CHAPTER 2

Thalia's POV

My father's corpse was still warm.

I crawled across the carpet, my broken ribs aching, and pressed my hand to his chest praying for movement. For anything that would prove this was just another nightmare.

But there was nothing.

"Dad?" My voice cracked. "Dad, please. Wake up."

But he didn't, his skin felt wrong. Too still, too soft. Like touching a mannequin wearing my father's face.

Footsteps behind me. I spun around, hoping that someone could help, call an ambulance or do something.

It was Mrs. Ashton from next door. And the blackwood brothers from down the street. And old Mr. Derek who always yelled at kids for running through his yard.

They were all rogues. Outcasts who lived on the edges of pack territory, tolerated but never accepted.

"Poor girl," Mrs. Ashton whispered, but she didn't come closer. None of them did.

"What happened?" I gasped. "How did he..."

"Alpha Henry," one of the Blackwood brothers said quietly. "Territory dispute this morning. Your father was hunting near the border."

"Henry didn't like that," the other brother finished. "Made an example."

The words didn't make sense. Alpha Henry was our pack leader. He was brutal and violent. But he didn't just murder people for hunting.

Except he did. He had.

My father was dead because he'd crossed an invisible line only wolves could see, and I,unable to shift, unable to sense pack boundaries, hadn't even known to warn him.

"The Alpha's claiming it was a lawful kill," Mr. Derek said, his old face grey. "Challenge over territory and your father lost."

"That's not..." I choked on my blood and grief. "He wouldn't have challenged anyone. He was terrified of confrontation."

They all looked away. Because they knew the truth. In a wolf pack, the weak didn't get justice. They got death.

The front door slammed open.

My mother stumbled in, laughing, absolutely wasted. Two of her diner friends flanked by her side, both human, both drunk off their asses.

"...and then he said my tits were too small for a..." Mom stopped mid-sentence, staring at the living room. At the body on the couch. At me kneeling in a pool of my own blood.

For one second, I thought she might cry. Might scream. Might show any emotion that proved she'd actually loved him.

Instead, she laughed.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" She grabbed the doorframe for balance, swaying. "Why tonight? He dies tonight? Right before rent's due?"

"Mom are serious?!" I asked in disbelief.

"Shut up." She lurched forward, staring down at Dad's corpse. "So useless. Absolutely fucking useless. Couldn't even stay alive long enough to be worth something."

The two ladies exchanged uncomfortable looks but didn't leave. They just stood there, drunk and awkward, while my mother cursed over my father's dead body.

"Nina, maybe we should..." One of them started.

"Twenty years," Mom cut her off, voice rising. "Twenty years I wasted on this weak-ass wolf and his defective hybrid daughter." She spun toward me, eyes wild. "You couldn't even shift to make him proud before he died. Couldn't give him one fucking thing to be happy about."

The words hit harder than Dorian's claws.

"Get out," I whispered.

"Excuse me?" She asked eyes widening.

"GET OUT!" I screamed it, my broken ribs sending pain through my chest. "All of you! Get the hell out!"

And they all left. Even Mom, stumbling back out the door with her friends.

The rogues melted away too, uncomfortable with family drama that wasn't theirs.

I was alone.

Just me and my father's corpse in our shitty living room with its water-stained ceiling and threadbare carpet.

I crawled to the couch. Pulled myself up beside him. Laid my head on his still chest and finally, finally, let myself break.

The graveyard dirt was still fresh on my father's plot when I walked through the school's front doors.

It had been one week. Seven days since I'd found him dead. Seven days since Dorian had broken my ribs and Damon had buried his fangs in my leg. Seven days since my world had burned to ash.

The hallway went quiet when I appeared.

Everyone stared. Waiting for the broken girl. The hybrid who'd learned her place.

I felt their eyes tracking the fading bruises on my face, the careful way I moved to protect my still-healing ribs. Saw them exchange knowing looks.

Dorian himself lounged against the lockers near my classroom, surrounded by his usual crew, his brothers. When he saw me, he grinned, that same cruel smile he'd worn in the bathroom while breaking my bones.

"Look who's back," he called out. "Thought maybe you'd transferred. Or killed yourself. Either way works."

His brothers laughed. I kept walking, trying to avoid anymore trouble.

"Hey." Dorian pushed off the lockers, moving to block me. "I'm talking to you, hybrid."

I didn't stop. Didn't look at him. Just kept moving forward like he didn't exist.

His hand shot out, slamming into my shoulder, hard. Shoving me toward the lockers the way he'd done a thousand times before.

But this time, something was different.

This time, grief had burned away my fear.

I'd sat by my father's grave for hours after the burial, rain soaking through my funeral dress, and made myself a promise. I'd never be weak again.

The next person who tried to break me would find out exactly what happens when you push someone with nothing left to lose.

Dorian's shove sent me stumbling.

I caught myself, yurned. And shoved him back, hard.

Dorian crashed into the lockers with a metallic bang that echoed down the entire corridor. His eyes went wide with shock, shock that the hybrid had dared to touch him.

The hallway went silent.

Every conversation died. Every laugh cut off mid-breath. A hundred students froze, staring at the impossible scene unfolding before them.

The weakest girl in school.

The one who couldn't shift.

The victim who always took her beating without fighting back.

Had just put hands on Dorian.

"You..." Dorian started, his face flushing red.

"Try me again," I said quietly. "Please. I'm begging you. Try me one more time and see what happens."

The silence stretched.

Dorian stared at me like I'd grown a second head. Behind him, Damon and Dracula had gone completely still, hands halfway to their weapons, unsure what the hell they were witnessing.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

The hybrid was supposed to break.

Instead, she was standing in the middle of the hallway with blood in her eyes and a smile that promised violence, daring the strongest wolf in school to make a move.

The entire corridor held its breath.