Chapter 4

The door of the observation room closed behind me.

The staff told me to take off my jacket. I said I was cold and refused, so they just rolled up my sleeve. The records and the recorder hidden in the lining pressed hard against my ribs.

My mother came in to check the equipment.

She stuck sensor pads on my chest, then strapped down my wrists and ankles. The restraints weren't for the blood draw. They were to keep my scent from provoking the young wolves in the arena during the full moon.

At least, that was how she explained it.

"Just one bag today," I reminded her.

"I know."

"The bypass is already hooked up."

Her hand stopped over the control screen.

"For emergencies."

"Disconnect it."

"Wren, this isn't the time to throw a fit."

"I'm not throwing a fit. I have an agreement."

She looked at me for a few seconds, then rolled my sleeve up a little higher. "Once this is over, we can talk about whatever you want."

There it was again: "later."

Outside, I heard the audience filing in. My mother slid the needle into my vein, checked the flow, and left the observation room. On the other side of the glass, the lights in the main arena came on one by one.

I could see my father sitting in the front row, surrounded by the leaders of the other packs. Jace and Skye stood in the middle of the arena in matching black training gear. The livestream camera swept across their faces, and the giant screen showed Skye's easy smile in real time.

The announcer began introducing the Hollis twins.

"Both trainees will complete two laps and one command switch with no sedation and no restraints."

At the first bell, Jace dropped to his knees.

I could hear the dull crack of bones stretching, even through the wall. His palms were braced against the floor, his nails turning into claws, his spine arching one vertebra at a time. Skye was half a beat behind. Sweat broke out on her forehead, but when the camera came close, she gritted her teeth and lifted her chin.

The pump started.

Blood flowed out of my arm.

A few seconds later, the twins' agitation visibly eased. Jace finished shifting first. The black wolf shook out his fur and let out a low growl at the stands. Skye's wolf was smaller. She stumbled a step when she landed, then quickly steadied herself.

Applause pressed in from every side.

They started the first lap.

The timer on the screen raced. Jace cleared the obstacles and landed more steadily than usual. Skye hugged the inside of the track, gaining on him. The coach never picked up the tranquilizer gun, and the guards all stayed behind the safety line.

When the bag was close to 400 milliliters, the pump beeped.

I stared at the control screen.

The flow didn't slow down.

The bypass light came on.

"Stop!"

I stretched for the emergency switch with the fingers I could still move. The strap cut a red welt into my wrist. So close. Always just short.

Blood started flowing through the second line.

The sensor pads on my chest set off a shrill alarm.

Out on the field, the livestream was cutting from the twins to the audience. As Skye ran past the control console, her wristband lit up.

The alarm cut off.

She'd turned it off.

I kicked hard at one of the chair's legs. The metal chair was bolted to the floor and barely shook.

A staff member outside the glass door turned around. I shouted at him to stop the pump, but the control screen showed him nothing but green status lights.

My voice never made it out of the room.

I stretched out my toes and finally touched the manual door-release pedal on the floor.

The lock didn't respond.

An authorization notice flashed on the screen with my father's name.

[Grant Hollis. Remote lock.]

The second lap began.

All I could hear was my own heartbeat, one beat heavy, the next faint. The edges of my vision slowly darkened, and the figures beyond the glass smeared into long, doubled shapes.

The intercom suddenly lit up.

My mother's voice came through the speaker. "Wren's blood pressure is 78. Heart rate 146. Who opened the bypass?"

No one answered.

"Grant, stop the trial."

My father's voice came right back. "There's one last lap."

"She's going to go into shock."

"60 seconds."

"Grant—"

"Lana, 60 seconds. The kids have made it this far. If we stop now, everyone's going to know their control is fake."

My mother didn't say anything else.

She knew what would happen to me.

And she waited anyway.

Jace cleared the last obstacle. People in the stands jumped to their feet, the applause building wave after wave. My father was on his feet too, his eyes following the black wolf on the field. He didn't glance at the observation room once.

I suddenly remembered being seven, when he ran past me carrying Jace, who was burning with fever. My arm was still bleeding, and all he had time to say was, "Keep pressure on it. Daddy will come back and take care of it."

Now I was 19, and he still thought I could wait.

The monitor on my chest was flashing wildly, even though the alarm had been switched off.

I couldn't feel my fingertips anymore. All I could see was the blood still flowing into the bag. The dark red in the tubing seemed near one second and far the next, like it belonged to someone else.

On the intercom, my mother started calling my name.

"Wren? Can you hear me?"

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

She called again, then said, "Open the door."

My father answered, "They're almost at the finish line."

Skye crossed the finish line.

The arena exploded in cheers.

At that same moment, the monitor on my chest let out one long, flat tone.

The world went quiet.

No applause, no intercom, not even the sound of the pump. Darkness closed in from every side. All that was left was that itch deep in my bones.

It wasn't scratching softly at the door anymore.

It was ramming it.

Once.

Then again.

The cold the silver had left in my bones shattered into burning pain. My spine arched violently, the restraints cut into my flesh, and my fingers were the first part of me to lose their human shape.

My nails grew longer, the bones of my hands spread apart, and gray fur surged up from under my skin.

That wasn't a monster.

That was me, after five years locked up.

A gray wolf's paw rose and tore savagely at the strap.