VIOLET'S POV
"Wake up!" Something cold splashes into my skin and I jerk awake with a gasp.
My hands fly to my chest, and I clutch my soaked clothes as I scramble back, my spine hitting the wall hard enough to knock air from my lungs. Panic crawls up my throat while my vision blurs, then slowly clears.
Three figures stand in front of me.
"She's like a rat," Hester snickers, covering her mouth with one hand while an empty bucket dangles from her other hand, dripping onto the floor.
Her brothers, who are also my stepbrothers, look at me with the same disgusted look I've come to expect after thirteen years in this house.
"Why the hell are you still sleeping?" Sebastian, the eldest, asks as he steps forward. "The servants have been working since dawn. What excuse do you have?"
I swallow past the lump in my throat and my wet clothes make me shiver. "I… I have a fever."
He rolls his eyes like I've just told him the sky is blue and there's not an ounce of pity on his face, not that I expected one.
"That's what the cold water was for," he says flatly. "For the fever."
I nod, even though my lips won't stop trembling.
"He wants to see you," he adds, curling his fingers in command for me to stand. "Now."
When He is mentioned in this house, it always means Father. But I'm not allowed to call him that and it isn't just names I'm barred from. There's a long list.
I can't come above ground or leave my basement room without permission. I'm not allowed to have thoughts of my own, or fancy clothes, or food better than the scraps the servants get.
I'm not even allowed to interact with my step-siblings. They say it's because my bad luck—or my witchcraft, or whatever they decide to call it—might rub off on them. As if that has ever stopped them from bullying me anyway.
"Can I change?" I ask, pushing myself to my feet.
The look on Sebastian's face is enough of an answer and I know better than to repeat the question because if I do, a slap will follow like it always does.
"Don't waste my time." He turns and climbs the step out of the basement without another word. Hester and Edgar hang back, letting me go first, and I trail after him, my legs weak.
I'm rarely summoned by Father or, as he insists I call him, Beta Crowe. The only time he ever wants me is to hand me herbs. Very bad herbs.
They smell awful, they taste worse, and they burn every bit of me from my throat down. And as bad as it already sounds, their only purpose is to suppress my wolf. I've been forced to take them four times a year since I was twelve, long enough to make sure my wolf never had a chance to appear.
So add that to the list of things I'm not allowed to do: I can't feel my wolf, hear her voice, or be anything like one of my own kind.
Everybody knows a werewolf's life lives in their inner wolf. It's that loud, impossible-to-ignore voice in their head that makes them powerful. Everyone knows a true wolf must know how to shift. I don't have that and I've never known what it feels like. I don't feel human, and I don't feel like one of my own kind. I've been stripped of everything that could possibly make me me: my name, my dignity, my wolf, my very essence.
We turn into the corridor that leads to Father's study, and my pulse picks up. For a moment, I forget the fever or maybe it's just a normal reaction because my body knows the pain that's coming is way worse. No matter how hard I try to get used to this life, this is one part I'll never get used to.
"She's here," Sebastian says as we step into the study. Father sits behind his desk, his head lowered over a book and he doesn't look up for several seconds. When he finally does, his eyes narrow on me, scanning me from head to toe.
Whenever he sees me, he always wears the same expression: anger that I carry his blood, fear of what I might become, and disgust that I'm still fighting to survive.
He doesn't ask why I'm dripping wet and that's because he doesn't care. He hates me but maybe I should be the one to hate him. He cheated on his mate with my mother and accused her of using witchcraft to lure him in. I am the result of his own haunted mistake.
"The red moon will appear in two days," he says, clearing his throat and removing his glasses. "Hester will be bonding that night, so this must be done quickly."
Hester will be bonding that night.
My dearest step-sister and his favored daughter will find her mate, and because of that, I'll have to be pumped full of that greenish herb so I don't ruin her big day. Honestly, if I actually had any witchcraft powers, do they really think I'd still be here?
But there's always a reason for suppressing my wolf, of course. I think Father does it to justify hurting me, to ease his conscience. His wolf must badger him about it, since what he's doing goes against wolf law. Just like we have our laws, wolves have theirs but to protect their humans, they keep most of our wrongdoings secret from their own pack.
"Is there no way to kill her wolf?" I hear Hester say, and my head snaps toward her. "I mean, I don't want to take chances. What if she does something to me or my mate?"
"If you kill her wolf, she dies," Father replies.
"I don't mind," Hester responds coldly, looking straight at me. "She's the reason our mother died. I don't see why she's been allowed to keep breathing."
Slowly, Father's eyes shift to me, like he's actually considering it and I wouldn't even be surprised.
"We'll suppress her wolf as usual," he says at last. "That's all."
He opens a drawer and takes out a small bottle filled with green liquid.
My stomach tightens. One look at it is enough to bring back the memory of how it burns its way through me every time. I curl my fingers into my palm, nails biting into skin.
I'm twenty years old. And for the past few days, I've been rehearsing what to say, how to ask him to let me go and how to tell him I've suffered enough for my mother's sins.
I inhale, then exhale. "Beta Crowe," I start, and the whole room turns to look at me. "Can I… say something?"
"Shut up," Edgar snaps, stepping closer with his fingers twitching like he wants to hit me if I disobey.
But Father nods. "Go ahead."
I exhale again, trying to steady the quiver in my voice. "I'm twenty years old, and…"
"We know that," Hester cuts in, rolling her eyes like I'm nothing more than a nuisance.
Calmly, I go down on my knees, and clasp my hands so tight my knuckles turn white.
"Please," I whisper, my voice cracking. "Beta Crowe...You can keep me in the basement forever, you can tell the pack I died." I look up at him, my eyes stinging. "But please, just let me hear her, just once. I feel like a ghost in this house but if I have my wolf, I won't be so... I won't be so alone. I promise I'll never shift or step out of line. Just... please let me feel my wolf."
Father sighs, then rises slowly from his seat. He crosses the desk to stand before me and tears blur my vision as his gaze pins me.
"You want to bond with your wolf?" he asks, crossing his arms.
I nod shakily.
"Why?"
I gulp, and blink back tears. "Everyone has a wolf," I mumble. "I just… I don't. I've never even felt her and I don't know what it's like."
He lets out a humorless chuckle, leaning back like he's actually entertained. "Are you sure you're not trying to find a mate?" His lip curls, disgust written all over his face like me wanting anything normal is a joke.
"No," I say fast, shaking my head. "I just—"
"Do you think anyone would take you?" he snaps, bending down so his face is right in mine. His eyes are cold, ugly, and… I don't even know what that is, some mix of hate and rage. "You're wolf-less, you have no title or rank in this pack and yet you want a mate. Or is this your brilliant plan to embarrass me? To drag shame all over my family and children?"
"No." I try not to let the tears fall. "I just want to—" The words are snatched right out of my mouth when his hand fists in my hair. He yanks my head back, and I cry out as pain explodes across my scalp.
"You will stay exactly what you are," he declares. "Useless. Stupid. Weak. Nothing."
It hurts as he forces my head up, making me look at him. "Don't ever try to be more than that," he says flatly. "Or I'll kill you myself."
Something is poured into my mouth immediately.
It hits my throat and the burn is instant. I choke, gag, my body jerking, and this time I can't stop the scream that tears out of me as the fire spreads through my chest.