Chapter 2

The next morning, I went to the pack clinic.

From the outside, the clinic looked like an ordinary private hospital. Human patients were treated on the first floor, while injuries and illnesses caused by werewolf shifts were handled only on the two basement levels. My mother ran the place and controlled everything, from the medicine cabinets to who could access the medical records.

The nurse at the front desk knew me.

"Looking for Dr. Hollis?"

"I want to see my medical records."

Her smile stiffened. "Your family controls access to your file. Dr. Hollis has to authorize it."

"I'm 19."

"It's always been set up that way in the system. Why don't you give her a call?"

The night before, my mother had taken my phone, saying I needed "less stimulation before the full moon."

I didn't argue. Most of the people at the clinic had watched me grow up. They were used to taking their cues from my mother. The louder I got, the more convinced they'd be that I was unstable.

I went to the self-service kiosk and entered the reference number from my checkup at 14.

The full chart was locked, but the legacy system still displayed the test summary.

A line of text popped up on the screen. [Patient showing signs of first shift. Recommend discontinuing silver-based medication. Follow-up within seven days.]

I stared at the words "first shift" to make sure I wasn't reading them wrong.

The year I was 14, I'd had a fever for two days, and my bones hurt so much I couldn't sleep. My mother said my heart couldn't handle my wolf waking up, and she changed my medication. After the fever broke, that feeling of something running just under my skin disappeared.

For the next five years, I took the same white pill every day.

The label identified it as a cardioprotective drug.

I tapped Print. The summary was only halfway out of the terminal when a hand reached over and pulled it away.

My mother was standing behind me.

"How did you get here?" she asked.

"I took the bus."

"That's not what I meant."

She glanced at the summary, folded the paper, and kept her voice even. "The assessment in the old system was incomplete. What happened then was only a physiological fluctuation, not a true shift."

"Is there silver in the pills?"

She didn't answer right away.

The nurse at the front desk lowered her head and pretended to sort through some papers. Two other people sat in the waiting area, and I could hear them trying to breathe quietly.

My mother turned and walked toward her office. "Come inside, and we'll talk."

Once the door closed, she put the summary on the desk.

"Yes. A very low dose."

"Why did you lie to me?"

"Because back then, the moment you heard it contained silver, you refused the medication. You had a fever and seizures, and you couldn't even swallow water. I had to stabilize you first."

"For five years?"

My mother finally looked up at me.

"Your blood can suppress a frenzy. That isn't anyone's fault. Jace and Skye almost died when their wolves first awakened, and it was your blood that brought them back. There are lots of young wolves in the pack who need something like this."

"So you made sure I'd never shift?"

"Not forever," she said. "Once the twins can control their shifts consistently, I'll taper you off the medication."

"After the coming-of-age trial?"

"Let's get through this one first."

"What if I shift first?"

My mother pressed her lips into a thin line.

I finished the thought for her. "Then my blood's useless."

"It would become less effective. It wouldn't disappear completely," she corrected me, as if she were correcting a data point. "Wren, you can't just think about yourself. Jace and Skye depend on your blood because their control training isn't finished. If we cut them off now, they'll be in danger."

Suddenly, I wanted to laugh.

Every time I'd asked why I couldn't live in the dorms at school, why I couldn't go to summer camp out of state, why I had to stay home every full moon, she'd said it was to protect my heart.

It turned out the one who needed protecting had never been me.

"What about regular sedatives?" I asked. "Restraint nets?"

"They'd affect the trial results."

"So they won't die. They'll lose."

For the first time, my mother's expression shifted.

"You're making this sound too simple. Your father's position, the Hollis family's reputation, and the training resources the twins will get later all depend on this trial. You're part of this family."

"Am I family, or am I medicine?"

She looked at me. There was no panic in her eyes at being caught, only the tired look of someone fed up with being questioned.

"Don't say hurtful things like that."

She reached for my bag. I stepped back, but she caught my wrist.

"Give me your phone. Until the trial, you're staying home. I'll monitor you."

"You're afraid I'll run."

"I'm afraid you'll stop taking your medication before the full moon."

She took a new prescription out of the drawer and put it in my bag.

A corner of the paper stuck out, and I saw the date it was written. Today. It was for a 90-day course.

But just yesterday, she'd said I'd come off it after the trial.

In the car on the way home, my mother sat beside me. She turned the heat up four degrees and handed me a bottle of water, just as she used to when I was little and she took me to the doctor with a fever.

"I know this feels unfair," she said. "Just wait one more week."

I took the water and didn't drink it.

This lie had been sitting in our house for so long. Everyone had gotten used to walking around it, and I'd almost forgotten how ridiculous it was.