo in the file. I’ve never seen any love from her, but she was still my mother, or more accurately - the woman who gave birth to me at least.

“Pity, she was a very beautiful lady,” he smirks as if he has a few aces up his sleeve. I put on my poker face, let him believe he has the winning hand for now.

“Your father put you through loads of shit I’ve heard – is it true?” I’m still not answering. My youth is not a subject that I ever dwell on, so I’m not extremely happy that he’s bringing it up. I’ll let him continue, for now, wanting to know what the endpoint is. But he better get to that point quick – patients is not one of my strong points.

“Shit doesn’t even begin to describe my upbringing,” I say sternly to close the subject. Hell, I don’t think there is a word that adequately describes the daily battle of excruciating pain, severe torment, maltreatment, and abuse, over and over again. I’ve experienced every form of torture you can imagine during childhood.

But with the bad comes the good. I never expected to be thankful for anything step-daddy dearest did to me, but all the abuse, mistreatment, misery, and pain shaped me into what I am today. Each punishment made me stronger, better, more heartless. I learned to resist pain, be focused, and most of all have control over my body, my mind, and my beast. I became an expert on controlling my emotions, myself, and everything else for that matter.

I smile grimly; if the douche hadn’t croaked a few years ago I might just have thanked him for all the lessons.

“Okay, I guess you probably know that you didn’t get your special gene from your mother…”

‘Shit, what a bloody genius statement,’ I think sarcastically to myself. Everybody knows that females can never carry over the demon gene. But I stay silent and let him continue.

“and you probably know your father wasn’t the real deal … “

I swallow down my smile and bite my cheek not to roll my eyes. This time I can’t help but give a snotty remark.

“Dude, the man was a commoner – it’s kinda obvious.”

And now the hairless demon looks like a sure candidate for suffering a stroke. He slams his hands onto the table, his face inches away from mine. His breath smells like anchovies and eggs and I pull my nose up but try to hold the connection between our eyes. His orbs slowly turn dark.

“Do you know who your father is, boy?” He drags out the last word, his voice low with a hint of hate latched into it, the fishy smell reminding me about this girl in elementary school that tried to kiss me. What an unimportant shitty memory to suddenly jump in my head. I keep my mouth shut, my eyes emotionless.

“Your real father … do you know who he is?” He’s still leaning forward, obviously waiting for an answer. I act innocent, faking ignorance.

“No idea,” I say.

The man nods his head and the corners of his mouth pull down. He bought it. Now for some more acting. I break eye contact and start massaging my temple with my left hand.

“So your mom never told you?” his voice is now insecure. Great. My acting paid off. I continue the parade.

“She never talked about it.” Well, it’s sort of the truth – mom never told me who my real father was. She once said that he chose her because of her DNA or something. And that she got paid to have me. Yeh, like most of the things in my life it doesn’t make much sense.

“Are you kidding me right now?” He seems upset. Some more acting. Super skills, what can I say. I’m awesome.

“Maybe a one-night stand that she wanted to forget … who knows.”

“Look, Zagon, if you know you can tell me. You can trust me.” He straightens his body and starts pacing up and down the room. Yeh, as if that’s ever gonna happen. Dream on dude. But I need to convince him for sure.

“Don’t you think I would have made contact with my father by now if I knew who he was?” I can see in his eyes that he’s thinking about it … and then he looks disappointed. He bought the lie.

“O.K. So we’ve established that you know a lot about me, but who are you exactly? I mean, you’re telling me to trust you and everything …” I suppose I should have asked this question the moment I saw him, but rather late than never.

“I’m Desmond Lux.” I look at him for a few more seconds. His whole demeanor seemed to have changed.

“We need to find out who your real dad is. It’s important,” he says, still sounding a little disappointed.

“Why?”

I cock my head to the side not sure what I’m supposed to do or say. Then I look him in the eyes again and he stops in his tracks.

“Because you have that mark on your face. The proph … “ he quickly stops talking as if he said too much and his eyes go black again, but just for a second.

“Yes?” Was he gonna say prophecy? I’m trying to pull some more information from him, but he’s closed the subject.

“Nevermind.” I know I’m not going to get anything more from him today, so time to end this conversation.

“Why am I here?” This meeting has dragged on far too long for my liking.

“Yes, I guess it’s time to get to the point. I need you to find a target. This girl needs to be dealt with as quietly as possible, so you’ll report only to me.” He pushes another file laying on the table over towards me. The word ‘Oracle’ is written in thick black letters on the cover. I pick it up and look inside.

There’s a photo of a chubby blonde girl. My heart skips a beat or two, and I stop breathing. Maybe I should start re-evaluating my whole outlook on fate – on her forehead is a blue moon tattoo!

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