High Honors and Punishment

Spurn’s POV

Graduation day should have felt like freedom. Instead, I woke before dawn to Morgan kicking the side of my cot and throwing a wrinkled dress at my face. “Wear that,” she snapped. “And do not make us look bad.” The dress had once been hers, pale blue and pretty before she ruined it. A stain marked the skirt, and one sleeve hung loose where the seam had torn. I put it on anyway because it was cleaner than my usual clothes and because, for one morning, I wanted to pretend I was allowed to be more than the girl in the basement.

The ceremony was held in the academy auditorium. Families filled the seats, cheering, waving, and holding flowers for their graduates. I stood at the edge of my class and kept my hands folded in front of me so no one would see them shaking. Morgan stood several rows ahead of me, surrounded by the wolves who always orbited her. Dominik was there, polished and proud in his graduation robe, already carrying himself like the Alpha heir everyone expected him to become. Tessa Landish stood near the opposite side of the class, quiet and nervous, her eyes flicking once toward the row where her family sat stiff and silent instead of celebrated. Everyone knew the Landishes carried the Gamma title, but Moon Howlers treated that title like a decoration they could dust off when secrets needed keeping and ignore the rest of the time. Camron sat with Alpha Amos, Luna Sheila, Beta Blake, and Ursela near the front. He was not graduating yet, but he grinned like the whole ceremony existed for his entertainment. They were there for Morgan and Dominik, not me. I told myself that was fine. I had not expected anything different.

Then Principal Waverly stepped to the microphone and began announcing honors. When she called my name for graduating with high honors, the room shifted. A few teachers clapped harder. Mrs. Halden stood with tears in her eyes, her hands pressed together like she was trying to hold back every word she was not allowed to say. I walked across the stage with my heart pounding and accepted the certificate. For one brief second, I let myself feel it. Pride. Small, trembling, terrifying pride. I had earned this. No one had given it to me. No one had made it easy. I had earned every mark, every grade, every bit of recognition with bruised hands and an empty stomach. Then Principal Waverly looked down at the next card in her hand, and my breath caught before I knew why. “Spurn Sanders has also been awarded the Moon Scholar Award, a full scholarship to the University of Howlers.” The applause faltered first, like the room itself did not know what to do with that truth. Then Mrs. Halden began clapping, hard and fierce, and a few teachers followed. I stood frozen beneath the lights while the words moved through me. Full scholarship. University of Howlers. Tuition. Housing. A way out. For one impossible second, the stage beneath my feet felt less like something I had survived and more like the first plank of a bridge leading away from Moon Howlers.

Dominik’s name was called not long after mine. The applause was immediate and loud, full of pride for the Alpha heir, and he accepted his certificate with a practiced smile that made the crowd cheer harder. A few names later, Tessa Landish crossed the stage. Her applause was softer, scattered mostly among teachers and the few wolves brave enough to acknowledge the Gamma family in public, but I clapped as quietly as I dared. For one brief second, Tessa looked toward me, and something like understanding passed between us before she lowered her eyes and hurried off the stage. Then Morgan’s name was called near the bottom of the class list. She crossed with a stiff smile, but rage burned behind her eyes. The applause for her was loud because of who she was, not because of what she had accomplished. Everyone knew it. Morgan knew it too. When the ceremony ended, I tried to slip away before anyone could corner me, but Beta Blake’s hand closed around my arm hard enough to bruise.

“You did that on purpose,” he hissed, dragging me into a side hallway.

I stared at him, confused and afraid. “Did what?”

Ursela stepped in front of me, her face tight with fury. “You embarrassed your sister. You made her look weak in front of the whole pack.”

“I only studied,” I whispered.

Blake’s grip tightened. “You distracted her. You made teachers pity you. You let them praise you so they would compare you to Morgan.”

Alpha Amos appeared at the end of the hall, his expression dark. “A slave does not outshine a beta daughter.”

The words stole the air from my lungs. I wanted to say that Morgan had failed because Morgan had chosen cruelty over work. I wanted to say that my grades were the only thing I had left. I said nothing. Silence was safer.

They waited until the pack house was busy celebrating Morgan and Dominik’s graduation, then punished me in the basement for mine. Blake called it correction. Ursela called it discipline. Morgan watched from the stairs with her arms crossed and a satisfied smile on her face. “Do not get any ideas about that scholarship,” Blake snarled between strikes. “You will not be going to the University of Howlers. You are a slave, and that is all you will ever be.” The whip cracked again, and I bit down on the cry trying to claw its way out of me. Ursela stepped closer, her voice cold and certain. “If anyone deserves that award, it is Morgan. Not some worthless mistake who tricked teachers into pitying her.” Morgan’s smile widened. “Mother and Father will speak to the committee. Alpha Amos will make sure they listen. Once they understand what you are, they will remove your name and give it to someone worthy.” Meaning herself. She did not have to say it. Every strike of the whip burned away the pride I had dared to feel on that stage, but not the truth. Not completely. I had graduated with high honors. I had earned the Moon Scholar Award. I had won a full scholarship to the University of Howlers. Tessa had graduated too, quietly and without celebration, and somehow that made the unfairness feel even sharper. Even if they buried my certificate, even if they tried to destroy the scholarship letter, even if they fought to rip my name from the award and place Morgan’s there instead, they could not make Morgan’s failure mine.

That night, I hid the certificate and the scholarship letter beneath the thin mattress on my cot. My back throbbed. My hands shook. But when my fingers brushed the paper, something inside me refused to die. Graduation had not freed me, not yet. College felt farther away than ever, but it was real now. The University of Howlers had chosen me. Somewhere beyond Moon Howlers territory, there was a place with my name written on an acceptance list and a scholarship that came with a bed no one could kick, a room above ground, and a door that might lock from the inside. I pressed the papers flat beneath the mattress and made myself a promise through the pain. They could punish me for earning it. They could hate me for wanting it. But they would not make me stop reaching for it. I was not stupid. I was not nothing. And no matter how hard Moon Howlers tried, they had not taken my mind.

Two days later, I heard the first whispers about the Mating Ball. Moon Howlers would be hosting it now that graduation was over, and unmated wolves from packs all along the East Coast were expected to attend. A few would even come from out west. Alpha Amos bragged that it would prove Moon Howlers’ strength and standing among the werewolf communities. Morgan preened at the news, certain the ball would bring her a powerful mate who would erase the embarrassment of graduation. I only hoped whoever he was would take her far away from me.

The first guests began arriving three days after graduation. By then, the wounds from my punishment had scabbed over enough for me to move without seeing stars every time I bent too far. That did not mean they had healed. Nothing in Moon Howlers ever truly healed. It only closed over until someone decided to tear it open again. Not all of the unmated wolves had arrived yet, but from what I overheard, the rest would be here by tonight. That meant my workload would double. Before the guests arrived, I finished every bedroom and the common room, then slipped back down to the basement because my body was shaking too badly to keep moving. I sat on the edge of my cot and tried to peel the back of my shirt away from the scabbed lashes without making a sound. Some of the wounds had opened again while I worked. Blood had dried into the fabric, and every breath pulled fire across my skin. I told myself I only needed a minute. One minute to stop trembling. One minute before the kitchen. One minute before the rest of the house needed to be scrubbed clean for wolves who would never know I existed.

A soft knock sounded against the basement doorframe. I jerked upright too fast and nearly cried out. Dr. Bennett Cross stepped inside with his medical bag in one hand and a folded cloth in the other. “Easy, Spurn,” he said quietly. “It is only me.” My shoulders dropped, but shame rose just as fast. I hated that he always saw me like this: bloody, hungry, and trying to pretend I was stronger than I was. He did not ask permission to help because he knew I would say I was fine. Instead, he set the bag down, washed his hands with the little bottle of sanitizer he carried, and gently helped me turn so he could see my back. His breath caught. He tried to hide it, but I heard it anyway. “Some of these reopened,” he murmured. “You should not be working like this.” I gave a humorless little laugh. “I do not get to choose that.” He did not argue because we both knew the truth. He cleaned each wound with careful hands, pausing whenever my fingers clenched in the blanket. The medicine burned, but his touch never did. That was why I trusted him. In a pack where hands only grabbed, struck, and shoved, Dr. Cross’s hands had always tried to put me back together.

When he finished wrapping the worst of the lashes, he pulled a small sandwich from his bag and placed it in my hands. “Eat this before you go upstairs.” I stared at it for a second too long, afraid even here someone might snatch it away. Hunger won. I ate quickly, too quickly, barely tasting anything until there was nothing left but crumbs on my fingers. Heat crawled up my face. “Sorry,” I whispered. “Do not apologize for being hungry,” he said, and the sadness in his voice made my throat tighten. “Spurn, there is something I need to tell you.” I looked up. His expression had changed. Not softer. More determined. “There is a very powerful Alpha here for the Mating Ball. Alpha Damon Lockheart.” The name settled in the small room like a warning and a promise. I had heard stories about him. Everyone had. The strongest Alpha alive, if the whispers were true. Ruthless with enemies. Merciless with wolves who abused the innocent. “I think he senses something is wrong,” Dr. Cross continued. “I am going to try to get him alone at the backyard barbeque and tell him enough of what has been happening to you. It may be the only way I can help.” Terror slammed into me so fast I nearly dropped the cloth in my lap. “No,” I begged. “Please don’t. If they find out, they’ll kill me.” Dr. Cross held my gaze. “I understand why you are afraid. But if I do nothing, you may end up dead anyway. I could not live with myself if I did not take this chance.” I wanted to tell him not to risk it. I wanted to tell him hope was too dangerous. But a smaller, quieter part of me wanted someone powerful to know I existed. “Do you really think he could help?” I whispered. “I do.” He stood, lifting his bag. “But I need you to be careful. Do your chores. Stay out of sight. And if you smell or sense anything unusual, do not follow it. Just remember it.” After he left, I sat very still, holding those words against my chest like they might bruise. Alpha Damon Lockheart. A powerful Alpha. A possible chance. Then the clock forced me back to reality. I still had to clean.

I forced myself upstairs and started in the kitchen because that was where I was least likely to be noticed if I moved fast enough. The pack house had changed with the arrival of guests. There were more footsteps, more voices, more scents layered through the halls until the air felt crowded. I scrubbed counters, wiped down tables, gathered dishes, and carried trash out with my head bowed. Every movement pulled at the bandages beneath my shirt, but I did not slow down. Slowing down meant being seen. Being seen meant punishment. From the kitchen, I moved into the dining hall, then the sitting room, then the long hallway near the beta floor. That was when the feeling started. The skin at the back of my neck prickled. I paused with a rag in my hand and looked over my shoulder. No one was there. The hallway stretched empty behind me, polished and bright and silent. Still, I could feel it. Someone was watching me. Not like Morgan watched, waiting for an excuse to hurt me. Not like Dominik watched, angry and ashamed and cruel because of it. This felt different. Heavy. Focused. Almost careful. I turned back to the floor and scrubbed harder, pretending I had imagined it. Then the scent reached me. Watermelon and sunshine. Sweet, bright, warm. So clean it made the bleach in my nose seem ugly. My hand froze against the floor. The scent curled around me like sunlight through an open window, and for one dangerous heartbeat, I wanted to follow it. I wanted to find whoever carried something that felt so alive. My heart beat faster. My body knew before my mind did that something about that scent mattered. I lifted my head and searched the hall again. Nothing. No footsteps. No shadow. No face. Only that delicious scent lingering in the air and the impossible feeling that whoever watched me could see every broken piece I had tried to hide. Fear rushed in behind the warmth. I dropped my gaze and forced myself back to work. I could not afford curiosity. I could not afford hope. By the time the rest of the guests began returning to the pack house, I had finished enough of the chores to avoid immediate punishment and hurried back to the basement with the scent of watermelon and sunshine still clinging to my senses.