Chapter 2 - Sierra

"Peace… Peace… Peace…" I take a deep breath in while mentally chanting the single word, a mantra to draw peace to my mind, body, and soul.

The scent of sage wafts into my lungs, the calmness I seek washing over me as I take this moment for myself. I bring my hands together to give gratitude before resting them on my knees with my legs folded on the ground. My morning kicks off with positivity flooding through me and pushing away any negative thoughts and emotions from the night before.

God knows there's been a lot of that lately, and I'm the only one who can clear my energetic field before embarking on my day.

When I feel more positive than I did last night, I center my breathing again and open my eyes. There's nothing like the rejuvenation of a meditation to clear out those intrusive thoughts. Even if I wish, I wouldn't have them altogether.

Unfolding my legs and getting to my feet, I pad across the carpeted floor toward the front door. Though the yoga studio is only a few months old, it's garnered enough feet to keep the place afloat and pay for the little luxuries I enjoy.

As I greet my clients at the door, I can't help but be grateful for the heartbreak I'd suffered a few years ago. As a struggling young woman on the brink of a mental breakdown, it had taken someone building me up and then breaking me down again for me to finally chase my dreams. I'd achieved those dreams and a hefty slice of inner peace when I qualified as a yoga instructor and opened my own studio.

It hasn't always been smooth sailing. The roadbumps come in the form of memories of the only man I'd given my heart to. When those memories surface, I have to remind myself that I've come a long way. After all, it's just a man who broke me, which in turn led to me finding myself and my true purpose in life.

It's not like he'd been the only man who broke me. All my life, I'd suffered at the hands of my father's brutal words, his taunting remarks about my weight, and his determination to have me follow in his footsteps.

At my most vulnerable point in life, I opened up my heart to a man who didn't hurt me with words. Instead, he broke me to pieces with his rejection and abandonment, leaving me to pick up the pieces over the course of the last few years. Lifting my lips into a smile, my heart swells with pride when I look at the almost-full room.

I guess all my pain and suffering was worth it in the end.

"Good morning, ladies," I greet my fellow peace-seekers as I stand in front of the room. "We'll begin at the top of the mat, inhaling our hands above our heads."

I take a deep breath as the ladies who've signed up for morning classes at the studio do the same. The inner zen I feel is worth every ounce of the suffering and challenges I'd faced—even if it was at the hands of my own father and the only man I've ever loved.

Men…

Who would have thought that they'd be the ones who pushed me toward my true calling?

The best part of it all?

I don't feel the need to have another man in my life. I am way too empowered now to take on another man's traumas and make them my own.

"... Exhale and get into downward dog position," I instruct as I plant my rear toward the air, head directed at the yoga mat. "And inhale as you come into cobra."

As I inhale and lift my head toward the ladies in front of me, I notice someone entering the studio through my periphery. Sighing discontentedly because I sense the interruption, I turn in time to see my father walk in.

What the—

"Sierra…" he whispers, brows worried with a frown.

As the yoga class is interrupted, the color drains from my face.

I haven't seen him in years—ever since I left home in pursuit of freedom.

What does he want now?

"Ladies…" I turn to the class and smile apologetically. "If you'll excuse me…" I rise to my feet, pointing to the back of the studio. "Please help yourselves to the tea station. We'll resume the class shortly."

I turn toward the door as the ladies stretch on their mats, irritation rising like bile in my throat.

Knowing my father, he's only here for one thing—to ride my coattails of success now that I have my own studio in Charlottesville. It isn't the first time he's traced my whereabouts—he does it for a living, after all. Yet, our relationship is too strained for this to be a familial visit. It's never been pleasant in all the other times he's reached out to scold me about my life choices.

As a struggling private investigator who's surpassed his prime, he's probably here for money.

It's not like he's here because he cares about me. It's either he wants money, or he's here to chastise me about what I look like. The former seems plausible since my appearance has changed over the years. Still, I can't put anything past my dad.

Taking a deep breath, I nod toward the door on the left. He waits for me to enter the office first, closing the door behind us.

"What do you want, Dad?" I ask, spewing my irritation with the sharpness in my voice. I throw on a hoodie and take a seat behind my desk, then reach for the drawer. Though I don't have much, I'll give him what he wants so he can leave.

"That's it?" His brown eyes shimmer with distilled sadness, almost as if it's a front.

It is probably an act—one that I can see right through.

My dad stretches his arms out. "No hug for your old man?"

"Take a seat, Dad," I sigh, pointing at the chair across me. "This will have to be quick. As you can see, I'm in the middle of a class."

He drops his arms beside him and sulkily pulls out a chair. "Nice place you got here," he says as he gazes around the office. "Angel's Yoga…"

I gulp to hide my irritation, the name of the studio too precious for him to speak. It's the only thing I've held onto from my past, the name symbolizing the precious advice I'd once been given, which led me toward chasing my dream. My father has no right to utter its name.

Yanking open the drawer, I take out my cell phone and unlock the screen. "I'll do a wire transfer for you—"

"Woah!" Dad bellows, chuckling nervously. "What makes you think I want money?"

"Why else would you be here?" I look up and raise a brow, only then noticing how much he's aged. The corners of his eyes are wrinkled even with his lips pursed, his hair almost completely grayed.

When did he get so old?

Despite my inhibitions, a flicker of remorse sparks in my chest. I've always been walked over by my father, having to run away from his clutches to find my freedom. Yet, I can't help but feel compassionate toward his life and his struggles.

"I don't need your money, mi hija… "

The endearing term tugs on my heartstrings, reminding me of a time when I was just that—his child. Sighing, I set my cell phone down and decided to hear him out. Despite how terrible he'd been to me, there was once a time when he was the father to me that every little girl dreams of.

Before Mama died, of course.

For one brief moment, I can push aside my resentment. I don't owe him anything, but I can give him that much.

"... I just need your help."

I stare long and hard at my father, trying to make sense of that statement. "My help?"

He leans over the edge of the desk, gulping as he nods slowly. "You see, mi hija , my life is in danger."

Instantly, I look out through the window, expecting to find that the trouble he's in followed him here.

I'm not even surprised.

"If it's not money you need, then what is it?" I frown when I turn back to him.

He sighs. "You won't believe me when I tell you, but you must know there's no way out of this for me."

"So, your life is in danger…" I begin, glancing at the window where no indication of trouble is evident. "... Yet, you came all this way?"

He nods again. "You see, the danger doesn't exist in our world. But it's here, on Earth."

"Dad, you're sounding crazy…"

When he lifts his eyes to mine, I notice the fear flashing across his pupils. "I'm not crazy, Sierra. I was tasked with a job, and I discovered the whereabouts of these supernatural beings. One of them visited me and threatened my life."

"Supernatural beings?" My brows knit tightly. "Are you being attacked by ungodly spirits? There's sage for—"

"No, Sierra!" He slams a palm on my desk, but I barely flinch.

I'm convinced now that he's lost his mind.

"... They are dragons," he goes on to explain. "Weredragons, the kind that shape-shift into humans and walk this earth."

I can barely stifle my amusement, cupping a hand over my mouth to stop myself from laughing. My father shakes his head in disbelief as he watches me climb out of the chair and round the desk.

Slinking an arm beneath his, I compel him to stand up. I lead him out of my office and plaster a smile on my face for the sake of the ladies in the studio as we head toward the front door.

"You don't believe me…" he observes as we step out of the studio and onto the sidewalk, where the sun's blistering rays welcome us to its warmth.

I relish in that warmth, wanting to hold onto some semblance of sanity after hearing what he had to say.

"You want me to believe that dragons exist?" I scoff, lifting a hand to my forehead to shield my face from the sun.

"Not just any dragons… were dragons," he reiterates in a serious, hushed tone.

I can't help but giggle. "Sorry, Dad. I find all of this absurd," I say with a roll of my eyes. "If your life is in danger, I don't see how I'll be of any help."

My dad sighs, staring at the ground when he says, "I'm sorry about this."

Right before I can lift my head, confused by his apology, two pairs of hands grab my arms with force. I yelp just as the sun's brilliance is lost, my vision seized by a bag over my head. I'm pushed forward, then lifted off the ground by strong, unwelcomed arms before I'm thrown onto a blanket.

I can't see a thing, and my sense of hearing is heightened by the sound of feet pattering on metal. There's metal screeching against metal, then the roar of an unhealthy engine rings out. Laying on the blanket, the vehicle I'm in propels forward, rolling me onto my side with the force.

Kicking and screaming to my knees, arms flailing about, I'm ready to throw fists at whoever comes in my way. But without my sight, the darkness consuming my vision leaves me at a disadvantage as rough, unruly hands grab my arms and pin them behind me. The wheeze of a cable tie rings out in the expanse of the vehicle, filling me with dread. With my arms bound behind me, there's little movement I can achieve.

When the bag is pulled off my head, only a faint trace of light is filtering from the cracks of the metal container we're in. It takes me a moment to gather that we're in the back of a van, the two heinous faces in front of me recognizable. Missing teeth through the snarly smile, a tattoo of a lightning bolt across the other's cheek.

It's Dad's goons in the back of the van, Dad's voice bleating from the front.

"I'm sorry, Sierra," he repeats, though his face is hidden by the compartment cover separating the back of the van from the front. "You're the only one who can save me."

Groaning under my breath, I'm forced to breathe in the murky, sweaty smells swirling in the back of the van. I have no idea how I can save my father from the weredragons he claims exist.

I've only ever heard that word from the folktales my grandmother used to read to me as a bedtime story. They're not supposed to exist in the real world.

If they do, does my father plan on sacrificing me to them? I wouldn't be surprised. A life for a life seems fitting, even if I wish my father would care enough to sacrifice his daughter.

The worst part of it all is that my father hasn't changed. His work comes first, and his underhanded deals are more important.

He's much worse than he was before, and now my life is in danger because of it.