It was a new day, but there wasn’t anything good about it. The Do-Over was done, and I struggled to live through the aftermath. I purposely hung around New York City longer. Part of me had hoped to run into the Siren again. Instead, I played voyeur watching Sybil carry on her life with Torin by her side. I even checked in on Colton with his… Whatever the fuck he called his significant other. It was my way of saying goodbye to my old life.
But it had been two months. I had to face the unfortunate truth and return to Falls Creek. Needless to say, I wasn’t expecting fanfare. Honestly, if residents knew what had happened, they would probably celebrate—happy to know that the thorn in their sides had been dethroned. I was as relevant as an eight-track cassette at a party of millennials.
Standing in my hallway, listening to the silence, I realized how my life had changed and, like I said, not for the good. No staff greeted me. Neither did the members from my stable. This truly sucked. I was alone, and it wasn’t a status I enjoyed.
“Can’t say I didn’t warn you, son.” My father walked up behind me.
“Thought I smelled brimstone,” I quipped. “What do you want?”
“Just a reminder that this results from your boorish behavior.” His voice was condescending and full of arrogance.
Automatically, my hand fisted. Those were the times that my dark side—the night terror that protected me—fought to emerge from its hiding place. I was the only fool dumb enough to even consider going up against the King of Hell.
Instead of striking him, I asked, “What are you blabbering about?”
Father stood in one spot like a demonic statue. “Would you like to know what’s changed since 1989?”
“Maybe,” I mumbled. Actually, ignorance was a blessing. Was it too much to ask for one as a demon?
“First, your wife has remarried. My grandson doesn’t remember you. And all of those females forced to share your bed are gone, too.”
I shrugged my shoulders and walked toward my study. None of that was news. I saw Sybil and Colton. It didn’t take a genius to discover my stable was gone either. What it took to deal with this shit was a stiff drink or two. Reaching the bar, I grabbed the bottle of Devil’s Mark and twisted off the lid.
“Do you want one?” I asked, not really caring. It was a polite gesture, nothing more.
Father stopped beside me, picked up a bottle of vodka and a glass, and poured his own drink.
“Since when did you start drinking that?” I only owned the vile liquid for decoration. I knew no one who actually liked the taste.
Sybil used to drink it.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish