Chapter 3

The overhead light blazed on, catching me in its glare like a spotlight on a crime scene.

"Where the hell have you been?" My mother stood in the doorway, still dressed in her scrubs, her face tight with that particular brand of fury reserved for daughters who disobeyed.

I opened my mouth, tasting whiskey and the lie I'm about to sprout, but before I could manufacture an excuse, she continued, her gaze flicking between me and the stranger with something sharp in her eyes.

"Sandra, this is your uncle Marcus, your father's brother, and before you start with your bullshit excuses about being at Sarah's house, I know you were at that disgusting bar." She crossed her arms, her hands curled into fists.

My stomach dropped through the floor, the alcohol in my system suddenly feeling like poison.

Marcus pushed off the counter, and now in the harsh light I saw the lines around his eyes, the gray threading his dark hair, details I'd missed in the dim alley when his mouth was on my neck and his hands were, fuck, I was going to be sick.

"Nice to finally meet you, Sandra," he said, his voice steady, giving nothing away, but his eyes held mine with a warning that made my skin crawl.

Mom's expression softened just a fraction as she looked at him, some old grief surfacing. "Marcus has agreed to take you to his place upstate for the summer, you'll learn proper healing techniques from him and his colleagues, maybe you'll finally understand why this gift matters."

"Like hell I'm going anywhere with—" I started, but Marcus cut me off smooth as a blade.

"Your mother tells me you've been wasting your abilities, running around playing warrior when people are dying because we don't have enough trained healers in the northern territories." He stepped closer, and I caught his scent again, that same wild musk that had made my wolf purr earlier, now making her recoil in confusion and shame.

I backed up until the wall stopped me. "I don't care what Mom told you, I'm not leaving, I have plans this summer and—"

"Plans?" His laugh was cold, and he pulled out his phone, swiping through it with deliberate slowness before turning the screen toward me.

My blood turned to ice water.

Security footage from the alley, grainy but clear enough, time-stamped at 11:47 PM, showing two figures pressed against brick, my face visible in profile as his hand disappeared under my skirt.

"What the fuck is that?" Mom moved forward, squinting at the screen, and Marcus angled it away smoothly.

"Just some footage from the bar's back area showing Sandra leaving around midnight, I wanted to make sure we had her timeline straight," he said, his tone reasonable, helpful even, while his eyes promised me exactly what would happen if I didn't cooperate.

My throat closed, rage and humiliation warring in my chest, because the bastard had planned this, had somehow known who I was or figured it out and now held my entire life in his goddamn hand.

Mom's face cycled through confusion and suspicion before landing on exhausted acceptance. "Fine, whatever, as long as you're taking responsibility for her since I clearly can't manage it anymore."

"No." The word ripped out of me, desperate and furious. "Mom, you can't just ship me off with some random—"

"Random?" She whirled on me, and for the first time I saw how deep her fatigue went, lines carved around her mouth, shadows under her eyes. "He's family, Sandra, he's your father's brother, and right now he's the only person willing to knock some sense into you before you get yourself killed playing soldier."

Marcus pocketed his phone, moving toward the door like the matter was settled. "We leave tomorrow morning, pack light, you won't need much where we're going."

I wanted to scream, to shift and tear his throat out, but my wolf was silent, confused by the scent-memory of pleasure tangled with the present horror.

"This is blackmail," I hissed at him, low enough that Mom couldn't hear as she stalked toward the stairs.

He leaned in close, his breath ghosting my ear exactly like it had hours ago. "This is consequences, sweetheart, welcome to being an adult, now go pack your shit and don't make this harder than it needs to be."

***

The drive upstate took four hours, Marcus silent behind the wheel while I pressed my forehead against the cool window and watched the city give way to trees.

His house appeared through the pines like something from a horror movie, all dark wood and steep angles, isolated enough that screaming wouldn't bring help.

I climbed out, my duffel heavy on my shoulder, and that's when I smelled another wolf, her scent marking the property line with territorial aggression.

The front door opened and she stood there, mid-thirties maybe, blonde hair pulled back severe, wearing yoga pants and a tank top that showed off a body maintained with religious discipline.

"This is her?" The woman's lip curled as she looked me over, disdain dripping from every word. "She's younger than you said."

"Sandra, meet Vanessa, my girlfriend." Marcus moved past me, his hand sliding possessively around Vanessa's waist.

Vanessa's eyes narrowed, traveling from my messy hair to my boots, cataloging every detail with the precision of someone looking for weaknesses. "The healing prodigy, how wonderful, Marcus talks about you constantly."

The saccharine tone made my teeth ache, and I caught the territorial challenge underneath, the way her body angled to block the doorway.

"Inside, both of you, we have a lot of ground to cover." Marcus's voice shifted, dropping the reasonable-uncle act, and what emerged was pure Alpha command.

I followed because the alternative was standing in the yard like an idiot, and immediately the house's interior hit me, sparse, cold, nothing soft or welcoming, every surface hard and clean.

"Your room is downstairs, basement level, you'll find everything you need." Vanessa gestured toward a door with barely concealed pleasure.

I opened it to find narrow stairs descending into darkness, the air below smelling of damp concrete and mildew.

"Training starts at five AM, don't be late." Marcus had already turned away, heading toward what I assumed was the master bedroom, Vanessa's hand sliding into his back pocket.

I hauled my duffel down into what could generously be called a room—bare mattress on a metal frame, one flickering overhead bulb, a tiny window at ground level that showed nothing but dirt and grass roots.

Sitting on the mattress, springs digging into my thighs, I finally let the tears come, hot and furious and useless.

My phone buzzed, Mom checking if I'd arrived safely.

I typed out a response, fingers shaking, then deleted it and turned the phone face-down.

Upstairs, footsteps crossed the ceiling, followed by Vanessa's high laugh and Marcus's low rumble, then silence that felt heavy with implication.

I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to unknow the sound of his voice when he came, trying to separate the stranger in the alley from the monster upstairs.

The basement door opened, light spilling down the stairs.

"Oh, and Sandra?" Vanessa's voice floated down, sweet as poisoned honey. "The bathroom's upstairs, you get five minutes in the morning and five at night, don't waste water."

The door closed with a decisive click, followed by the unmistakable sound of a lock sliding home.