CHAPTER 5

Ciara's POV

My face burned where his hand had connected. The skin felt hot, swollen, throbbing with each heartbeat. 

"You will learn—" my father snarled above me.

Something inside me snapped.

All the frustration I had been holding in for days—for years—rushed through me like wildfire. The rejection. The snow. The way he spoke about my mother today, using her memory as a weapon while defending the woman who had tried to erase her.

It felt as if fire was rushing through my veins, hot and wild and unstoppable.

My wolf surged forward.

I had always kept her contained, controlled, obedient. A proper lady did not let her wolf take over. A future Luna maintained composure at all times.

But I was not a future Luna anymore.

And I was done being obedient.

The shift tore through me. Bones cracked and reformed. Fur erupted across my skin. My vision sharpened, colors bleeding away into shades of gray as my wolf's senses took over.

I lunged.

My father froze, his fist still raised in the air. He had not expected this. Had never imagined his dutiful daughter would shift against him, would bare her teeth and attack like the predator she was born to be.

I hit him square in the chest with all my weight behind it.

He went down hard, his back slamming against the floor with a satisfying crack. The air rushed out of his lungs in a wheeze. His eyes went wide with shock—actual shock—as he stared up at me.

At the wolf standing over him with her teeth bared and murder in her eyes.

"Aldric!" My stepmother's shriek pierced the air. She rushed over, her hands fluttering uselessly. "Oh gods, Aldric, are you hurt? Did she—how dare she—"

I backed away slowly, my wolf's anger beginning to cool into something more complex. Awareness crept in around the edges of rage. What had I done? What had I just done?

The shift reversed. Bones cracked again, fur receding, my human form returning in a rush that left me gasping on the floor. Naked. Vulnerable. The party dress I had worn home lay in shreds around me.

I grabbed the remnants and held them against myself, my hands shaking.

My father pushed himself up to sitting, supported by Elara's frantic hands. There was a scrape on his temple where his head had hit the floor, a bruise already forming on his shoulder. Minor injuries. Nothing serious.

But the humiliation blazing in his eyes was anything but minor.

"You..." He pointed at me with a trembling finger, his face twisted with fury and something else—something that looked almost like fear. "You have done very well, daughter. Very well indeed."

His voice was soft. Deadly.

"You think you can attack me? In my own house?" He struggled to his feet, shaking off Elara's attempts to help. "You think there will be no consequences for this?"

I stared at him, still clutching the torn fabric to my chest. I should have felt terrified. Should have been begging for forgiveness, cowering before his rage.

But all I felt was... confusion.

There was fear, yes. But not as much as I had imagined there would be. Not the paralyzing terror that had kept me obedient all these years.

"You will pay for this," my father hissed. "Mark my words, Ciara. You will pay dearly."

He turned and stalked toward the stairs, one hand pressed to his bruised shoulder. Elara shot me a look of pure venom before following him, her arm around his waist in a show of wifely concern.

Their footsteps faded up the stairs. A door slammed.

I was alone in the entryway, half-naked and shaking, surrounded by the ruins of my dress and my old life.

Slowly, I climbed to my feet. My legs still trembled, but they held. I made my way up to my room, keeping the fabric clutched against myself until I could close the door behind me.

Then I sank onto the bed and simply breathed.

I had shifted against my father. Had attacked him. Knocked him down.

For the first time in my life, I had fought back.

The girl who had kneeled obediently in the snow would never have imagined doing such a thing. That girl was gone. Dead and buried somewhere between the freezing cold and Draven's mocking smile.

I did not know who I was now. 

But I knew I could not stay here.

I pulled a traveling bag from beneath the bed and began to pack. My hands moved automatically, selecting practical clothes, sturdy boots, the few pieces of jewelry my mother had left me. My father would not let me stay much longer—not after this. Better to be prepared.

My fingers brushed against the small wooden box tucked in the corner of my wardrobe. I pulled it out carefully, my heart clenching.

The photograph lay inside, its surface creased where it had been torn and carefully glued back together. My mother and me, years ago, before sickness had hollowed her cheeks and stolen her smile. She stood behind me with her hands on my shoulders, both of us looking at the camera with matching expressions of quiet contentment.

It was the only picture I had left. Elara had destroyed the others in a fit of rage shortly after the wedding, claiming it was unhealthy for the house to be cluttered with reminders of the dead.

But she had not found this one. I had hidden it too well.

I traced my mother's face with gentle fingers, feeling the ridge where the tear had been mended. "I am sorry, Mama," I whispered. "I know you wanted me to marry Kaden. To be safe. But he does not want me, and I... I do not think I can be that obedient girl anymore."

The girl in the photograph stared back at me with innocent eyes, not knowing what was coming. Loss and pain and years of trying to be perfect for people who would never see her value.

But I had survived. Somehow, despite everything, I had survived.

This time, I had not stayed still and let myself be beaten bloody. I had been blamed for being rebellious, but for the first time, I had made it through another round of my father's cruelty without being broken.

That had to count for something.

A soft knock on my door made me jump. I quickly tucked the photograph back into its box and set it in the bag.

"Who is it?" My voice came out hoarse.

No answer.

I crossed to the door and opened it cautiously.

Seren stood in the hallway, her eyes downcast, her hands twisting together nervously. My stepsister. Elara's daughter. The girl who had everything I was supposed to have—a mother's love, a father's pride, a future that did not require her to erase herself.

We had never been close. How could we be? She was the favored daughter, loved and protected. I was the shadow in the corner, the reminder of a dead woman and broken promises.

But Seren had never been cruel. Never participated in her mother's games or my father's coldness. She simply... existed in her own world, shy and quiet and carefully neutral.

"Seren," I said carefully. "What—"

She thrust something at me from behind her back. A small leather wallet, worn soft with use.

"It is all the money I have saved," she stammered, her cheeks flushing red. She would not meet my eyes. "I know it is not much, but... but I thought... you might need it."

She pressed the wallet into my hands before I could respond.

Then she turned and fled down the hallway, her footsteps quick and light, disappearing around the corner before I could find my voice.

I stood there in my doorway, staring at the wallet in my hands.

Inside were coins and a few carefully folded bills. Not a fortune, but more than nothing. More than I had any right to expect from a girl who owed me nothing, who had every reason to be glad I was leaving.

My throat tightened.

I had not expected that. Had not imagined that anyone in this house might show me even a scrap of kindness.

The sound of carriage wheels on cobblestones drifted through the window. I crossed to it quickly, still holding Seren's wallet.

A black carriage with silver trim had stopped in front of the house. The door opened and Draven stepped down, his movements precise and controlled as always.

Our eyes met across the distance.

His gaze traveled to my face, lingering on what I knew must be a vivid red mark across my cheek. His expression shifted—just slightly, just enough that I could see the fury beneath that carefully controlled exterior.