Chapter 3

"I don't need it." Clayton clasped my hand tightly. "I can eat anything. There's no need to spend money on me. I won't die."

This amount of money was nothing more than Salem's monthly snack budget.

"It's fine." I ruffled Clayton's head and held out the newly selected collar and muzzle. "Do you like them?"

It was a slender black metal collar paired with a custom-made black muzzle.

I'd initially decided not to have Clayton wear such things anymore, but the doctor insisted on it.

"Don't be fooled by the wild beastkin's appearance. He could bite your neck off in one bite," he had said.

I could only try my best to choose something comfortable.

While removing his old muzzle, the doctor asked Clayton, "Were you a venting beastkin or a gladiator?"

Clayton lowered his head further, his voice muffled. "I was both."

"I see." The doctor handed me the old muzzle to examine. "Look at these teeth marks. He must have bitten down when the pain became unbearable."

Clayton paused. "That's from last night."

I froze.

"In the arena?" the doctor asked.

"No," Clayton said before glancing at my retreating figure. "That happened while venting."

…

I got home at dawn. My parents had long since fallen asleep.

Salem was most likely sleeping in my sister's room.

The cold, incandescent light in the entryway was the only thing greeting me.

"Come in." I kicked off my high heels and turned to look at Clayton.

The cold light swept across his high, prominent brow, settling on his angular features. He didn't move, his gaze fixed on the discarded collar on the floor.

I picked it up. "This is Salem's."

Salem was the service beastkin my parents gave me to compensate me for losing me for 18 years.

My parents lost me at five and were only reunited with me when I was 23.

Upon my return, I discovered that my parents had long ago adopted a little girl from the orphanage. Her name was Lisa Manfred. My parents had adopted her since infancy, and she was now 17.

Lisa reacted very poorly to my return. She couldn't accept that she was adopted.

She hurled everything within reach at me, wailing and screaming hysterically. "Get out! I'm their daughter! Why are you trying to take them from me? This is my house, you filthy beggar! Get out!"

My mother, Anna Larson, rushed over to embrace her, murmuring gentle words of comfort. "Don't cry, you'll always be our daughter. Just because your sister's back doesn't mean we don't love you anymore. We'll love you as much as we did. We'll love you both."

My father, John Manfred, stood protectively before me with a resigned look. "Lisa's been spoiled rotten by your mother, and now she has a real princess complex. Since you're six years older, do try to be more patient with her later on."

I should've been heartbroken, but I was already 23. I had already moved past the age of craving my parents' affection. By then, I had entered the age of liking wealth even more.

I lowered my gaze, tears of hurt trailing down my cheeks. "I understand, Dad."

Showing vulnerability had its uses after all. Now, the monthly allowance I received kept increasing.

During the first birthday celebration at my new home, my parents gifted me Salem, a show-quality service wolfhound.

"You're too shy," my parents said. "We're giving you a puppy so you can be more lively and cheerful."

At the time, Salem was just a puppy that hadn't shapeshifted.

This made Lisa cry buckets. "Why does only Lisa get one? You promised not to play favorites! He's mine!"

She scooped up Salem and vanished after dashing outside. My birthday party was ruined, and I no longer had a present.

Mom and Dad were at their wits' end, weeping every day.

I wept too. "It's my fault, Mom and Dad. I'm sorry. I pushed her away."

It wasn't until one afternoon over ten days later that Lisa and Salem reappeared at the front door, covered in dust and dirt. "Mom and Dad, I'm so hungry. I'm sorry, I won't run away again."

Mom and Dad rushed forward to hug Lisa, and all three of them wept uncontrollably.