S.H.I.f.T

Now is the time

“You called the witch?” Reginald looked down his long nose at Krystal. She finished folding a shirt. Looking up at the man she had once loved, she snorted.

“You think I summoned her?” she hissed back.

“My son, OUR son, is out there in danger. Do you think she didn’t do something to him to alert her to that?” Krystal huffed. The fire in her eyes shut the vampire up.

Reginald backed away. “He’s stronger than people think he is, but weaker than Mori wishes him to be.” He muttered, looking out the window.

“You have it all backward, as usual.” Krystal snorted.

“What?” Reginald turned his blood red gaze upon the woman. Krystal gave him a rare smile. She hardly ever let him see that upon her face anymore. It had been what drew him to her...

“Nagisa. He isn’t just a little boy. He isn’t just a vampire warrior. He isn’t just some...” She waved her hand around.

“... thing!” she spat out.

“No, he is our son. A boy I have no real connection to.” Reginald sighed. He looked back toward the open field.

They couldn’t see much past the dome, but he could hear. He had been listening to his children fight out there alone, without him. He hated this feeling of not being able to help. His gaze landed on his eldest son. Marcus. Marcus was back in his fighting gear, but for how long. He turned away again, not sure where to allow his gaze to land.

Nagisa. The boy was a mystery to him. Yet, he never felt more proud of any of his children than he did that one. Nagisa lived his own life. He didn’t let others tell him what to do, who to love, who to brefiend. Hell, he had a werewolf best friend! Nagisa was the type of person Reginald had always wished he could be. He followed his own beat, as Reginald’s own father often told him.

Nagisa was so much like Krystal. Head strong, heart worn open on their sleeve. Yet, there were times, small glimpses in his life, that Rsginald had seen his younger self reflected in the boy. The choices Reginald had made had led him down a dark, lonely path. Nagisa was too bright, too vibrant to ever live a life as his father had done. That boy stood up for what he believed, even if he was wrong.

Something smacked the back of Reginald’s head. He spun. The wicked looking witch laughed at him. He growled low in his throat, knowing she heard him. The fire leapt into her coal black eyes as she regarded him with merth. Reginald signed. Of all the witches in the world, Krystla had to appeal to this one.

“What are you going to do to save the boy?” he demanded.

“I’m already doing it.” Aradia commented.

She was leaning against the wall, the young wolf held in her arms, was asleep. It looked peaceful there. Reginald groaned out the next words.

“It looks like you’re on holiday!” He cried.

“What one sees, and what is, are often two very different things, young Reggie.” Aradia commented.

Misty came to take the wolf back. She eyed her once partner. “Back off, Reginald. You’re acting like a caged bird.”

“Because he is. His young is out there fighting while he chose to stay back here, safe.” Aradia grinned.

“I didn’t choose!” Reginald had to stop himself. The witch had her ways of getting under his skin.

“He stayed because of me. They are all afraid of me, once more.” Marcus muttered.

“Afraid of? Or afraid for?” The witch tapped her long, dark, painted talon nailed against his chin.