Children of the Fallen: Bloodlines (BOOK #3)

Chapter 1: Relief

Hey! Welcome to book 3, Children of the Fallen: Bloodlines

Would recommend reading the first two books or you'll definitely be confused.

Warning: There will be violence, some sex, uncomfortable topics, and morally questionable characters

This final books gonna be a rollercoaster ride of emotions hope you enjoy:)

<3

TW for chapter: mention of SH

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Morgan Sinclair

There was a feeling of relief that came with losing everything that I was. A practically addicting repose from the pain mixed with this thrill and pure contentment once I stopped fighting.

I used to always think that I didn't know who I was but I think it'd be more accurate to say I didn't know my place in the world. Maybe I couldn't name every aspect of myself but who I was lied with who I knew. My relationships- my family and my friends, and in losing them I completely lost myself.

I had stopped caring about the people I harmed, the lives I ruined or ended- human or otherwise. I needed to for my own sanity. You do something often enough eventually it starts to hold little to no significance.

I did what was expected of me and I gave into what I wanted or what came natural to me- maybe a little too much at times and especially in the beginning of my reign. In my defense, what I am and what I was raised as are blatant contradictions of each other. It was ingrained in me to think that what I wanted- what my body wanted was wrong. For 20 almost 21 years I had everything I am kept away from me, leaving me in the dark while physically I felt like a feeble lethargic mess. Grayson once told me that power is a seductive beast and he wasn't wrong. Having none to having it all... I mean when I was given the opportunity to revel in it, I took it. I bitched and complained and tried to convince myself that I hated it but the majority of me didn't. I was just too afraid to admit it because what would others think of me?

I used to care way too much about the opinions of others. I was a people pleaser so I berated myself over my actions, feelings, and thoughts because I had it in my head that if others- regardless of their relationship to me- saw me enjoying or having any positive emotions towards what I was doing then they'd hate me. And God forbid people hate me. The feelings of others trumped any feelings I had but once I stopped apologizing for being a vampire and let go of those people pleasing tendencies, life became much more fun. It's very freeing to be able to do whatever I want, whenever I want without the restraints of caring about other peoples perceptions of you.

However, the one thing holding me back from being what Lucien perceived as "perfect" was my relationships in general. That's where I experienced the most pain. Not with killing, or torturing, or anything of that nature but my feelings for the people I cared about. I didn't want to let go of them, I held on for the longest time even when I actively tried to let them go. My mind and body was screaming at me to surrender them but my heart and soul said no.

They were all I had left, the last piece of myself I could recognize from before Lucien and for me- that was the most important piece. Some latched on harder than others, especially my family but by the time I killed Dane most were little more than echos of feelings. With Dane gone, that last tangible connection I had was severed and Lucien had activated my marks for 9 days straight. I broke. Everything in me came to an agreement- it was time to let go. If it meant I'd never be in that kind of agony ever again then they'd all mean nothing to me.

It took almost 4 years to tear everyone that ever meant anything to me out of my life for good. I sunk into Lucien's thinking: they were vulnerabilities waiting to be exploited and I can't afford any vulnerabilities. It was better this way. Easier.

The only thing that remained was a void where they all should be. It wasn't always noticeable, most of the time I couldn't tell it existed. For years I had only felt unburdened and free, thankful that the pain was over but then I visited my family for the first time 10 years ago and I've since been too aware of it and its ever growing presence. Only worsening, becoming harder to ignore.  

It's like these things I thought I had killed within myself, that I was certain were long dead and buried crawled out of their grave just to force me to live with them. What I can only describe as a deadness- spreading and rotting inside of me only leaving behind a vast emptiness that I can't fill.

Not for lack of trying. I'll do anything to make me forget about it or fill it temporarily even if it's only for a fleeting moment. I've accepted that I can only feel like a whole alive person for brief periods of time because anything more is impossible for me achieve.

Pain is a favorite vice of mine. It's easily accessible and something that wouldn't be observable due to my quick healing body. It reminds me that I'm alive and gives me something I can feel. It may be physical but I'll take what I can get. Blood does as well- makes me feel alive and intoxicated in a way alcohol could never but something about pain effected me in a whole different way. A more self destructive level- something that blood can't reach. Blood is needed to survive; do I overindulge? Yes. Is it more fun, more of a game to me? Absolutely, but at the end of the day it's a necessity. Pain? Quite the opposite.

A punch or a kick connecting with my face or my body. Skin burning away layer by layer. The way bones break, shatter, splinter, or snap- I could go on and on. It's all comforting in some twisted way. I guess 4 years in almost 24/7 pain courtesy of my father I'd find some sense of comfort in the familiarity of it. My only gripe with pain was that it's temporary. My body heals. Fast.

Now back inside Victoria's palace, as I finally wash off what remains of the blood of my family I feel this all consuming pain and it won't. Fucking. Heal.

It's crushing my lungs and constricting my throat. Tying my stomach in knots and forcing my heart to beat out of my chest, all the while I can't see the source of it.

I scrub and scrub trying to make it go away. I'd happily go back to walking around internally dead than whatever this is. Watching the crimson substance go down the drain and off my skin- out of sight, out of mind, except it's not going away. I hated that pain was temporary but this... this pain I don't want it. I don't want to feel this.

Tears begin to well in my eyes making my vision blurry.

Weak.

Anger surges in my veins and impulsively my fist connects with a tile on the wall of the shower shattering it.

This is emotional. I don't do that. I don't do this- I don't cry in the shower. I don't let my emotions dictate my actions, I haven't in a long time. It's stupid. It's childish. It's weak.

I glance down at my knuckles on my right hand, watching the tiny cuts heal. Shouting, I punch the tile over and over and over again until blood runs down my arm and drips onto the shower floor. I reach my severely broken hand out under the water, momentarily stinging as water hits the open wounds which close over seconds later. I crack whatever bones need it, back into place and look around me.

The back wall of the shower is destroyed, shards of tile and blood scattered on the floor. As I stand under the scalding hot stream staring into nothing my mind falls silent for a split second. A few seconds of solace until everything comes crashing back. The tightness in my chest and my stomach, the cloudiness in my brain, the anger, the sadness. It all comes back. I sit down away from the shattered pieces of tile, curling my legs up and letting the near boiling water hit my back.

There was a feeling of relief in losing everything I was. Whatever it is that has clawed it's way to the surface, I want it gone. I want that relief back.