Chapter 4

By the third day, the stench of death was a physical presence in the house. A thick, suffocating cloud.

Even my mother's prized odor-blocking sealant had failed completely.

My rot seemed to have a life of its own, seeping from the room and spreading through the vents, contaminating the entire house.

A crash of glass echoed from the basement lab.

"Dammit!" My mother's furious curse rang through the house.

I floated downstairs and saw her standing by her lab station. On the floor were the shattered remains of two expensive vials.

Blue liquid smoked on the tiles.

It was a wolf-gene enhancement serum that had taken her three months to synthesize.

"What is that smell?" she gasped, her face pale as she clutched her nose. "Where is it coming from?"

The rot had invaded her sanctuary.

Her precious laboratory.

Her own wolf spirit began to stir restlessly.

A werewolf's sense of smell is ten times stronger than a human's. To her, the smell of a dead body was a form of direct torture.

She staggered out of the lab, a look of agony on her face.

"Selena..." she ground out between clenched teeth. "What the hell did you do in there?"

She stormed up the stairs and stopped in front of my door.

Even through the thick sealant, the stench was overpowering.

"I know you're in there!" she slammed her fist on the door. "What did you hide in your room? A dead animal? Garbage? Are you trying to get back at me with this disgusting display?"

Her voice was hysterical.

"You think this will make me give in? Dream on!"

But the smell didn't lessen.

It only got worse.

My mother's wolf was heaving. She looked like she was about to be sick.

"Today, I'm going to teach you little brat what real pain feels like!" she roared, and stormed into the training room.

No!

I floated after her in a panic.

Mom, don't come in!

Don't see me like this!

She grabbed a silver-core baton. The kind used to beat discipline into unruly wolves.

"Today, you'll learn what it means to feel regret!"

She charged back toward my room, baton in hand.

I desperately tried to block her, waving my arms in front of her.

"No! Don't come in! Please!"

But she passed right through my soul.

My mother ripped the sealant from the door frame and threw the door open.

The stench hit her like a physical blow. A wall of rot so thick it made her gag.

It was suffocatingly vile.

"Ugh—"

My mother gagged on the spot, clamping a hand over her nose and mouth, but it was useless.

The smell was already seeping into her pores.

She saw "me" in the room, still slumped over the desk, my back to her.

Motionless.

"Still playing dead?" she gasped, her eyes burning with rage. "You think that will get you out of your punishment?"

She raised the silver baton and charged at me.

"I'll make you regret this!"

No!

I floated in front of her, a desperate, unseen shield.

Don't look at my face!

Don't see what I've become!

Please, Mom!

But she couldn't see me. She couldn't hear my pleas.

Consumed by rage, she rushed behind me and grabbed the collar of my silk pajamas.

And then, she froze.

But her fingers didn't find warm skin.

Through the silk, they met flesh that was cold. Hard. Like stone.

That deathly chill shot up her fingertips and through her entire body.

No warmth. No heartbeat.

No sign of life at all.

Her wolf spirit knew the truth before her mind could accept it.

The reek of death.

My mother stood stunned, her fingers starting to tremble.

But rage still propelled her forward.

She yanked.

My stiff body was dragged back with the chair. The chair tilted, and my corpse slid from it, hitting the floor with a wet, heavy thud.

And for the first time in three days, she saw my face.