Although the thought of returning to Hemlock Grove had initially filled Olivia with a spark of excitement, now that she was standing on the quaint main street she could honestly say that she hadn't missed the place at all.

In truth, the town had never really felt like home— Olivia Godfrey had always been too grand for such a mundane and pedestrian locale. She had spent the last decade feeding and fucking her way across the capitals of Europe and there was no doubt that that was more her style. Paris, Vienna, Milan…that was where she belonged. She would have been happy to continue that lifestyle indefinitely but, during the past few months, she had begun to feel that her obligations lay elsewhere—at least for now. Despite what some people thought, she did harbour some sentimental attachments. Olivia cared about her children and, more than anything, she cared about her grandchild.

Olivia had never intended to leave them for this long.

She had been furious, at first, when her son had banished her in the aftermath of Norman and Pricilla's deaths. Roman had barely been able to contain his rage and had threatened to rip her throat out if she didn't leave the state—she took his words seriously, but she had expected him to cool down and beckon her back after a year or so. He had still been new to his powers back then, and she had hardly had a chance to guide him.

But Roman was nothing if not stubborn.

She had made several attempts to reach out to him, to guide him in his new life— but all of her efforts were in vain. It grieved her to think about how vehemently he had rejected who he was. He had always been her little prince—beautiful, elegant and fierce. In theory, the perfect picture of upirism. But he simply refused to acknowledge her, even now. Although her icy exterior masked it well, the pain of his rejection still stung.

That did not mean, however, that all of her family was completely lost. Shelly had always been a more forgiving soul and her granddaughter was a completely unknown factor.

Olivia had only seen the child a handful of times during her infancy and she was certain that Nadia would have no memory of it. The girl was nearly seventeen now and, if her father had not poisoned her too severely against Olivia, there was still hope that she could form a connection with her.

And that was why she had returned to this god-forsaken place.

She knew that it was a risk, and that she'd have to tread carefully, but she had decided that it was worth it. Roman had rejected his birthright, but there was still hope for Nadia. She too had been born with the caul and Olivia was certain that the girl was upir. She had sensed it as soon as she had first laid eyes on the child.

Olivia could scarcely believe her luck. She had spent centuries trying to conceive an upir child until Roman came along—but he had been blessed enough to be given a gifted child on his first attempt.

He, of course, hadn't seen it that way and had even threatened to subject the girl to Pryce's treatments when she came of age. That, too, had stung Olivia deeply and she had been relived when Pryce had informed her that his experimental treatments on her son had failed. Roman would never be human.

And neither would his daughter.

That, at least, had brought her some relief.

Knowing her son, he probably hadn't told the girl anything about her heritage in a pathetic attempt to "protect" her from her fate. But there was no way to avoid the inevitable, and Olivia was there to ensure that the girl progressed properly. Roman could keep up his human masquerade if he wanted but Nadia deserved better.

Nadia deserved proper guidance.

Olivia's eyes narrowed as she surveyed the quiet street. She still had allies in this town and she had a few hazy pictures of her grown granddaughter to work from.

She was determined to find the girl.

She was determined to set things right.

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"Dad? I'm home!"

Nadia Godfrey dropped the grocery bags she had been carrying in the spacious foyer and let out a sigh of relief. She wished her heart would stop racing, but it seemed to be beyond her control. It was foolish to feel so rattled after such a simple outing, and she chastised herself for her behaviour, but she was unable to ignore her uneasiness.

It really shouldn't have been a big deal. Her dad had asked her to pick up a few things from the butcher's shop on the way home from school and she had (reluctantly) obliged.

It should have been routine.

Simple.

But while she liked to help her dad out when she could, this was the one task she hated most. Nadia would never admit this to her father, or anyone else for that matter, but she had been doing her best to avoid the butcher's for the past year or so. She knew it was unusual, and it made her feel like a freak, but something about that place overwhelmed her senses and made her heart pound rapidly in her chest.

It wasn't because she was disgusted by the sight of so much raw meat, but rather because she craved it.

Recently, the sight and smell of uncooked steaks dripping in their red juices made her mouth water and left an unsettled feeling in her stomach. She tried to tell herself that it was probably just a sign of an iron deficiency, but she'd never been able to shake the feeling that there was something else behind her cravings.

Something more unusual…

Proper, normal, seventeen year old girls were not supposed to love the taste of raw meat.

And Nadia Godfrey had been trained to be proper from birth.

For as long as she could remember, she had tried to emulate her father's example. Especially in public. He was always poised, always refined, always in control. That was how a Godfrey was supposed to be.

But, more often than not, Nadia found herself secretly giving into temptation. On this particular occasion, she had purchased an extra sirloin which she had consumed ashamedly (and, hopefully, discretely) in her car before setting off towards home.

Her stomach had felt much better after that, but she had been left with an increasingly familiar sense of anxiety and embarrassment.

Nadia had long ago resolved not to say anything about her strange snacks. Although she had a good relationship with her father, silence was a valued part of the Godfrey household.

It seemed better to leave things unsaid.

As she heard her dad's footsteps approach, Nadia took a quick glance in a nearby mirror to make sure that there was no evidence of her earlier transgression on her face.

Thankfully, she was safe.

"Hello, princess." Her father greeted with an uncharacteristically wide grin as he emerged from the kitchen.

Nadia could tell instantly that he was in a very good mood and the girl tried to hold back a giggle as she took in his appearance. Her father was usually immaculately groomed with freshly pressed shirts and nary a hair out of place. But right now, his business attire was covered by a filthy white chefs' apron and there were flecks of flour in his dark blonde hair.

She grinned back.

"What are you doing? Are you cooking!?" She asked, picking up the grocery bags and passing them to him. "Where is Remy?"

Remy was their chef and he almost always prepared their meals. She'd only seen her dad cook a handful of times (usually with disastrous results)— it was no secret that Roman Godfrey had never been domestically inclined. He'd grown up with servants and he now employed his own.

Clearly, something was up.

"I gave Remy the afternoon off." Roman replied before planting a gentle kiss on top of her blonde head. "Peter's back, and we're making pască."

Nadia's eyes instantly lit up and, before she knew it, her feet were carrying her rapidly towards the kitchen. Her heart was now beating rapidly for an entirely different reason.

Peter was here! Peter was back! All worried thoughts of meat and cravings instantly flew out of her head.

He had been gone for almost three months this time (to visit his mother in Romania) and they had definitely missed him. But, as much as she and her father wanted him to stick around, they both accepted that he couldn't be tamed. Peter was a gypsy to the core and he had never been able to stay put for too long. When he was in town—which usually ended up being about 6 months each year— he lived with them. Nadia had always called him Uncle Peter, but he was really more of a second father to her and things never quite felt right unless he was home.

She knew her dad felt the same way. He never argued when Peter left for one of his trips, but he always moped for a few days after Peter departed.

Nadia had always known that her dad and Peter had a unique relationship— they were best friends, co-parents, confidants and, sometimes, more. No one outside their household would ever quite understand, but it made sense to them, and that was all that really mattered.

"Uncle Peter!" Nadia could barely contain her excitement as she caught sight of him in the kitchen. Unlike her father, he wasn't covered in flour but he had a similarly wide smile on his face.

"Well, if it isn't my favourite gadjo girl!" He exclaimed affectionately as he drew her into a warm embrace. For the briefest of seconds, she could have sworn that she saw him frown but, if he did, he recovered quickly. "I missed you."

"We missed you too." Nadia replied, "Why didn't you tell us you were coming back?"

"Because I love surprises…and I never want to be predictable."

The girl rolled her eyes in mock annoyance but, before she could retort, Peter grabbed a lumpy package off of the kitchen table and handed it to her.

He never returned from his trips empty handed and, although Nadia hadn't done much travelling herself, she had quite the collection of unique artefacts from around the world.

"When I saw this I knew I had to get it for you." Peter said, "An old woman in one of the Romani camps was making them, and I thought this one was perfect."

Excited, Nadia pulled back the wrapping to reveal a beautiful golden dress. She'd never seen anything quite like it—even in the dim light of the kitchen it shone impressively and, as she held it up she could not help but admire the intricate patterns of the fabric. It was hard to believe that something this stunning had been entirely hand made.

Peter was right, it was perfect.

"I love it!" Nadia said, still marvelling at the softness of the golden threads between her fingers. She held it up for her dad to see. "What do you think?"

He was leaning against the kitchen doorway, smiling as he watched the exchange between his two favourite people.

"It's lovely, princess." He paused. "Why don't you put it in the other room so that we don't get it dirty. We have pies to finish and steaks to prepare."

Unable to wipe the wide grin form her face, Nadia darted into the living room, gift in hand.

After a tiring week at school and an unnerving afternoon, she couldn't wait to spend the evening cooking, eating and laughing with the two best dads in the world.

This was exactly what she needed.

For a while, at least, her troubles seemed to fade away.

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Roman watched as Peter leaned back against his chair and stretched his muscular arms with a yawn. It was nearly one am, and there was no doubt that both men had had a long day but, while Nadia had gone to be several hours ago, neither was quite ready to call it quits.

It had been too long since they had enjoyed each other's company and they were happily catching up over wine and cigarettes at the dining room table.

It felt like old times.

It felt right.

Roman always missed having Peter at his side when he was gone. Nadia and his CEO duties kept him busy, of course, but things were never quite right when the other man was not at his side. They had never assigned each other a title, but he always knew that Peter was his, no matter how many times Peter left or how many other people they fucked.

He had also accepted long ago that Peter's inability to stay put was part of who he was.

A gypsy is a gypsy is a gypsy.

As hard as it could be at times, it was one of the many things Roman loved about him and he would never try to change it.

"So, nothing exciting to report around here, then?" Peter asked, reaching towards the ashtray to pick up his half-finished smoke.

Roman shrugged. "Nothing compared to your adventures." He began, running a hand through his hair. "Pryce has become increasingly tame in his old age, and only pissed me off once this month. Shelly has been renovating her apartment at the tower so that she has a better place to work on her novels. It's nearly done."

There was a brief pause before Peter pushed for more.

"And Nadia? Any…developments?"

Nadia had shared all of her latest news during and after dinner and there had been nothing out of the ordinary. She'd been in the school play, her grades were all solid A's and B's, Roman had spoiled her with a new car in September.

As much as Roman wanted to brush off Peter's inquiry and tell him that he already knew all that there was to know, he owed the man an open discussion. Inevitable absences aside, Peter had helped him raise her and loved Nadia as his own.

"I wish I could say no." Roman began reluctantly before taking one last drag of his cigarette. "I wish, more than anything, that I could tell you that she was just a regular teenage girl. But—" he paused, averting his pale green eyes towards the table to avoid Peter's gaze. "I can sense something lately. She hasn't said anything to me, and I don't even know how to broach the subject but she seems, I don't know…anxious, I guess. Quieter. I wish I could get her to tell me what is bothering her, and I'm pretty sure I already know, but I don't know what to say without telling her everything."

Peter nodded sympathetically. He did not, of course, know exactly what Roman was going through, but he knew that the man had always felt repulsed about what he was. And about what his daughter had inherited.

"Do you think that maybe it's time, then?" Peter began cautiously. "To tell her, I mean."

Roman felt a wave of nausea wash over him, and he let out a short, ragged, breath. Although a part of him felt that Peter was right, he knew that he could not bring himself to do it. Not yet. Maybe it was foolish, but he wanted his daughter to have every last second of innocence that she could.

When she was younger, he had thought long and hard about what, and when, he was going to tell her what he was.

What they were.

He had resented his mother for keeping secrets from him, and he had considered telling Nadia everything as soon as she was old enough to understand. But every time he had looked into innocent clear blue eyes, he knew that he wasn't strong enough to take away the normal childhood that she deserved.

Her brief abduction by Dr. Spivack had been the last sign of supernatural disturbance in her life. They'd rescued her from his clutches before he managed to do any more damage, and the toxins he had infected her with had quickly cleared. After that, she had displayed no further powers or signs of upirism.

He knew, of course, that he had passed on his cursed genes, but Roman still maintained hope that he would be able to protect her from a dark fate. If she never took her own life, she would never fully turn. And he could teach her to overcome any minor signs of her condition that manifested.

As of now, he wasn't certain that she was exhibiting any traits at all. He'd never seen any evidence of mind control or an affinity for blood. Her mother had been human, and he'd still been half-human when she had been conceived. Perhaps quarter-upirs were able to live relatively normal lives…

"I…I can't tell her." Roman said softly, finally looking up to meet Peter's eyes.

The other man sighed. "But you just said it yourself—it seems like she's going through something right now. Maybe she needs to know. Remember how confused you were back when I met you? Maybe—"

"No." Roman repeated firmly. "I'm probably just imagining it. She is a teenage girl, and being a teenager sucks. It could be entirely unrelated." He hoped he sounded convincing.

Peter pursed his lips, and Roman could tell instantly that there was something he wanted to say.

Peter had never been good at hiding his thoughts. He didn't have the icy mask that Roman had long ago perfected.

"What?" Roman pressed, a bit more harshly than he intended. "You're obviously holding something back."

There was a slight pause—it was clear that the gypsy was very hesitant to share his thoughts.

"Look, you're not going to like this, so promise not to rip my throat out…"

Roman glared across the table. Many would have faltered under this gaze, but Peter knew his friend too well to stop now.

"I didn't want to say anything earlier," Peter began again, "But when Nadia came in today, I could sense it. Much stronger than ever before."

Roman felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. He knew what Peter was implying, but he needed to hear it.

"What?" the blonde replied coolly, his face carefully controlled. He knew (and hated) that he probably looked like Olivia when he wore this expression, but it had always been automatic.

Like it or not, he was his mother's son.

And Nadia was her father's daughter.

"Her upirism." Peter said softly, confirming Roman's deepest fear. "When she hugged me I could sense it. I could smell it. And the wolf inside of me was telling me to run. That's never happened before."

Roman flinched. Peter's words pierced him like a wooden stake.

He felt sick.

And guilty.

And angry.

Every bad emotion swirled around inside of him like one big, overwhelming mess.

It was all his fault.

Letha had been beautiful and tender and kind. Human. He was the monster. He was the reason his daughter, his precious innocent daughter, would one day suffer. His princess deserved a more worthy father. She didn't deserve this curse.

Peter reached out to place a comforting hand on his arm but Roman quickly jerked it away.

"I need a fucking drink." He growled.

In times like these, his hunger was the one thing that could distract him from his rage.

For an upir, hunger was the only thing stronger than hate and anger.

For once, he was grateful for it.

Naively, Peter reached for the wine bottle, eliciting a bitter scoff from his companion.

"Not that kind of drink, you dumb mutt." He spat, his fangs suddenly flashing dangerously.

Part of him felt bad for taking out his emotions on Peter—after all, he had asked for the truth. But he was too wrapped up in his own head to apologize now.

Roman roughly pushed back his chair and took several large steps across the room towards an old wooden cabinet in the back corner. Realization dawned on Peter's face.

They both knew what Roman kept in there.

After placing his thumb on the artfully concealed high-tech lock, the cabinet door flung to reveal of stack of neatly stacked red bags, each the size of a carton of milk. Hastily, Roman grabbed one and made his way back to the table.

Peter, wisely, said nothing during this entire process. He knew what Roman was like when he was angry and he knew that he had to calm himself down. There was simply no other way.

With a low growl, Roman sunk his razor-sharp teeth into the bag. His eyes closed as he began to drink its contents and, even from across the table, Peter could tell that his heartbeat and breathing were beginning to return to normal.

When he had drained over half of the bag, Roman finally came up for air and wiped a stray drop of blood off of his chin.

There was a brief pause before Peter dared to speak again.

"Is it bad that I like watching you drink?" Peter asked, a hint of a playful smirk on his lips. "Especially when you let me see your fangs."

Thankfully, Roman let out a small chuckle. "It's pretty damn twisted." He said, his voice devoid of his earlier anger. "But then again, I like watching you turn…so I guess we're even."

For a second, they shared a smile and the world felt right again.

But all too quickly, Roman's mind returned to the real matter at hand.

"What the fuck am I going to do, Peter?" he asked. He could feel a prickling sensation behind his eyes, but he was losing the willpower to keep his emotions inside.

As much as he hated the entire situation, he was glad that Peter was there. There was no way in hell that he could do this alone.

"There is no parenting book for this sort of thing. And god knows my mother set a pretty shitty example."

He shuttered for a second, his mind drifting back to the moment when he had discovered what he truly was. It had undoubtedly been one of the worst experiences of his life. If Nadia had to find out, he was determined to make to a far less traumatic revelation.

"Am I supposed to sit her down at the breakfast table and say "guess what, princess, we're vampires and the world is full of scary supernatural shit.""

Peter scoffed. "That probably isn't the best approach." He noted, laying a sympathetic hand on Roman's unnaturally pale arm. This time, Roman didn't pull away.

"You're right," Peter continued, "There is not guideline for this sort of thing. But we can't avoid it forever. We'll figure it out, because we have to. And we'll do it together."

Roman let out a shaky breath.

There was no clear approach to take in this uncharted territory, but he knew that Peter was right.

They'd find a way.

And at least they had each other.

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A/N— Tell me what you think. I hope to have more soon if people are interested!