Lily
The iron chains were heavy, and too tight around her wrists and ankles, but Lily didn’t care. So long as they worked – so long as she couldn’t hurt anyone – she would suffer through endless torment if she had to. The weight of the chains was nothing in comparison to the guilt she’d have to live with if she broke free and tore someone apart. The mere thought of it left a bitter taste in her mouth. She pursed her lips.
The cellar smelt musty and damp, and she wrinkled her nose. She was sat in the far corner, her arms clutching her knees and huddling them for warmth. She’d stormed off after her argument with her dad, and, brooding and angry, she’d come straight down to the cellar. Dressed in just jeans and a thin t-shirt, she longed to sprint upstairs and grab a jumper. But the moon was rising rapidly outside, a slice of white light stretching across the floor before her, and, cold as she was, it wasn’t worth the risk.
Any second now, it would begin. Alone in the darkness, with no light other than the thin sliver of moonlight cutting through the shadowed cellar, she would get through it. Each month, she found that she could exert a little more control over her wolf side. Her dad was adamant that if she let herself out once in a while, she’d gain much more control much more quickly. But, to Lily, it wasn’t worth the risk.
She sighed, hugging her knees closer to her chest. Wide brown eyes tracked the moon’s curvature, and she tried desperately to think of something – anything – to distract herself. Atticus was the first thing to come to mind, and she gritted her teeth. She wouldn’t allow herself to think of his broad shoulders, of his flashing, teasing eyes, of his wicked, sinfully curved mouth. A muscle feathered in her jaw.
She hated him. And yet – some part of her ached for him.
She clenched her jaw as pain gripped her bones. It lurked in the shadows, watching her teasingly, and then it snapped her ankles. Her head jerked, but she did not make a sound. Clinging to the spark of humanity buried deep in her chest, she held back her cries as her body twisted and shattered.
Her muscles ripped and her bones reformed around them. Her throat burned with tears, but all through the pain she focused on that small, burning light within her. She clung to it, even as her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she pulled herself up onto four legs, not two.
The urge to tug free of her chains came – and went. Her head jerked again, but this time in surprise. She knew who she was.
It was the first time that she’d retained her full sense of self, and, despite everything, her jaw lolled open into a distorted grin. Anxious to hold onto herself, Lily thought of mundane, trivial things to keep herself grounded.
It was March – meaning that tonight was the Worm Moon. They would spend the next day giving thanks for the coming spring, but it did not come with the revelry and celebration of many of the other moons. Of that, at least, Lily was glad. Her nose wrinkled at the thought of the Solstice, and she wondered at how odd it felt to be a human in the body of a wolf.
She stared up at the moon, tumbling, warring tides within her knocking swords as she wondered if it was a goddess, as so many of her pack believed, or if it was a devil sent to torment them. Perhaps, had she been born into a different pack, it would not seem so evil as it did. The White Oak pack, for instance – they were a gentle, benevolent group, uninterested in battling with the others surrounding their territory every month.
Her gut ached with sorrow for them. They would lose tonight, and many of their wolves would go down in a fight they had not asked for. Despite what her Dad had told her, Lily did not believe for a second that White Oak pushed and pushed. That was what Blood Moon did, and they could get away with it because they had the numbers and the sheer strength to back up their ill manners.
Her eyes rolled to her paws, a dusty rose in the dim light but resplendent, shimmering white under the moonlight, she imagined. She’d never turned outside, never once allowed herself a taste of the freedom that her pack tried so hard to push on her. Perhaps now she had a hold on herself, on her wolf-side, she would test the waters by leaving the wine cellar. She didn’t dare go far, but… a walk would be nice.
She yanked at the chains holding her. They didn’t budge.
With a sigh that sounded unnervingly human, she settled on the cold floor. She didn’t dare think of the carnage surely taking place at the border, of the blood soaking into the dewy grass, of the fallen bodies and their dead eyes, open and blank as they stared up at the moon.
It was all for nothing. Her lips curled back from her teeth. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand the need for power, for control over their lands, but peace would never be achieved through violence. Though her dad fought her on it every month, she believed that somewhere, under the lingering wounds of her mother’s death, he knew that diplomacy was a far better means to an end than slaughter.
He was the one thing that kept her from devising plans to leave after her eighteenth birthday. There was love between them still, hibernating somewhere beneath years of brittle conversation and snapping remarks. More than that, there was nostalgia and memory for a time when all had been right between them – a burning ember, digging into her heart every time she saw the empty vase on the dining table.
Pack law meant that she wouldn’t be able to until then – the Alpha had the right to his wolves, and most talents had made themselves known after two years of shifting. Then, if a wolf wanted to leave, he would give his blessing – almost always if the wolf was of no use to him – or he would disagree, and the wolf could leave and live as a rogue, disgraced and discarded, or fight the Alpha. No wolf in the Blood Moon pack had ever walked away from a fight with its Alpha.
Lily was certain that Alpha Atticus would allow her to walk away without a second glance back at her. She was a Warrior Wolf unwilling to fight, more useless than even the lowliest Omega. They, at least, had a purpose.
In fact, though they lacked the training afforded to the Warrior Wolves, all of the Omegas joined the Alpha on his monthly hunts. In most packs, it was frowned upon – every part of the pack had a duty to uphold, and dying at the hands of better warriors meant they would be unable to perform their own duties – but Atticus, and Alvaro before him, had always encouraged every member of their large, sweeping household to involve themselves.
Those that stayed behind faced worse bullying than the rest. If Lily had fists rather than paws, she would have clenched them. Since Atticus had taken up his father’s mantle, only one wolf ever stayed behind. Lily could deal with the taunts and the insults – she could not deal with the bloodshed.
Even though a traitorous part of her ached to make Atticus proud, to do as he wished, to serve him with all that she was and all that she would ever be. That same, delirious part of her longed to awake on her birthday to discover that she was his mate, no matter how poorly matched they might be.