The servant presents a leather lash.
The matriarch brandishes it, the tip whistling through the air.
“Last chance, little wolf. Will you take the tonic?”
I shake my head.
“c***k!” The whip lands across my back, pain exploding like a wolf’s fangs sinking into flesh. Sweat soaks the gown, darkening the fabric to the color of dried blood.
“Will you take it?”
I shudder like a wolf caught in a snare, nails gouging crescents in my palms, but my teeth stay clenched: "I won't drink that tonic."
Blood soaks the pearl-white fabric.
My vision blurs, sunlight through the window melting into golapartment specks.
The last image searing my eyes is Alex on the terrace, back turned, twirling the phone cord—his low laugh ripples like a wolf's purr for another she-wolf.
As darkness swallows me, I t
