Diary of the Unbroken (BOOK #4)

Brain, Heart, and Courage

Ava's POV

I looked in the eyes of my father. My eyes. So cunning and devious. Yet there was something light and familiar—almost a certain kind of kindness. That was why he had power over his people. He was a natural-born leader. The charisma, the charm—it shadowed the killing and the want for world domination and mass destruction.

Next to him was a woman—blonde with dark eyes and a sly smile. My mother.

The little girl in the picture sat on my father's shoulder, a massive smile of her face. And in my mother's arms was a drooling baby.

This was how it was—a life I didn't remember. This was how it was supposed to be. A normal family—mother, father, two kids. A normal family with normal problems. The father wasn't a power-hungry, age-old vampire. The mother wasn't a Hunter willing to hurt her own child, now dead at the hands of her husband. The oldest wasn't so dependent on finding the good in people. The youngest wasn't the bearer of such a weight.

To betray my own blood in order to save it.

After Derek's visit, I stopped staying locked up in my room or by myself. I actually spent time with my father, trying to determine just what he was planning. He was good at hiding things—that was for sure.

His cronies passed me by, only sharing a words with the leader himself.

Jessamine only ever glanced in my direction, not bothering to get to know her sister. Not that I made much effort either.

Val seemed to be avoiding me, too. When we did talk, it consisted of casual conversations, as if we were strangers. Never about anything important. I expected her to ask me about Derek after his appearance, but even that she shrugged off.

As I gazed down at the picture of the two of us and our parents—a simpler life—I heard footsteps.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Val said, standing in the doorway. "I didn't know anyone was in here. I just came to return some books."

I stood in the middle of house's library, home to hundreds of old, worn out books. I hadn't taken the time to look at them, mainly focusing on the photos sitting on one of the other shelves.

"I was just looking at these pictures," I told her.

She walked over, looking over my shoulder. "I remember that," she said. "I don't think you were even a year old. It was springtime and we had just moved in to our house in Newberry."

"They look so happy," I said, running my fingers over our parents faces.

"Well, I guess that was before all the secrets and lies."

I glanced over at her. Her expression was grim. Then she reached back to the shelf for another picture. This one was our father once again, but another little girl sat in his lap. She had long auburn hair and pressed-lip smile.

"I don't think Jessamine has changed much," Val commented. "That look, though—you used to make that face all the time, too."

I shrugged. "Well, I guess we are related."

"And that's not where the similarities stop."

I looked down the picture, nothing but father and daughter. Once again, Daniel seemed happy. Not at all the face of a man capable of murder.