The Ghost in the Guillotine

Freya's POV

“Traitors! Filth! Death to the Nolans!”

The screams of the crowd slammed into me from all sides, a physical force that made my small body tremble. The air was thick with the smell of angry sweat and rain-soaked earth. I was seven years old, lost in a forest of angry legs, my tiny hand clenched tightly in my father’s.

“Daddy?” I whimpered, my voice a tiny feather in a hurricane.

He looked down at me, his face pale but his eyes clear and steady. The noise seemed to fade for just a second when he looked at me. He knelt, his large hands framing my face, his calloused thumbs wiping away tears I didn’t even know were falling.

“Freya,” he said, his voice a low, calm rumble that was just for me. “My brave girl. You listen to me. You be strong. Always. No matter what happens today, no matter what they say. You be strong. You hear me?”

I nodded, my throat too tight to speak. I didn’t understand what was happening, only that the air crackled with a terrible fear.

Then rough hands grabbed him, tearing him away from me. My mother’s scream cut through the chaos, a sound of pure despair that I can still hear in my bones. I was pushed forward, forced to see the wooden platform, the terrible, sharp-edged shape waiting there.

My father stood tall, his gaze finding mine in the sea of hate. He didn’t look away.

“Be strong, Freya!” he yelled, his voice booming over the crowd one last time.

The glint of sunlight on falling steel.

A wet, final thud.

The cheering that followed was worse than the screaming. And the blood… so much blood, pooling and dripping between the wooden planks, so red and so… wrong.

I jerked upright in my bed, a scream trapped in my throat, my heart trying to punch its way out of my ribs.

Silence.

Not the roaring crowd. Not the drizzle of rain. Just the hum of my old fridge and the thumping of my own terrified heart. My grey eyes scanned the tiny, cramped room... the peeling wallpaper, the stack of car manuals by the door, the faint morning light filtering through the dirty window.

Fifteen years. It had been fifteen years and I could still smell the blood.

“Just a dream, Freya,” I whispered to the empty room, my voice shaky. “Just a really, crappy, high-definition nightmare.”

A glance at the alarm clock on my crate-nightstand made my stomach drop. The numbers blared 7:48 AM. Crap. I was beyond late; I was fired-in-waiting.

I exploded out of bed, a whirlwind of frantic motion. My long dark hair was yanked into a messy ponytail, my stained jeans and hoodie were pulled on in record time. I shoved my feet into my worn-out boots, grabbed my backpack and burst out of my apartment door without breakfast. Some days, remembering to breathe felt like an accomplishment.

Outside, a fine, cold drizzle misted the air, matching my mood perfectly. I tugged my hood up, pulling it low over my face and started moving. My routine was simple: head down, shoulders hunched, move fast and don’t make eye contact. It was the survival guide for the pack pariah.

I could feel their eyes on me. The butcher sweeping his step, the woman waiting for the bus. Whispers followed me like ghosts.

There’s the traitor’s daughter. Dirty blood. Why is she still here?

I kept walking, my hands shoved deep in my pockets. Be strong, my father had said. He probably didn’t mean “strong at ignoring jerks,” but you work with what you’ve got.

I was two blocks from the auto shop when they stepped out of the alley. Three of them, guys from the pack with too much time and too much hate. My luck had officially run out.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” one of them sneered, blocking my path. “Or should I say, what the mutt dragged in.”

I tried to side-step, but another one moved, caging me in.

“Where you going so fast, Nolan? Got a date with a garbage can?”

The leader, a guy named Brett with a cruel smile, shoved my shoulder. I stumbled back, my boot slipping on the wet pavement.

“Leave me alone, Brett,” I muttered, righting myself.

“Ooh, it talks!” he laughed. “Does it bark, too? Come on, mutt. Show us what your dirty blood can do.”

Another shove, harder this time, sent me crashing into the brick wall behind me. My head snapped back, pain blooming across my scalp. This was my life. The weekly... sometimes daily... reminder that I was the pack’s punching bag.

“What is your problem?” a new voice cut through the drizzle, sharp and furious.

My friend Leni marched toward us, her curly brown hair a frizzy halo around her angry face. She was petite, but right now, she looked like a furious giant.

“Picking on someone because your brain is too small to come up with a better hobby?” she snapped, planting herself between me and Brett.

Brett scowled.

“This doesn’t concern you, human.”

“It does when you’re blocking the sidewalk,” Leni shot back, not even flinching. “Now beat it. Don’t you have a fire hydrant to sniff or something?”

They grumbled, throwing a few more dirty looks my way, but Leni’s defiant stance and the fact that a human was publicly shaming them seemed to take the fun out of it. They slunk away, muttering curses.

Leni turned to me, her warm brown eyes full of fire.

“Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

“I’m fine,” I said, brushing off my jeans. “Just my pride. And maybe my hoodie. It’s now officially baptized in Westwood gutter water.”

“Why don’t you ever fight back, Frey?” she asked, falling into step beside me as we hurried toward the shop. “You just let them push you around!”

“What good would it do, Len?” I sighed. “Fight one, three more show up. It’s like a really sucky game of whack-a-mole, but the moles are jerks with super strength. I just keep my head down and it’s over faster.”

“You’re a werewolf!” she said, her voice rising with frustration. “Use your… you know… wolfy powers! Growl! Show some teeth! Something!”

I froze, grabbing her arm and pulling her into a doorway.

“Leni! Will you keep your voice down?” I hissed, glancing around in a panic. “You can’t just yell ‘werewolf’ in the middle of the street! What is wrong with you?”

She had the decency to look sheepish.

“Sorry. But it’s true. You could totally take them.”

“And if I ‘take them,’ and the Council finds out a human knows about us because I had to wolf out on Main Street, what do you think they’ll do to you, huh? My troubles would be over, but you’d be disappeared. No more ‘Leni’s Luscious Loaves’ at the bakery.”

Her face paled. ..

“Oh. Right. The whole ‘secret supernatural society’ thing.” My clumsiness... shifting in front of her by accident years ago... had given her a secret that could get her killed. I lived with that guilt every day.

“Yeah,” I said, pulling my hood back up. “That thing. So let’s just keep my inner wolf on her leash, okay?”

We reached the intersection where our paths diverged. Leni’s bakery was to the left, my auto shop to the right.

“Okay, okay,” she relented. “But text me if those morons bother you again. I’ll come at them with a stale baguette. It’ll hurt more than you think.” She gave me a quick hug. “See you later.”

I offered her a weak smile.

“Go make some dough.”

She groaned at the pun and headed off.

I sprinted the last block to ‘Gus’s Garage,’ bursting through the side door into the familiar smell of grease and gasoline.

My boss, Gus, a broad werewolf with permanent oil stains on his hands, glared at me from under a lifted truck. “You’re late, Nolan.”

“I know, I’m sorry, my alarm...”

“Save it,” he grumbled, not unkindly. “We got a new job. Luxury sports car with engine making a sound like a dying raccoon. Owner’s in the waiting room. He’s getting impatient. Real snippy. Rich kid type. You’re on it.”

Great. A snippy, rich kid. My favorite.

I dropped my bag, grabbed a clipboard and headed for the customer waiting area, already mentally preparing my “I’m-so-sorry-for-your-car-troubles” face.

A man was standing with his back to me, looking out the window at the drizzle. He was tall, with broad shoulders that stretched the fabric of his expensive-looking jacket. Everything about him screamed money and power, an effortless Alpha presence that made the cramped waiting room feel even smaller.

“Excuse me, sir?” I said, putting on my best professional voice. “I’m sorry for the wait. I’m Freya, I’ll be taking a look at your vehicle today. If you could just describe the...”

He turned around and the clipboard clattered to the floor while my heart jumped to my throat..!