Surviving the Storm

Prologue Storm 18 Months Earlier The whip whistled through the air. I braced myself for the impact, digging my fingernails into my palms as the leather slammed across my back. Pain exploded through me. I bit down hard on my lower lip, swallowing the scream that clawed its way up my throat. I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. I had learned that lesson years ago. They liked it when I cried. They liked the screams. Every whimper, every plea for mercy only seemed to encourage them. The more pain they caused, the more they enjoyed it. So I had learned not to make a sound. Another strike landed. My body jerked forward against the chains holding me to the wall. Warm blood trickled down my back, following the paths carved into my skin by the whip. Seven years. Seven years of this had become my normal. My father and my oldest brother, Mason, had started this twisted little game shortly after my mother was murdered by rogues. I had been nine years old when she died. Nine. Too young to understand how one moment could destroy an entire life. After her death, my father changed. Or maybe the truth was that I had simply been too young to see the monster he had always been. Either way, my life had never been the same. Another strike. I squeezed my eyes shut. The whip had been soaked in wolfsbane, an herb that interfered with a werewolf’s natural healing abilities. Without it, the wounds across my back would already have begun to close. But they knew exactly what they were doing. They always did. Silver was another weakness. And tonight, they had brought out the knives. The chains around my wrists rattled as I pulled against them again. Pointless. I already knew I couldn’t break free, but desperation made me try anyway. Footsteps approached. The whipping stopped. For one brief, foolish second, I thought it might be over. Then I heard my father’s laugh. “Not yet.” Alpha Ryland Danger—the great leader everyone in our pack respected and feared—picked up the silver knife he’d left resting on the bench. My father. The word felt wrong. He walked toward me, a cruel smile spreading across his face. I watched the silver blade catch the light. Then he dragged it across the left side of my abdomen. Agony ripped through me. I felt the blade tear through flesh before warmth flooded down my side. Blood. So much blood. My knees nearly buckled, but the chains held me upright. Still, I made no sound. Not one. I stared directly into my father’s eyes. If he wanted to see me broken, he would have to look somewhere else. I had no idea how long the torture continued. Minutes. Hours. Time had stopped meaning anything. Eventually, they seemed satisfied. The cuffs around my wrists were unlocked, and my body collapsed to the basement floor. I hit the ground hard, curling instinctively into a ball. Every breath hurt. Every movement hurt. I could hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears as blood continued to seep from my wounds. Mason left first. The basement door slammed shut behind him. That left me alone with my father. My tormentor. My so-called father. He turned his back on me and began meticulously cleaning his collection of silver blades, wiping away my blood as though it were nothing more than dirt. I watched him. And then I saw it. The knife. The same silver knife he had just used to cut me open. It lay within reach. My heart began to pound. This was my chance. Maybe my only chance. I reached for it. My fingers closed around the blood-coated handle. Every muscle in my body screamed at me to stop. I barely had enough strength to sit upright, let alone fight. But I was done. Seven years. Seven years of fear. Seven years of pain. Seven years of being treated like something less than human. I wasn’t going to spend another day at his mercy. With the last scrap of strength I had left, I launched myself at him. He barely had time to turn. I wrapped one arm around him and drove the blade across his throat. Once. Hard. Deep. His body went rigid. I held on as the silver knife tore through muscle and cartilage. Then I let go. My father stumbled forward before collapsing onto the basement floor. Blood poured from his throat, spreading across the concrete and pooling beneath his lifeless body. Silence filled the room. I stared at him. The monster was dead. But I wasn’t free. Not yet. Because killing my father had only been the beginning. He had been the man everyone in the pack called Alpha Ryland Danger. The man they called my father. But he had never been my father. Not really. A father was supposed to protect his child. Love them. Keep them safe. He had done none of those things. He had been nothing more than a sperm donor who happened to share my blood. The basement door suddenly opened. I looked up. Mason froze in the doorway. His eyes dropped to the body lying in the pool of blood. Then they snapped back to me. For several seconds, neither of us moved. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. He looked like a goldfish struggling to breathe. Then his eyes met mine. And I saw it. Fear. For the first time in my life, Mason was afraid of me. Maybe he was finally realizing that the little girl he had spent seven years helping torture wasn’t so helpless anymore. I stared back at him. I wanted him dead. God, I wanted him dead. I wanted his body lying beside our father’s. I wanted him to experience even a fraction of the terror and pain he had inflicted on me. Judging by the look in his eyes, he knew exactly what I was thinking. But I had nothing left. The blood loss was too severe. My body was broken. I couldn’t even stand. So I sat there on the basement floor, staring at my brother and wishing I had the strength to finish what I had started. I wish I could tell you that killing my father was the moment my life finally changed for the better. It wasn’t. It was only the beginning of another nightmare. With our father’s death, Mason became the new Alpha of our pack. And he made sure I paid for what I had done. He didn’t kill me. That would have been too easy. Instead, he turned the entire pack against me. Through lies. Manipulation. Fear. He told them whatever he needed to tell them to make me the enemy. And they believed him. One by one, the people I had grown up with began turning against me. Mason threatened anyone who dared defend me, and before long, fear had taken control of the entire pack. They obeyed him because they were terrified of what would happen if they didn’t. Some joined in the abuse. Others simply looked away. And the people who had once smiled at me began treating me like I was the monster. Sometimes I wondered if they had ever really cared about me at all. But Mason failed to turn everyone against me. Four people refused to abandon me. My twin brother, Logan. My best friend, Kat. And my mother’s parents. They stood beside me when everyone else walked away. They were the only people I had left. And they would remain loyal to me no matter what Mason did. At least… That was what I believed. Back then, I had no idea just how much worse my life was about to become.