Dear Fang

Chapter VI

“It is a wise father that knows his own child.”

-William Shakespeare

-2005- St. Pierre Manor, Ulm, Deutschland.

“What’s the lesson you’ve learned today?” The man asked me, settling into his office chair in the vast library of the St. Pierre manor. His handsome features were weathered with age and his hazel eyes were devoid of feeling. Breaking eye contact, he unscrewed the lid from his crystal decanter and poured some cognac into a glass. Sipping it leisurely, he once again looked at me with raised eyebrows.

I stood in front of him, my tattered clothes looking out of place in the elegantly furnished room. My facial expression mirrored that of my father as I heaved a heavy sigh, stretching my bruised limbs out leisurely, never breaking his gaze.

“Well, daddy,” I elongated these words smoothly, my voice velvety, “I learned to never show mercy on the damn prey,” I referred to my opponent, “when I fight,.” I knew that my answer did not help the situation I was in, as my father absolutely did not condone street fighting.

His not liking it was part of the reason why I did it.

He drew a sip of his drink and set his glass down, gazing at me, his eyes dead serious. Then he started speaking fast. “Dear daughter-” he paused. “As I see it, underground fighting is for those pathetic lowlives, the very scum that the world has the misfortune of being acquainted with. As you are aware, I absolutely will not stand for your self destructive extracurriculars and as long as you do so, my name will not be tied to yours in public.” He emphasized the last part. “But,” He paused and leaned back in his leather chair, “I cannot deny the fact that you are of my own blood and with this being said, I will teach you one thing.” He slowly rose from his chair, elegantly, making his way to stand in front of me. He fisted his hands and held them up in a defensive position.

“When in a fight,your eyes will never leave your opponent. Regardless of what is happening outside of the fight, your eyes will stay focused on your opponent, analyzing his every move, predicting his next step.”

He crouched towards me and swung his fist with such agility that it almost hit my face. Ducking in the last moment, I raised my leg in a high kick, which he promptly dodged. Catching my leg in mid air, he flipped me to the ground and had me in a headlock in a split second.

“No matter the move your opponent makes, you will always be able to deflect it and gain the upper hand. Remember one thing, Naima. You can always use your opponent’s blow to your own advantage.”

Those words of his rang in my mind, as I soon began to take on a new approach to fighting.

And since then, I had never once lost.

But true to his word, my father refused to acknowledge me in public for years to come.

________________________________________________________________________

-Present time-

My head was spinning. I knew for a fact that Annabelle was either lying or entertaining some sick  deluded fantasies about this whole thing.

I mean, in what world could such an atrocity be viable. Fallen angels were not the same as vampires. I mean, there was the lack of wings for one. And the irrational cravings for blood as well.

I. Did. Not. Believe. Her.

But that was just the problem.

Even though I knew that this whole thing was too crazy to be true, I still had the slightest inkling of doubt that maybe--just maybe Annabelle was telling the truth after all.