The She-wolf Who Hated her beauty

Twelve years old

Elena — Flashback

I pace back and forth along the hallway, my bare feet cold on the wooden floor. The boards are rough beneath my toes. I have walked this path so many times tonight that I have worn a small groove in the dust. My heart will not stop racing.

Where are they? I bite my lip. Hard. I taste blood.

I am waiting for my parents to come home. The sun set two hours ago. The moon is already high. They have never been gone this long. Not without sending a word. Not without a messenger.

Something is wrong. A cold hand squeezes my chest.

I stop pacing and listen. The house is silent. Too silent. The clock in the hallway has stopped ticking. The fire in the kitchen has burned down to embers. Even the wind outside has died.

Please. Please let them be safe.

Then I hear them. Footsteps on the front porch. Slow. Heavy. Not the light, quick steps I know.

The door creaks open.

I run to the stairs and sit on the fourth step. I grab the book my father gave me for my twelfth birthday — one month ago — and hold it open. I pretend to read. I want them to see me as a good daughter. Patient. Quiet. Not the scared little girl I really am.

But my eyes are not looking at the words. They are looking over the top of the page. Watching. Waiting.

My father enters first.

He is carrying a bundle of wood he chopped for the fire. His shoulders are slumped. His face is made of stone. He does not look at me. He does not say my name. He walks past me as if I am not there. As if I am a ghost.

He heads straight into the kitchen. The door swings shut behind him.

He did not even glance at me.

My mother follows behind her husband. She walks slower. Much slower. Her feet drag on the floor. Her hands hang loose at her sides. Her eyes are red. Swollen. Her cheeks are wet with fresh tears.

My chest tightens. A lump forms in my throat.

"Mom?" I say, closing the book.

She stops. For a moment, she does not move. Then she turns her head. She looks at me. Her lips tremble. Her chin quivers. She tries to smile. I watch her force her mouth into a curve. But the smile does not reach her eyes. Those eyes are full of something I have never seen before.

Fear.

"It's nothing, my little one," she says. Her voice cracks like thin ice. "Go back to your reading."

But I do not go back. I cannot. The book feels heavy in my hands. I set it down on the step beside me. The thud echoes through the quiet house.

"Mom, please." My voice is small. Small like a mouse. "Please tell me what happened."

She glances toward the kitchen. My father is stacking wood by the stove. His back is to us. His shoulders are tense. I can see the muscles in his neck. Hard as rope.

My mother lowers her voice. She steps closer to me. Close enough that I can smell her scent — honey and wildflowers, but underneath, something sour. Something like sweat and worry.

"There was a visitor today," she whispers. Her breath is warm in my ear. "An alpha from the eastern mountains. His name is Caspian."

I do not know that name. But the way she says it makes my blood feel cold. Like someone poured ice water into my veins.

"What does he want?" I ask. My voice shakes.

My mother looks at me. Really looks at me. Her eyes move over my face. My hair. My body. I am twelve, but other wolves say I look older. My body has grown too fast. Curves where there should be sharp angles. A face that makes men stare. I hate it. I hate every inch of myself.

"He saw you," she says. "When you were playing by the river yesterday. He was passing through with his warriors. He saw you splashing in the water. And now..." She swallows. Tears rolled down her cheeks. "Now he wants you."

I feel my stomach drop. Like falling from a great height. "Wants me? For what?"

My mother does not answer right away. She pulls me into her arms. She holds me so tight I cannot breathe. Her heart beats against my ear. Fast. Too fast.

"Daddy said no," she whispers into my hair. Her tears wet my scalp. "He told Caspian you are too young. That you are not ready. That you will never be his."

Relief floods through me. My father said no. It is over.

But then she speaks again.

"Caspian did not accept no." Her arms tighten around me. "He will be back."

"When?"

She pulls away. Her eyes are red. Her face is pale as snow.

"Tonight."

My heart stops. I feel it freeze inside my chest.

From the kitchen, I hear my father's voice. Low. Angry. I have never heard him sound like this. "We should have left when we had the chance. Now it is too late."

My mother grabs my shoulders. Her fingers dig into my skin. "Go to your room, Elena. Lock the door. Do not come out until I call you."

"But Mom—"

"GO."

I run. I run up the stairs. My legs feel like water. Like they might collapse beneath me at any moment. I slam my bedroom door. I push the old wooden lock into place. It clicks. Then I press my back against the wall and slide down until I am sitting on the floor.

I hug my knees to my chest. I rock back and forth. Back and forth.

Tonight. He will come tonight.

I do not cry. I am too scared to cry. The tears are there, behind my eyes, but they will not fall. They are frozen.

Outside my window, the moon rises. Silver. Cold. Watching.

And somewhere in the dark, Caspian gathers his warriors.

A howl cuts through the night. Long. Loud. Hungry. It is not my father's howl. Not any wolf I know. It is the howl of strangers. And it is getting closer. Closer. Closer.