Page 3 of Beautiful Madness

“I was maybe three years old,”I said. “I’d been running, and I fell and cut my knee. My father came to helpme up and wiped away the blood with his hand.” And I was almost giddy withrelief. That was a good memory. It proved my father wasn’t a monster.

“But why were you running?” Thewolf elder asked, his voice little more than a murmur, smooth and dark andquiet.

Ofcoursethey knew.They knew what was in my head because the vampire elder had shoved his handinside my chest, and maybe I had no secrets. Not from them.

And just like that, Iremembered the rest of the story.

Chapter Two

It was my third birthday. Wewere playing a birthday game. A training game. It was a birthday gift, thoughwe trained every single day. Sometimes my father trained me. He’d given me alittle sword, and I liked his training. It was fun. But mommy’s training wasnever fun.

I was running because I wasbeing chased by a monster. That monster was unformed, a hulking, terrifyingshadow in my hazy and dim memories. But I remembered the absolute terror.

And the coldness. It was sovery cold. My feet and legs were bare—I wore only a t-shirt and a pair ofsleeping shorts, despite the frigid January temperature.

“Bad things will happen ifyou allow yourself to be caught, princess. You can’t survive this world if youcan’t elude capture. They will hunt something like you. They will kill you.”

But I was a little girl, and Idid get caught.

Every single time.

Sometimes I got caught by abear. Sometimes a wolf. Sometimes animals I had no name for, and all of themwere cruel, terrifying monsters. Never a dog, though. Not once.

“Stop crying, princess,” mymother had said. “Our kind don’t cry. Warriors don’t cry.” She leaned over andgot in my face. “Killing machines don’t cry. What do they do?”

I’d wiped my eyes. “They kill.”

“Fucking right. Now get up, youspineless little bitch. Right now you’re weak, but I promise you I’m going tochange that.”

But suddenly daddy was there,and he wiped the blood from my leg and then lifted me off the ground. I put myarms around his neck and shut out the sounds of him and my mother arguing. Itdidn’t matter. I was safe with him. I would always be safe with him.

I didn’t want him to leave, buthe did. He always left, and that night was no different. He left me there withher, but she was calmer, and she didn’t hurt me. Not then.

He’d given me a present for mybirthday. A stuffed bear. I’d hated it, for obvious reasons. I remembered thathe tucked me into my bed and kissed my forehead and told me that someday,things would be better.

“Mommy is sick,” he’d said.“She got hurt once, hurt in ways not even she could heal from, and she isn’tright. Madness sometimes takes control of her.” He’d tapped my forehead. “Wedon’t want the same thing happening to you. The outside world will hurt you.”

“Why will they hurt me?”

“Because of what you are.”

“A girl?”

He’d smiled. “Yes, but thereare other reasons. You have to be strong. Can you do that for me?”

“I’ll do anything for you.”

“That’s a good girl.”

“I’ll protect you, Daddy.”

“I know you will. You promisedmommy, didn’t you?”

I was fierce in my determination,and I loved him more than anything in the world. Someday he would take me andmommy to live with him. He’d said he would, and I believed him.

I loved my mother, as well. Iwanted to make her happy. I wanted her to be proud of me. I wanted her to loveme—and if only I could be stronger, she would. But I kept failing. I keptmaking her angry and she had to punish me.

It was my fault. She told meso, often, and I believed her.