Prologue - Ad Vitam Paramus
Dante DelVecchio woke to the soft sound of clicking coming from the kitchen. Sound travelled in this small house; the walls were thin. Her dad was probably reloading a tray with clips. He did that each morning. But it was the middle of the night, which meant he was going hunting in a couple hours. Dante hated when her dad went hunting without her. And she wasn't talking about buck hunting.
She sighed, pulling herself out of bed and walking down the short hallway, her feet whispering over the hardwood floors. She was barely three steps towards the kitchen when her feet were frozen. Winters in Montague, Nashville weren't terribly frigid, but since they'd arrived two weeks ago, it had alternated between rain and wind. Sometimes both at the same time. She hadn't seen the sun in two weeks.
She sat down at the small table opposite where her dad stood with his open duffle bag. She watched his trained fingers expertly load the bullets. "When?"
"Two hours."
She sighed, looking away, before going to the stove to make chamomile tea. She moved around the kitchen only to keep her hands busy. Shame it didn't help keep her now wide awake mind busy too. She started to clean the dishes in the sink; a chopping board, fry pan and two plates and cutlery. An empty carton of eggs stood at the end of the bench. The only thing her dad knew how to cook was an omelet.
If he had his way, that would be all they ate. It was enough eggs to drive a girl insane. If she wanted something other than omelets for breakfast, lunch and dinner, she had to make it herself.
"I'll do that," he said. "Go back to bed. You have school in the morning."
"I don't mind," she said, looking up into his haggard and weary-lined face. His face was cleanly shaven and his black and grey hair was cropped short, like always; a left-over habit from his time in the military. His face was long, his eyes hooded and hard. "I could play hookey and come with…?"
"Not this time."
She frowned. Since they'd come to Montague, he hadn't let her come along. He wouldn't even let her drive the pickup or carry the ammo. And she had no idea why. She could only guess; he was hunting something bad. Too dangerous for her to be a part of.
Which, to her, meant he needed all the help he could get. But he didn't see it that way.
She sat back down, sipping at her tea and scalding her tongue in the process. She glared at the offending liquid, warming her fingers around the mug. She brought her knees up on the wooden chair, resting it there. Her curling, frizzy black hair fell around her face, obscuring her green-brown eyes. She did that when she thinking things over, or when she didn't want anyone to read the expressions on her face. Her face was an open book – that, she got from her mum. Right now, she didn't want her dad to see the irritation written all over.
One of the only features, aside from her hair, that she got from her dad was the colour of her eyes. The round, wide shape of them, her heart shaped face, her small mouth and nose and her delicate neck she got from her mum. She wished she looked more like her dad. She couldn't even remember her mum and she had no desires to look like the woman who, however unintentionally, had left them alone in this life.
Her well-muscled thighs and biceps, however, she got from the training her dad made her do. Which she did without complaint. She'd rather be strong and able to hold her own, then dainty and useless.
"So…" he cleared his throat uncomfortably. Her dad wasn't the smoothest with words, and he wasn't all that into the hug-gy, talk about your feelings, emotional stuff. But he tried, ever since mum died. And she appreciated it, as awkward as it could get. "How's…school?"
"Fine." Boring as hell. Pointless.
It was hard to take algebra and grammar structures seriously when you knew what was out there, stalking them, hunting them, killing them. This was the business she was entering into. But her dad didn't want this for her. He wanted her to go to college and become a nurse, or an accountant, or a teacher. Something safe. Or, safer. No one was really safe. It was one of the few things they disagreed on.
"Made friends?"
"Yep." Not one; just like the town before this one, and the town before that.
How was she supposed to make friends knowing they'd be hitting the road in a couple weeks, Montague a small blimp in the rear vision mirror of their beat up, old pickup? Sure, she could lie to herself; maybe this time we'll stay longer. Maybe this time I'll actually develop a relationship with another human being besides my dad before we leave.
But she wasn't all that into lying to herself. And really, she didn't need anyone close enough to notice the occasional bruises on her arms, legs and back. They didn't need people asking questions – that always led to trouble for them.
And she didn't need friends. She could get through the day easily enough. It was the night that worried her. It was the night where most of the real shit happened. But her dad seemed to think differently, so she let him believe that she'd made friends. Technically, it wasn't a complete lie; that one guy – Trevor? Tristan? Trent? Something beginning with a T – had invited her to sit with his friends at lunch. She'd considered it for a millisecond, before deciding she didn't feel up to giving them her life story. Well, her fake life story, anyway. It was tedious, repeating it over and over again every couple months.
She took another sip, the tea significantly cooler now. Her tongue felt funny from being burnt.
An hour and a half, another cup of tea and some toast later, Mark DelVecchio was heading out. He grabbed his duffle bag with one hand despite the obvious weight to it and ruffled her hair as he walked past her to the door. "Love yah, kid."
"Dad?"
"Yeah," he turned slightly, his eyes already occupied with thoughts on his upcoming job.
They had an unspoken rule; no teary goodbyes, no blubbering, no sappy moments. They were tough and strong and focused. Emotions would only get in the way; emotions were a weakness. It was a rule she stuck to, because he needed it; needed to know she could look after herself. And if she got teary-eyed every time he went on a hunt without her, she'd probably have lost most of the liquid in her body. It didn't mean she didn't worry though.
"Remember to guard your flank when you strike; you know you always leave it open when you're tired," she said snarkily.
"Smartass," he muttered with a grin.
"And don't you forget it," she nodded proudly, a self-important smile on her face.
He walked out the front door and she could hear the engine start up, puttering, before the tires squeaked slightly as he peeled out onto the road. It'd seen its better days, but it was trustworthy, and her dad had repaired the engine so it wouldn't be breaking down on them anytime soon. That was the last thing they needed in the middle of a jam.
"Don't die," she whispered.
It was more of a prayer than a plea.
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