All Chapters of The Lullaby of Wolfbane: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

The bitter drink is waiting for me like it always does. Centered on the kitchen table, steam curling up in thin, judgmental ribbons.Mom calls it a tonic.I call it punishment.It sits in the same chipped mug every morning, the one with a faded blue wolf paw on the side. Melody used to tease that the mug was cursed because anyone who drank from it looked like they’d swallowed a live toad. She was right. If Melody were here, she’d wrinkle her nose dramatically and say, “Abby, if you drink that, at least let me write your funeral speech.”I pick up the mug anyway, because in our house you don’t get to skip “tonic” without getting the kind of silence that feels like a noose.The first sip hits my tongue and my stomach answers immediately sharp and hot, like something acidic scraping down my throat. I swallow on instinct. My eyes water. I keep my face as blank as I can manage, because Mom watches in a way that’s almost… hungry.“Good girl,” she says softly.I’m almost eighteen. I’m not a

The dawn doesn’t arrive with fanfare. It glides in like a thief, soft and unassuming, stealing the last of the night’s breath while the house still pretends to sleep. The clock on the mantel ticks a stubborn rhythm, as if to remind me that time is a currency I’m spending on a trip I didn’t ask for, to a city I’ve only seen in dreams and palaces in old stories I pretended to read aloud to Melody when we were little.I wake to a hollow ache in my ribs,part anticipation, part dread. My wrists still carry the tiny tremors from the night before, the kind that sit just beneath the skin and wait for a single thing to set them loose. The room is quiet except for the soft sigh of the house cooling after night and the far-off murmur of the pack stirring to its day.The ritual of the tonic calls me first. The mug waits on the table, the blue paw still faded from constant washing, the curse broken only when you forget it existed at all. I sit, savoring the moment I tell myself I will not drink it

I wake up in the capital with my heart already racing, like my body knows it’s being observed even when my eyes are closed.For a few seconds I forget where I am, then the unfamiliar ceiling snaps into focus, the pale stone walls, the thin curtains that smell faintly of soap and sun. Tessa is sprawled across her bed like she fought sleep and lost. Briar is already sitting up, boots on, hair tied back, staring at the door as if it personally offended her.“You didn’t sleep,” I mumble.“I slept,” Briar says. “I just don’t trust the morning.”Tessa groans into her pillow. “Can we trust breakfast?”“Depends,” Briar replies. “Do you want it poisoned or just disappointing?”I push myself upright, rubbing my eyes. My throat still feels scraped raw from Mom’s “last” tonic, but under that, there’s something different.My head is clearer.Not dramatically. Not magically. Just… like someone loosened a belt around my brain.I sit very still and try to sense anything in my chest. Anything like the

The corridor smells like antiseptic and polished stone, too clean, too sharp, like the building is trying to bleach away anything messy before it can stain the walls.The clinician walks ahead of me with the casual certainty of someone who thinks he’s doing me a favour. Two guards flank me close enough that I can feel the heat of their bodies through the air, close enough that if I tried to bolt I’d be caught in three steps.I don’t bolt. I just hold my head up and pretend my pulse isn’t slamming against my ribs like it wants out.“Where are you taking me?” I ask, forcing my voice steady. The clinician doesn’t bother looking back. “The royal clinic.”“I know that,” I snap, then bite the edge off my tone. “What are you testing for?”He glances back then, mildly annoyed, as if my questions are an inconvenience. “Anything that could impair shifting. Illness. Deficiency. Suppression.”Suppression. The word follows me like a shadow.“Is this… normal?” I ask.“Yes,” he replies too quickly.

The corridor outside our dormitory feels narrower than it did an hour ago. Maybe it’s because I know what can be hidden behind polite rules now, how easily “routine” becomes a weapon when someone wants you quiet, compliant, or gone. Or maybe it’s because the attendant walking us to the clinic doesn’t look at me like I’m a patient. She looks at me like I’m an issue. “Stay together,” Briar murmurs, stepping close enough that her shoulder brushes mine. She’s calm, but it’s the calm of a blade that’s been sharpened for this exact moment. Tessa is on my other side, fingers hooked into my sleeve like she thinks I might vanish if she lets go. Her face is determinedly bright, forced sunshine, but sunshine all the same. “Okay,” she whispers. “Clinic. Answers. This is good.” “It’s something,” I whisper back. The attendant leads us through the compound’s inner paths instead of the main corridors, taking turns that keep us away from the busier halls where other girls gather. That alone ma