Sons of a devil Chapter 2: born wrong

Cain didn't rember much about being little, but he rembered the cold.

Not the kind that crept into your bones in winter — sothing colder.

The kind you feel when you're standing all alone and soone you love looks at you like you're nothing.

Like you're sothing to be thrown away.

He was six when the church doors slamd shut in his face. Six years old, covered in bruises, barefoot, and shivering under the broken-down sign that read "God Loves All."

He learned pretty fast that wasn't true. Not for him. Not for what he was.

Now he was seventeen, and the cold had just... settled in. Like a second skin. Sothing you got used to.

Cain tightened his hands into fists as they walked, keeping his head low. He could feel the stares from the townspeople even when he didn't look up.

Whispers scratched at his back like tiny claws:

Freak.

Devil spawn.

Blood rat.

Elias, walking beside him, nudged him with his elbow. "Don't," he muttered under his breath.

Cain didn't say anything. He didn't trust himself to speak. His knuckles were still raw from the fight last night — the one Elias had practically dragged him away from. It hadn't even been fair. Three against one. Cain still won.

But he hadn't felt good about it. Not even a little.

Riven trailed a few steps behind them, hoodie pulled up, head down. He hated attention worse than any of them. At fifteen, he was small for his age, pale and sick-looking most days. People crossed the street to avoid him.

Maybe it was the eyes.

Too dark.

Too hollow.

Too much like their father's.

Cain felt that familiar tightness in his chest — the one that made it hard to breathe — whenever he thought about what ran through their veins. Half-vampire, half... whatever darkness their father had left behind.

"You think if we leave, it'll be different?" Riven asked suddenly, his voice breaking the silence.

Cain glanced over his shoulder at him. The kid looked tired. They all did.

"I don't know," Cain said honestly. "But it's gotta be better than this."

Elias snorted. "Low bar."

The street was half-empty, as usual. Shops with boarded windows, a few rusted cars parked along the curb. A town trying real hard to pretend it wasn't dying.

Just like they were trying real hard to pretend they weren't monsters.

Cain stopped when he caught sight of a flyer pinned to a telephone pole.

Another missing kid.

Another face.

Another set of scared parents.

Riven looked too, then quickly looked away.

Cain's stomach twisted. He knew how this would go. It didn't matter if they stayed clean, stayed quiet. It didn't matter if they hurt no one.

It was always their fault. Always their blood that people slled like smoke in the air.

"We can't stay here," Cain said, voice low. "Not much longer."

No one argued.

They never did, not about things like this.

They had been running too long to believe in second chances.

Riven kicked a piece of trash down the sidewalk. His voice was small when he spoke. "You ever wonder if they're right? About us?"

Cain slowed down, turned to him, heart heavy in a way he couldn't explain.

"No," Cain said after a beat. "I don't."

Riven looked unconvinced.

Cain ruffled his hair, rough and brotherly. "You're a pain in the ass. But you're not evil."

A ghost of a smile tugged at Riven's mouth. It was the best Cain could hope for.

Elias slung an arm around Riven's shoulders as they walked.

Three broken boys stitched together by blood and circumstance.

Three sons of sothing no one dared speak of.

But they still had each other.

And sotis on the nights when the stars ca out and the world didn't feel so cruel that was enough.

At least for now.