Leah
Martha’s face crumpled like wet paper. The triumph she’d worn seconds ago vanished, replaced by a flash of raw panic.
“Leah White,” she spat, voice shaking with fury, “what the hell do you think you’re doing, throwing my gift on the floor like garbage?”
That white fox cloak wasn’t just fur—it was one of Night Shadow’s prized heirlooms, thick and luxurious, deliberately chosen to make me look like a ridiculous child playing dress-up in front of the entire pack. She’d expected gratitude. Humiliation. Obedience. Not this.
Before she could spit another word, Agnes’s voice sliced through the tension.
“Leah… your hand.”
I lifted it slowly, turning my palm toward the light. Several perfect crimson beads welled up from the tiny punctures, vivid against my suddenly flawless skin. The con
