My Werewolf Family Made Me Their Blood Bank

The strap circled my upper arm and clicked into place. My fingers curled on instinct.

My mother, Lana Hollis, didn't look up. She wore a mask and slowly pushed the air out of the syringe, her hands as steady as if she were performing a routine procedure on a stranger.

"Don't tense up," she said. "Your veins will constrict."

I unclenched my fist and watched the needle slide into my skin.

Dark red blood ran through the clear tubing into the bag, and the numbers on the scale started climbing. The training room was right next to the exam room. The walls were soundproofed, but I could still hear Jace landing with heavy thuds and Skye laughing between their coach's commands.

They were practicing for the coming-of-age trial.

At 17, the twins could already shift fully. Jace's wolf stood just over three feet at the shoulder and had more explosive power than anyone else his age. Skye had a little less control, but she was the best on camera. My father said six packs were sending people to watch this year's trial. The Hollis family couldn't just win. We had to look good doing it.

Looking good meant no sedatives, no chains, and no guards anywhere near them.

They needed my blood.

"How much is that?" I asked.

My mother glanced at the scale. "400 milliliters."

"I meant this month."

Her hand stopped for half a second, then went back to adjusting the flow. "This is the second time."

I didn't say anything.

Last week, when I woke up in the kitchen, there'd been a needle mark on the inside of my left arm too. My mother said it was from an IV used for testing, not a blood draw. But for the next two days, I got winded climbing the stairs, and my feet were cold at night, exactly how I always felt after a draw.

My father, Grant Hollis, came in and shut the door behind him.

"How's she doing?"

"Blood pressure's a little low. Otherwise, nothing serious," my mother answered.

Only then did my father look at me. "Just hang on one more week. Once the trial's over, I'll do what I promised."

I wanted to go to college out of state.

I'd filled out the application and passed the interview. All I still needed was my father's signature on the pack's out-of-territory clearance and my family's agreement to cover the tuition for my first year.

I was 19. Under human law, I was free to go wherever I wanted without my father's permission. But our family's territory, housing, and education benefits were all registered through the pack. If my father didn't sign, I could still leave, but I'd have to leave my ID, my home, and my money behind.

For the past six months, every time I asked, he'd told me to wait a little longer.

Wait until Jace and Skye finished their first full shift. Wait until they passed the internal selection. Wait until the coming-of-age trial was over.

This time, I didn't nod like I always had.

"Write it down," I said.

My father's brows drew together. "What?"

"I'll give blood one more time. Just this one bag. The day after the trial, you'll sign my out-of-territory clearance and give me back my documents and my college paperwork."

The only sound left in the exam room was the faint beeping of the scale.

My father's gaze shifted from the needle to my face, as if he'd only just realized the person in the blood-draw chair could negotiate.

"Wren," he said, "this family has raised you for 19 years, and now you're keeping score with us over a bag of blood?"

"Because we've never kept track. That's why I want it in writing."

My mother pressed down on the tubing, her voice calmer than his. "She's been anxious lately. It wouldn't hurt to give her a specific date."

My father was silent for a moment. Then he pulled a treatment consent form off the desk, wrote two lines on the back, signed it, and pushed the pen over to me.

I read it before I signed.

He'd written: Once Wren Hollis has assisted with this trial, she may choose to attend school out of state, and the family will return her personal documents.

Nothing about tuition. No date.

I knew this piece of paper wouldn't stop him. Even so, once it was in my hands, I carefully folded it twice and slipped it into my pocket.

When I was little, they'd promised to protect me first and take me into the mountains once I shifted. I still hadn't shifted, and once again, those promises had been pushed off until "later."

When the bag finally reached its target weight, my mother pulled out the needle and quickly pressed a cotton ball to my arm.

"Hold it for five minutes."

I lay there for a while. When I got up, everything went black for a second. My mother reached out to steady me, and I pulled away.

She didn't push it. She just put the bag of blood into the cooler. There were two empty slots left in it, and one of them was still damp with fresh condensation.

At the door, I noticed the plastic bag in the trash can hadn't been tied shut. A torn-off label lay on top.

The date was three days ago. The name was mine. Amount collected: 400 milliliters.

I bent down to tie my shoe and palmed the label.

Behind me, my mother was writing up her notes, and her pen never stopped.

"What is it?"

"My shoelace came undone."

Back in my room, I lifted the edge of my insole and slid the label underneath. Another label was already there, one I'd found in the laundry room last week.

Counting today, that made three bags.

At dinner, Skye excitedly explained the plan for trial day.

"The livestream's going to follow Jace for the first lap, then cut to me. Dad says we can't use restraints at any point, or the other packs will say our only advantage is the equipment."

She took the last piece of beef from the plate, grinned, and winked at me.

"Wren, will your blood be enough for both of us this time?"

My father cleared his throat.

Skye corrected herself right away. "I mean, for emergencies."

My mother kept her head down and sipped her soup like she hadn't heard.

I slowly put down my fork.

Sedatives, restraints, and guards could all keep the twins alive, but they'd knock points off their trial scores. My blood made them look like they'd been born able to control a frenzy.

After dinner, I went to get my application materials.

The drawer was empty.

My mother stood in the doorway, holding the manila envelope.

"Don't get distracted before the full moon," she said. "I'll hold on to these for you."

I watched her walk off with the envelope and didn't go after her.

The two labels beneath my insole dug into the bottom of my foot.

Somehow, that small, hard spot made me stand steadier.