Control - Emma Cole

It’s not that Emma isn’t aware that being turned into a vampire is a traumatic experience. But it seems like the mental scars of a turning don’t heal any more so than the physical ones.   She can’t actually sleep inside a coffin yet. The memories of being trapped underground, clawing her way out, are still too fresh. Her box of grave earth is open, if she opens her eyes they’ll be met with the strings of tiny lights woven back and forth in a lattice along the ceiling like stars.
Some nights, that’s enough.
But some nights, her fang scars ache, and the darkness creeps in on the edges of her mind. Echoes of a gloating voice that mocks her, reminding her she is not free, she was never free, she is only as free as he lets her be.
I pushed you out.

I let you, my child.

I never asked.

I let you go because I know you will see.

That you’re a monster?

That the only place you belong now is by my side.
It’s days like that that she considers picking up the stake beside her bed. She knows which ribs it should fit between, how much force (although that’s for a human, for a vampire it would be nothing) it takes.
But maybe that’s what he would want.
Maybe he can’t control her after all.
Maybe he’s the one who should be afraid of her.
She keeps the stake, though. Someday, she’s going to put her demon to rest. She does know where to put that stake. Right through Arion’s heart.