Daughter of the Darkest Moon

The Dossier

[Livy]

After Oliver pulled away, I opened my eyes. I knew I had to tell him about the restraints or I wouldn’t be able to stop him from trying to contact my old pack. He needed to understand the kind of strict, cold future I ran from.

The only way to get my little cottage and my cozy town where I could live on my own terms, would be to make sure they thought I was dead. I needed to hide better than I had before. They couldn’t get me again.

I sat up and reached over to the nightstand, pulling the drawer open, and retrieving the papers I took while Oliver was outside on the phone. It was a file on me. The one they’d used to track me and catch me. The hunters never said who hired them to catch me, but the answer could be in the information the person gave them.

The surprised look on Karl’s face when the collar actually worked flashed in my mind. That was when he and Trey got the idea to use me for a few hunts, before actually sending me back. They hadn’t banked on Peter getting ‘ideas’ while they were out. He enjoyed my inability to refuse an order.

It wasn’t how I’d wanted my first time to be, I’d never forgive him. Everything that came after was all his fault. Killing him was cathartic.

I overheard them when they thought I was sleeping. Whoever it was that wanted me back wanted me whole, and I would never be whole again. The hunters decided to kill me once I finished helping them with their attacks on the Sawtooth Pack. They would tell their client I attacked and they had to put me down.

Once they decided I was as good as dead, they stopped holding themselves back. The enchantment on the collar made me compliant. They really enjoyed knowing I had to praise them and beg for them, even if I didn’t want to, just because they gave the order to me.

Karl never used commands, though. He just hit me or hurt me in other ways. At one point, he told me he liked how I cried and begged him to stop.

He didn’t realize that was all the collar needed to create compliance and I would break faster than I had before. Karl took it as me becoming afraid of him.

I wasn’t afraid, though. I was pissed off.

Carefully, I looked over the printed email outlining what they needed to do. I studied the wording. The sender only put ‘the silver item we’ve supplied’ rather than saying ‘the collar’. Understanding dawned on me. They hired more than one team to retrieve me, and they supplied the silver wrist cuffs to the other team or teams.

I cursed my luck. Yeah, the wolves had been grateful and not killed me, but gratitude from one pack wouldn’t keep me safe from whoever was still hunting me.

Once I left, I was on my own. At least, this time, I knew I was being hunted. It would help me be more cautious and prepared to fight.

Leafing through the pages, I found the person knew I’d be heading west, but it wasn’t surprising, eighty percent of the country was west of our territory. Hiding on the east coast limited my options.

Too much of that region belonged to one pack or another. I didn’t want to cause trouble for my father’s old pack. It was the only one that would take me without petition.

They outlined things about my personality, interests, habits, and hobbies which could be useful in finding me. If this exact information was given to the other hunters, then I could make changes. There was at least one thing I knew I could change with no trouble. My long, thick hair. Cutting it off would make me less easily recognizable.

I climbed out of the bed and went to the kitchen to find scissors. I wasn’t going to cut it all off. Just enough to keep them from finding me by a quick once over. I never let it grow past my waist and it was one of my favorite features.

Once I found the scissors, I went into the bathroom and measured my hair in the mirror. In my entire life, I never had more than a trim. I found myself floundering at the notion of cutting away my constant companion.

Then I thought about how Karl had wrapped it around his arm. How Titus had tied my braid around my neck. How Leo grabbed me by it and threw me to the floor when I tried to run.

My grandfather always said to remove any obvious weakness if you wanted to win in any aspect of life. Being able to control and restrain me like the hunters had, was the most obvious of all my weaknesses. Men went for hair almost as quickly as women in a fight. I wouldn’t let that happen again.

I hated the idea of doing it myself. Going to a salon wouldn’t be an option until my silver burn healed. I worked carefully and diligently to cut a makeshift asymmetrical bob.

The longest point brushed my collarbone and the shortest ended right below my ear. It wasn’t even, but a shaggy sort of cut. I felt almost a hundred pounds lighter. As if my hair had carried my suffering.

After, I worked to clean the mess I made and get the hair off of my clothing. It proved to be difficult, so I went into the main cabin area to get my bag and the broom.

Thirty minutes later, I had cleaned, changed my clothes, and brushed out my new cut. I left the dirty clothes in the hamper, hoping Oliver would be okay with washing it for me.

In the time I’d been working, he returned with groceries. Oliver turned when he heard the bathroom door open, then froze and stared. I felt a blush of embarrassment creeping across my face.

“What happened, Liviana?” He asked.

I hated when he called me that. It was what I was called when in trouble, when the hunters had me, when I disappointed my grandfather. I only wanted Oliver to call me Livy, or strange girl.

Being able to stand through the whole cutting process gave me hope. I had to be honest with him. I’d played defenseless girl for too long. Time to be me. Time to be Livana Sandulf-Drake, granddaughter of Oliver Sandulf, head of the Dark Moon Clan.

“I realized those hunters probably aren’t the only ones after me. Whoever it was knew they’d have to hire humans, because no wolf would try to take me. Humans wouldn’t be able to track me by smell. One thing everyone who knows me knows I would never do, is cut my hair more than an inch. It was in their dossier on me.” I admitted.

“How did you know that?”

“I took it from the folders you brought in. I wanted to see what was in the files and when I found my information, I decided I’d use it to try and figure out who wants me. And to change myself enough that I could pretend I died. I already have a new identity and have used it in my travels.” I replied.

“So you are a runaway.”

I laughed dryly. “That collar is from when I was fifteen. It’s not the collar they had me in for the eleven years before. Wouldn’t you run? I’m not going back, Beta-boy. I’d rather die a rogue.”

I crossed to the couch. The weakness was back again. At least the waves of weakness and exhaustion were shortening. I curled up in the corner of the couch and looked at him. Oliver had returned to putting away the groceries.

“Yeah. I would run, too. Do you want steak?” Oliver asked.

I smiled. “That sounds great. I can’t wait until I’m not constantly hungry anymore. I think it should be about one more night and I’ll be ready to go.”

He stiffened. I pretended not to notice. Just like I pretended not to notice him ignore my comment. He was processing, not acting or emoting. Oliver was living up to his namesake. It’s what my grandfather would’ve done.

I dozed as he worked on cooking. It was a bit of a relief to know he’d stop trying to send me home and was willing to think and listen. So many people in my life decided they knew what was best, without even caring what I thought.

After about fifteen minutes, he set food on the table, got me water, and himself a beer. He never did ask my age… not that I wanted a beer while I was healing. Once flatware was set out, he helped me to the table and pushed in my chair.

Oliver sat across from me and took a couple bites of his food. I followed suit. Gotta love a man who can cook. I sure as hell couldn’t.

“Have you decided to tell me what you’ve been hiding then? Or do I have to wait until you so something weird again?” He questioned.

“Do you like my hair, though?” I asked.

“It makes you look older. How old are you anyway?” He replied.

“I’m nearly twenty-two.” I smiled when his eyes widened. Yeah, he didn’t think I was old enough to drink. “How old did you think I was?”

“Maybe eighteen.” Oliver mumbled.

“People have guessed younger, so I get it. What do you need to know? I’d rather not tell you everything right now. I can give you enough to help you agree that I shouldn’t go back and they shouldn’t know where I am.” I offered.

Oliver seemed to be thinking for a while. I liked that he was taking his time, because I didn’t plan on answering a lot of questions. I was exhausted, again.

“Who was your grandfather?” He asked.

I sighed. Everyone knew my grandfather. He would know where I came from just from that information. At least it would lessen the amount of questions he asked.

“Oliver Sandulf.”  I replied.