18

kaira astor

* w a r n i n g *

"All we need is the truth," Father mutters, fixing the cuffs of his navy blue buttoned-up shirt, his gold rings glistening under the faint basement light. I fold my arms across my chest, heaving out a huff of air. It's always just the truth, and then it extends to the memories of the crime, and then it furthers to memories of previous crimes. Until the criminal's brain is partly fried, and I can barely see straight, barely remember my own name, barely think through the pain throbbing in my head. If this is what it takes to keep Dax as my personal guard, I'll do it. "Name?" I lean back against the dusty wall, throwing one ankle over the other.

Pushing his hands into his pockets, he presses his lips into a thin line, as if seeing me go through this worries him. He cares, but he cares more about being the Alpha. This is his duties, and I have duties too. "Peter Smith." I almost gape. Certainly doesn't sound like a criminal name. What does a criminal name sound like then? my subconscious rolls her blue eyes. My head dips into a soft nod. The tension grows, and I run my tongue over my teeth, lowering my gaze. The question rests on the tip of my tongue, needing to be prepared, needing to know what I'm going to see.

I clear my throat, narrowing my eyes. "What did he do?" I whisper, my fingertips digging into my arms. I've seen the worst, witnessed the worst, but there's always worse. Shivers crawl up my spine, resting on the nape of my neck. I don't meet his gaze, keeping my eyes on the dirt, on his shoes, on my shoes, on the pebbles littering the ground. He exhales a long breath and I suck in a sharp one, waiting. "Peter Smith broke into Mrs. Queen's bakery, stole the money and when she tried to stop him..." He trails off, bile rising in my throat.

These are always one of the worst. Knowing that there was no reason for him to do what he did to her. Knowing he didn't have to do what he did. Now she's going to be the one traumatized for the rest of her life. She's going to question every person walking through her bakery doors. "He denies it." It's not a question. I wouldn't be standing here if he confessed. Lifting my eyes, I meet my Father's gaze, his eyes swimming with concern. My eyebrows smooth out and I clench my jaw. I'm in control of this situation, I have duties. This is what I have to do. He steps forward, resting his hand on my shoulder and squeezes. "We only need the truth, nothing more." His voice falls to a comforting edge, washing through my ears and my shoulders drop in relief. The same tone he'd always use when he saw the sadness roaming my eyes, or when he'd peek under my bed for monsters when I was a child, or when I fell from my bike when I was eleven, scoring my first ever scar.

My head falls into a nod and I push off the wall, dropping my hands to my sides. My eyes flick down the hall. "No guards today?" It's not unusual for my father to dismiss them whenever we're busy with this, but the case isn't as serious. Running his fingers through his hair, his eyes slide to the door. "Figured we'd be safe doing this alone and that you'd be more comfortable," He lifts his broad shoulders up into a shrug and sends me a soft smile. "You haven't done this in a while." He doesn't mention the time I went into the basement, or he forgot about it.

My father knows more about my ability than I do. A thought stumbles through my mind. Zyran. "Dad," Tucking strands of hair behind my ear, I blow out a breath. "Is it possible for someone to... resist my ability?" I blurt out the question before I have the chance to talk myself out of asking. I need to know how I can touch him without him being affected by it. My father's eyebrows cave in, his eyes flicking between both of mine as he studies my expression. "No, it's not." He pushes one hand into his pocket and averts his gaze, thinking. "Except if they have their own ability, of course." He shrugs his shoulders and I fight the urge to gasp. Own abilities?

That's not possible, I would've noticed if Zyran had any. "But, the only ones that do have abilities were chosen by the Moon Goddess and would either be an Alpha, or be next in line to become one. Like you." He gestures toward me and a shiver rolls down my spine. Zyran is a guard. From Lendorr. My mind is spinning, bursting with possibilities. "Are you ready?" Breaking through my train of thoughts, I blink, shaking away the thoughts and shove it into the back of my mind. I need to concentrate, I can't be thinking about this right now. I turn toward the door, waiting for him to unlock it.

A beat passes between us and I square my shoulders, the keys rattling and clinking as he searches for the right one and when he pushes the metal into the keyhole, he swings open the door. Sending me a glance over his shoulder, he steps inside, and I follow behind, closing the door. The same room, the same bloodied floor, the same chair, the same smell, the same chains-- just a different person. I take in the man chained to the chair, his blonde hair matted with dirt and crimson, his one eye swollen shut, blue and purple bruises littering his cheek and jaw.

He's a lanky man, skinny and tall. Hunched over, he startles when my father pulls a chair from the side of the room, the metal legs scraping against the concrete floor and my nose wrinkles. I hate that sound. "Peter Smith," My father drawls out, sinking down into the chair opposite the man. "Twenty-five years old, born on the fifth of June, in and out of foster care, high school drop out," He starts listing off all the information he has about him and I can't help but feel a pang of sorrow. Most of the men and women who sit in this chair didn't have the best upbringing and did the things they did for food or money to survive. I press my lips into a thin line, my father's voice muffled to my ears as I lower my gaze.

I've never enjoyed this, even in the slightest. It doesn't feel fair. Especially if I have to pull memories from their minds."Kaira," He calls for me and I glance up, squaring my shoulders. What they do to others isn't fair either.

----

My fingers dig into his thin shoulder, my teeth grinding together as pain throbs through my head. The man underneath me shakes and writhes with sobs, pulling at his restraints as I dig my nails into his skin. Blurry images flash through my mind and I squeeze my eyes shut, digging deeper.

"Open it." Peter demands, the silver glint of a knife catching my eyes as he gestures the sharp object toward the cash register. "Do it right f*****g now, before I gut you like a pig, lady." He sneers, staring down at an old, trembling lady. Her gray hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. Her blue eyes well up with tears as she holds her shaking palm to her chest, pure terror flashing through her hues as she glances between the knife and man.

"He had a knife." I almost gasp out the words as I give my father all the information he needs. My body overflows with heat, the feeling so overwhelming that my vision turns white. I inhale sharp breaths through my nose and exhale through my mouth, my other hand falling down and grasping the material of my shirt between my fingers.

She falls against the wall, tears streaming down her face as she lifts her arms, trying to shield her head. "If you just f*****g listened to me, bitch." He grunts out, crouching down in front of her. Cuts litter her ashen face, her eyebrows caving in with pain and fear. A surge of satisfaction floods through me. "After I'm done with you," He slants his head to the side, holding up the knife, crimson smeared over the blade. "I just might go say hello to your daughter upstairs." A sob rips from the lady's throat, her face scrunching up as she shakes her head, pushing into the wall. "No, no. Please." She gasps out, and I'm not sure if it's from pain or fear.

"I-- I gave you everything, you took everything," Her voice is weak with helplessness. "You took everything from me," She says it as if she means more by it, as if he took more than just money. "Please leave her out of this." Her entire face scrunches up, crimson trickling down her face. "No," Peter says simply and shoots forward.

I yank myself away from Peter, tears streaming down my face and I shake my head rapidly, overcome with every emotion. My knees buckle and I fall to the ground, scooting back to the wall. It's as if I did those things. As if I said all those things. "Death." I gasp out, my hands flying to my face. "He deserves death."