Fortier: Blood and Moon

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It didn't take us that long before we were there. I took her the one place I knew the Bertrams would never look for her: my old house. You could probably call me crazy, but I wasn't. I knew what it meant to bring a Bertram into the house of Zeidans.

They would rather devour her before they help, right? Wrong. This is where I come into the picture. Not even my father would underestimate my powers and my influence. He will resist, but eventually, he will do as I want.

I'm not going to lie, if there ever was a reason to fret and be nervous, it was then. His hatred for the Bertrams spewed and dwelled within his heart for thousands of years, this was no small matter. I kept thinking just what insult would he throw my way, but it was better to find out for myself.

Poor Petra, I couldn't bring myself to tell her where I was taking her, seeing how her father is scared shitless of us, I can only imagine what she would feel being this inexperienced and young, she had to be no younger than six hundred years old. I understand that to humans this seems a lot but to someone like me, it is as if she was born yesterday. But alas, the time came, when we stood before the gates to our compound. I knocked, the door opened.

I took slow but steady steps, out of respect if anything at all for the memories that I had when I grew up here, but it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows. This was a gruesome place where the offspring of a monster would go on his own accord and become one, himself; make no mistake, this was no happy place for me to be.

I took comfort if only for that face that greeted me.

“Alfred? Is that really you, son?” my mother said, as she took a long and hard look at me, I was carrying Petra as well. My heart jumped at the sight of her. But that is supposed to be normal right? For no matter how foul a monster can be, it will always bear respect for the womb that carried him. Those who disrespect their mothers? Let's just say I'm coming for them, as well.

“Yes mother, would you be kind enough to take her off of me? She could use a bath and a change of clothes,” I said before I handed Petra to her, who at this point was too tired to move a muscle, let alone speak.

My gentle mother nodded and picked her up as she was holding her own child. I saw no difference in her behavior. Perhaps she didn't recognize her, after all.

But so soon after she had Petra in her arms, I couldn't resist and I went in with an embrace and laid a gentle kiss on my mother's cheek, ah how warm she feels. I could tell my mother was taken back, as I seldom showed any sign of empathy. But then again, I haven't seen her for a long time.

“Are you okay, Alfred?” she asked, as her beautiful eyes rolled towards me.

“I'm fine, mother. Just help her get on her feet quickly. She has to go home,” I said, before the door leading to my father's chambers caught my eyes. “Is he waiting for me?”

“Yes . . .” she mumbled before she turned around and went on her way. She stopped for a moment and took another look at me, and could see a fire in my eyes that shone through. She knew I wasn't going to say whatever my father wants to hear. Being the youngest, I've always been a rebel, after all. But what is perceived as being a rebel? Is it to question simply the wishes of those older than you? If so, then society as a whole is one big lie.

I went straight towards the door, and halted only to take a look at my mother, she was locking her gaze with me as well. “Be well, son,” she said before she turned around again.

I knocked. “Father?”

“Come in,” I heard him say from behind the door.

“What did I miss?” I asked as I approached him. He sat in his chair; that one was special, though. It was the same chair that my grandfather sat on, and his before him. So it was more of a family tradition than anything.