Martinez and Kyroll went their separate ways shortly after Grulah brought them another round. They did not talk much other than Kyroll explaining the deer-like animals they would be hunting and where they would be.

The Human left before Kyroll finished his next round of drinks. It wasn’t like Kyroll really wanted Martinez there as is. He tolerated his presence at best and despised it at worst; at least he was not directly attacking or referring to him by some slur.

Once back at the house, Martinez found that it was as dark as the forests surrounding the compound. Instead of waking Nelya and bothering her with a late-night update on the issues with Kyroll, the Human went to bed.

Moving as silently as a ghost, he circumvented the main building and scurried into the guest house, wanting to hurry because the snowfall was increasing in intensity by the moment. Once inside, Martinez brushed off the fresh powder and entered the bedroom.

Lysa was already curled up under the blankets, the moonlight only letting him glimpse her pale skin. Her plush coal-black lips and hair shined brightly in contrast to the other shadows around her.

Once he stripped and was inside the covers, he chuckled slightly. Even when she was passed out, Lysa instinctively snuggled up, having shimmied closer, pressing her bare back to his chest and sighing contently. Wrapping her waist in his arm, Martinez joined her in beatific comfort and quickly fell asleep, savoring the company of his gothic angel.

Martinez wished that the talk with Kyroll was the worst part of the night, but no, his dreams were far worse.

He spent the night delving in and out of consciousness, being constantly awoken by his frantic mind, imagining Kyroll standing over him and cutting him down time and time again.

Strangely, unlike his typical nightmares, the method of his execution was not always the same. Each time the weapon or method changed: tossed off a cliff, shot with a rifle, throat slit, fed to wolves, beaten to death, garroted, hung by the neck, and countless other more twisted, slow, torturous methods.

By the time the witching hour rolled around, Martinez was half convinced it was God warning him to be cautious of Kyroll, but that might just be his own biases talking—even he could not ignore that possibility.

If it was anyone else subjected to this torment, it might have been concerning, but Martinez was used to restless nights dealing with nightmares of his past; that and each time he woke up from tossing and turning, Lysa would cling to him, pressing an overwhelming feeling of safety and comfort that slaughtered any baleful specters after a few minutes.

The next morning, the thing that pulled Martinez from slumber was not the winds of winter battering the window, or the wan light shining on his face, but a gentle nudging against his neck.

Forcing his eyes open, feeling like he was weighing anchor, Martinez was welcomely greeted by Lysa, who was straddling him beneath the covers. Her warm, nude body pressed tightly against him, her body practically melting against him. At the same time, her four ruby-red eyes stared at him, barely visible through her shiny coal hair.

“Good Morning to you, too,” the Human smirked, still tired but conscious enough to clutch at her muscular hips, pulling her up slightly higher.

“Indeed, may I? I am feeling a bit peckish,” Lysa purred, licking her lips.

It was odd. Lysa had been craving a lot of blood lately, an abnormal amount even for her. Hemopacks, his succor, or even fresh animal blood Nelya had at the house were never enough, no matter how many liters she consumed.

Part of Martinez wondered if she might be going through a growth spurt. His lover was only in her mid-twenties, and female Aviex and Humans could still be growing at her age. But he doubted it was that; having a growth spurt was so statistically irrelevant that most people did not consider it a possibility.

Her hunger was not causing any issues for now. Unless she started feeling sick, Martinez assumed it was likely just a stress response. He had seen plenty of Marines suck down food like no other just before deployment, so that made sense to him. And she had plenty to be stressed about.

“Yeah, it’s not a problem Ruh'ah,” Martinez whispered, kissing her head.

“Thank you. I don’t know why I’ve just been ravenous as of late,” Lysa whispered, scooting up and out of the blankets, letting them fall off her entirely and onto his thighs.

Lysa gently bit down on Martinez’s shoulder and started to drink his blood. Just as usual, she moaned and clutched tightly to his shoulders while her lover held on tightly, letting a feeling of safe acceptance flow down her throat.

As she drank more blood from Martinez than was likely healthy for him to lose every morning or night, neither noticed the sound of the guest house's exterior door open nor the soft plodding and chipper humming traveling down the hall. They were too enraptured by the other to care.

They did not notice until Nelya opened the door to their room and exclaimed at seeing both of them naked with her daughter drinking Martinez’s blood.

“Oh my, am I interrupting something?” Nelya giggled, feigning covering her eyes.

The second Nelya spoke, Lysa’s head snapped to the door, and her face flushed as red as the blood on her lips. Martinez likewise blushed a deep red and pulled the covers up, covering Lysa’s bare back up to her shoulders.

“Mother, you could at least have knocked,” Lysa groaned.

“It’s nothing I haven't seen before,” Nelya teased, leaning against the door frame and adjusting her cardigan. “You have seen myself and your father Mordain plenty of times.”

“That’s not the point,” Lysa replied hurriedly, wiping Maritnez’s bloody shoulder off with the blankets, uncaring that she would have to launder them later.

“Well, if you are worried about Henry, worry not; he might as well be an Aviex in many ways. There are a few he is better in—at least from what I saw,” she finished with a wink and a subtle eye shot toward where their hips were meeting.

“Mother, don’t say that!” Lysa bemoaned, sinking beneath the covers, trying to hide from her embarrassment.

“Nelya—” Martinez interjected, feeling Lysa trying to crawl off him to use his body and the blanket to hide from Nelya.

“Yes, little hunter?” Nelya smirked, popping a hip out and giggling at her daughter's light suffering.

“Is there something you need?” Martinez said, trying not to slightly laugh to relieve the awkward tension of having who might be his mother-in-law see his johnson.

“I just wanted to tell you two that breakfast is ready. I also packed you and Kyroll some food for your expedition,” Nelya smiled. “But I will leave you to it; take all the time you want. I still want those grandkids,” she finished before closing the door and slipping out.

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For Lysa’s part, hearing her mother insinuate that they should resume earned a pained groan. Yeah, they both knew that Nelya wanted grandkids and was not shy about it. But that was a bit too forward, even for Lysa.

Once the door leading out of the guest house closed, Martinez lifted the covers and chuckled, seeing Lysa cupping her face and blushing so hard even her ears were showing it. “So, do you want to continue?” He teased.

“Henry, please don’t,” Lysa whined into her palms.

“Sorry, I just wanted to tease you a bit,” Martinez assured, gently rubbing her shoulder.

Lysa sighed and shook her head. They teased one another often enough, and she supposed this was only fair after dragging Martinez into the sauna on his first day here.

At least her Mother would not go squawking to others about seeing her naked, moaning, and drinking Martinez’s blood. Nor would she likely bring up what she saw of her Ruh'ah to her writer friends or anyone else for that matter.

“Come on, let’s get dressed before she decides to return,” Lysa said, hurrying out of the bed and standing. “What did Mother mean by your and my Father's expedition?”

Martinez got up and out of bed and began explaining the agreement between Kyroll and himself while they got ready for the day ahead. Martinez packed a small backpack with enough clothes for their planned three-day trip.

Martinez was not incredibly happy about leaving for three days, nor was Lysa. Her desire for him not to spend that much time alone with Kyroll was evident in a few sharp growls while he spoke.

Lysa included in her reasoning that Martinez would be alone with Kyroll for multiple days while he was armed and was days away from assistance.

Martinez fully understood the danger of what he was agreeing to do. But he would make it through the event. Kyroll could not shoot him in the back and get away with it.

The police would quickly figure out what happened, and Lysa would throttle and likely kill her Father. Then there was Nelya; she loved the man, but even she would not turn her eye away at blatant murder.

There was no way Kyroll would be so stupid as to think either of them would accept if he Mozambique drilled Martinez in the back.

After explaining those factors, Lysa was somewhat assured that he would survive the trip and that Kyroll genuinely wanted to attempt to reach out to him and her. But the underlying distrust was still there, festering like an old wound.

When Martinez said Kyroll would apologize and reach out to her before they left, Lysa scoffed at the idea until Martinez explained that he agreed to apologize to her before they left on the trip—under the threat that they would leave entirely if he did not.

“There is no possible scenario in which he genuinely will do that,” Lysa argued, wrapping a dark purple scarf around her shoulders and brushing her hair out over the top of it.

“Nah, he said he would, and we know if he does not, we are leaving,” Martinez replied, tossing on his jacket.

“We shall see about that,” Lysa rolled her eyes, not believing that man had a single ounce of introspection in him.

—--

Lysa sat in silence, leaning against Martinez while seated on the Davenport. Across the coffee table from her was Kyroll, holding his head down, damn near begging Lysa to forgive him and let him try to reconnect.

Nelya was catty-corner from them sipping some tea, overseeing the entire thing. For the most part, Kyroll needed no prompting and laid out his sins individually for Lysa to judge. Nelya only had to remind him of a few things he either forgot or chose to omit, but after the reminder, he added them to his list of transgressions.

The bright morning sun poured in through the window, giving the entire room a warm glow—a warmth that reflected the strange feeling in her chest. Kyroll—no, her Father did it. He actually just asked Lysa to try and forgive him, along with explaining that he and Martinez will try to make things work.

Lysa’s mind was plagued with a stricken pain. After all these years of treatment, she wanted to despise her Father, to tell him to go kill himself and stop causing herself, Nelya, and now Martinez so much pain. In a way, she believed that was the least he could do.

On the other hand, Lysa was finally getting what she had wanted since she was a little girl: for her father to accept that she was not him and was more open and willing to work with other species.

Having these two conflicted voices screaming in her mind pressed her to silence. Unable to speak of the roaring beast in her soul, each demanding she responds to him by following their whims.

Kyroll raised his head and looked at his daughter; his two remaining eyes were vapid, blank, and devoid of life. As if saying all that sucked the fury, anger, and malice from his soul. “Can you try to forgive me?” Kyroll questioned. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Martinez looked over at Lysa, who was not quite glaring at her father but was close. She clenched her fists atop her lap and grinding her teeth. After resting his hand atop hers, he looked toward Nelya, who gave him a slight nod to press him onward.

At this point, the ball was entirely in Lysa’s court, but that did not mean Martinez could not assist her to the best of his abilities.

“What do you think, Lysa?” Martinez asked, leaving the question open enough for her to interpret it as she saw fit.

Lysa looked over at Martinez and Nelya, taking in their supportive smiles and brimmed with pride having them here. Without their presence, Lysa would have assuredly listened to the voice demanding she hate Kyroll until the day she died.

She would have stood up and shoved his head through the wall, savoring that she was finally ending the man who caused her more anguish than anyone else. But with all she had learned from Teacher, that would not be right.

Executing your problems was only putting a bandaid on a stab wound. Would it somewhat help for a moment? Yes, but ultimately, that is not the treatment one needs.

“Father, do you genuinely wish to attempt to be forgiven by me?” Lysa questioned, looking back at him.

“Please, Yha-ru, I just want you to be safe and happy. I made mistakes in the past, but if being with,” Kyroll paused, glancing at Martinez, his eyes souring for a moment before looking back at Lysa and continuing. “Henry here genuinely makes you happy. I will try to get along with him.”

That Kyroll was still using the Aviex word for daughter was unsurprising; after years of avoiding using standard, it was to be expected. His venomous look at Martinez was also to be expected; at least, he seemed to be trying.

They sat in silence for a few moments while Lysa pondered what she should say to make the point he was still untrusted, but that she would at least show her trust by allowing him near her Ruh'ah.

It took her a minute, with Nelya and Martinez genuinely wondering how this would go. Both knew Lysa did not have to try, but they hoped she would agree for her sake.

“Fine,” Lysa flatly replied, sounding almost angry.

“What do you mean fine?” Kyroll replied, “That could mean anything.”

“I simply intend to convey that it is acceptable. I will never forget what you did, but for the sake of Mother and Martinez, I will attempt to forgive you. Despite my reservations against you, my desire to hate your very being, and the fact that I do not believe you are truly genuine, I will extend just enough rope for you to hang yourself with,” Lysa explained before leaning forward and pointing venomously at him. “I do truly mean that I will let you dig your grave here, and I hope Ruh'ah and Mother will agree with me and happily let you jump into a hell of your design.”

Martinez was unsure about the precise look Kyroll gave when Lysa said she did not trust him, but it looked almost guilty. But he could see that from any father's perspective, having your daughter say she distrusts you would sting.

“I understand,” Kyroll grumbled, "I would not forgive me.”

“Then we have an understanding,” Lysa replied. “Mother, you mentioned breakfast is ready and that they are leaving for their bonding experience, correct?”

“I do have food ready,” Nelya smiled, standing up and walking toward the kitchen.

Martinez and Lysa stood up to follow Nelya, both hungry and wanting to put this moment behind them. But Kyroll had one last thing he wanted to attempt.

The old Aviex stood up and walked over, attempting to hug Lysa. She was quick to react, which made her hatred of him apparent.

“No! Just No,” Lysa hissed, pushing a close fist into Kyrolls sternum hard enough to make him gasp but nowhere near full strength.

Kyroll looked like he was about to lash back out, but Martinez stood between them and helped the man stand back up and catch his breath. “Try again after we get back.”

Kyroll would not even look at Martinez then; he did not even make eye contact with Lysa. He simply accepted the helping hand and grumbled an agreement that maybe he would try later.