Chapter 3

My mother locked my bedroom door from the outside.

She said it wasn't confinement. It was to keep me from getting worked up before the full moon. Three meals were delivered on time every day, with my pill in the upper right corner of the tray, and she watched me swallow it.

On the third day, I held the pill under my tongue until she left, then spit it into a tissue and stuffed it into a crack in the window frame.

The first night off the medication, my bones started to itch.

It wasn't an itch on the surface of my skin. It spread from deep in my spine, as if an animal that had slept too long was lightly scratching at a door with the tip of one claw. The pain kept me awake all night, but for the first time, I wasn't afraid of it.

I sewed the test summary, the prescription, and the blood bag labels into the lining of my jacket. My old voice recorder was hidden behind the bookshelf. I'd used it to record classes in high school, and its battery still held a few hours of charge.

On trial day, I knew my family would drive me to the training arena. There was a courtesy phone in the spectator area. If I could call the aid center before they took me into the observation room, I still had a chance.

The lock clicked.

Jace came in.

He wasn't carrying a meal tray. He was carrying a blood collection kit.

"Mom told me to draw a little early, just in case."

"The agreement says one bag on trial day."

Jace set the kit on the desk and clicked his tongue impatiently.

"It's just one little tube. Do you have to make everything so difficult every single time?"

"You could use a sedative."

"Then it doesn't count as doing it on my own."

"That's your score."

"It's the Hollis family's score too." He looked at me the way my father did, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Wren, you can't shift anyway. That blood of yours is going to waste if nobody uses it."

I reached into my pocket and pressed record.

"Who told you that?"

"Did anyone need to?" Jace laughed. "Isn't that what you've been doing since you were a kid?"

He stepped forward and grabbed my wrist. I yanked free, and the kit crashed to the floor. Empty syringes rolled everywhere.

Jace froze.

I'd never fought back against him like that before.

The surprise on his face quickly turned into anger. "You really think getting into some out-of-state college means you can cut ties with us?"

"At least I can take my hand back."

Skye's voice came from outside the door. "What are you two fighting about?"

She pushed the door open, holding an old photo. In it, I was 12 and the twins were ten. That was the year they first ran fevers during a full moon. I'd sat up with them for two days, and they'd leaned on my shoulders, one on each side. For once, our father had taken a picture of the three of us.

Skye set the photo on my desk.

"Wren, don't make trouble in these last few days," she said. "Dad already agreed. At the celebration after the trial, he's going to announce in front of everyone that you're going away to college. Then no one can stop you."

"Sign the agreement."

She blinked. "What?"

I pulled out the note my father had signed. "Write down that you'll only take one bag of my blood and return my documents when the trial is over. Then both of you sign it."

Jace sneered. "I'm not signing."

Skye looked at him, then at me. She probably thought a piece of paper didn't matter, so she picked up the pen and wrote her name next to our father's signature.

"Happy now?"

"What about Jace?"

"If he won't sign, forget it. He'll have to do what Dad says anyway."

After they left, I turned the photo over. On the back was something Skye had written when she was little. Wren will always protect us.

Nobody had ever asked why it was always me.

That night, the lights in the training room downstairs were still on. Through the air vent, I could hear the twins talking.

"One bag isn't enough," Jace said. "I'm definitely going to lose control on the second lap."

"Didn't Mom get two emergency bags ready?"

"The pump has a preset limit. It shuts off automatically once it reaches that volume."

There was a short silence. Then Skye lowered her voice. "We can use the bypass. When the livestream cuts to the audience, I'll turn off the alarm. A little over a minute, max."

"What about Dad?"

"As long as we finish the run, he won't call it off in front of everyone."

The voice recorder was pressed against the edge of the vent, its red light blinking faintly.

I sat in the dark, listening as they moved on to what they would wear for the interviews afterward, as if nobody would be bleeding for them during that entire extra minute.

The next evening, my father came to open the door himself.

"Let's go."

I put on the jacket with the documents hidden inside and slipped the recorder into the inner pocket. As I headed downstairs, I deliberately slowed, trying to get closer to the phone in the living room.

My father stepped in front of me.

"The car's outside."

"I want to call the school."

"Call after the trial."

He didn't touch me. He just stood there. But I knew I wasn't getting past him.

By the time we headed to the training arena, the full moon had already risen behind the buildings. Ordinary people on the street were getting off work, eating dinner, and waiting at red lights. None of them knew there were four werewolves in the car, or that one of us was being taken to the arena to supply blood for two of the others.

The parking lot outside the arena was full. The second Skye got out of the car, staff surrounded her. Jace went straight to the locker room.

While my father was talking to the coach, I headed toward the courtesy phone in the spectator area.

I was only a few steps away when a weight dropped onto my shoulder.

It was my father's hand.

"Go to the observation room."

"It's not time for the draw yet."

"The full moon's already started." He looked at me. "You've been skipping your medication. Your scent is unstable. Don't let anyone notice."

My heart sank.

He knew.

Two staff members fell in on either side of me. They didn't grab me. They just politely asked me to go down another hallway. My father was in charge here. No one was going to ask whether I wanted to.

When the door to the observation room opened, I saw the draw chair bolted to the floor.

The pump next to the chair already had two blood collection lines attached.

Jace raised a hand to me through the glass.

"Wren," he said with a smile, "it's just one night."