How Does The Daughter Change In The Broken Worriers?

Cara Nelson is the daughter of two Guardians. Her mother gave her life saving the pack’s Luna and their young son, Rik, the future alpha. Her father became paralyzed while protecting the pack’s Alpha. Cara is meant to become the Guardian for Rik when he takes over as Alpha, but Rik doesn’t even know who she is. When the Alpha of a neighboring pack expresses his desire to take her as his mate, Cara gets caught in a battle between Alphas. Both of them want her as their Luna, but is it only because she is a Guardian who can strengthen their pack? While balancing her attraction to two alphas, she finds her destiny may not be as clear as she thought. Rather than her wolf having the soul of a reborn guardian like her mother and father, Cara learns that she and her wolf are the only ones in history known to have been born a guardian. When a third contender for Cara’s hand tries to force her to become his Luna, her Alphas must rescue her before it's too late. Cara is destined to be a Luna, but will it be by force, by fate, or will she make her own choice? This is Book One of the Guardian trilogy.

Despite being the Alpha’s firstborn, Emily is mostly ignored by everyone in her family and pack. She’s given up on finding her mate and never expects to escape her dreary life until one fateful night when her mate shows up. He’s not what she expected, and if the rumors are true her life with him would be even bleaker than her current life, but she decides to find out for herself what kind of mate she was given.

My younger sister’s wolf was unstable from birth. The pack healers called it frenzy sickness. Loud noises, blood scent, anger, fear, even a sudden shock could push her into a violent episode. So my whole life was put on silent mode. I could not laugh too loud. I could not cry where she could smell it. I could not even scream when I was hurt, because pain had a scent, too. My parents always held me with guilty eyes. “Nova, your sister’s wolf needs the whole family to stay calm. You are strong. You are steady. You can handle more than she can. Just this once, okay?” But “just this once” became my entire life. That day, I accidentally knocked over a tray of metal parts in my father’s forge. The crash echoed through the house. Iris screamed at once. Her eyes flashed red, and her claws tore through her palms. Father shoved me aside and rushed over to protect her; I hit the edge of the forge table so hard that something cracked deep beneath my ribs. There was no blood on my clothes. No wound they could see. I curled up on the cold floor and whispered, “Mom, it hurts.” My mother looked at me. For one second, I thought she would come. Then Iris screamed louder. Everyone ran to my sister. They thought the quiet daughter could wait. They did not know my broken rib had torn through my liver. They did not know I was bleeding where no one could see. By the time they finally remembered me, I had already died alone on the floor.

Rumor had spread through the Vittori family that the daughter they had lost years ago had finally been found. The moment I heard, I left the family branch and rushed back to the main estate. My car had barely stopped when a young woman hurried over and grabbed my hand. “So you’re the Vittori family’s adopted daughter,” she said with a smile that looked painfully sincere. “Your dress is so beautiful. It must cost tens of thousands of dollars. You can tell you’ve never really had to worry about anything before. Unlike me. I grew up in places where even finding my next meal was a problem.” For a second, I didn’t understand what she meant. Then her eyes lowered to the only necklace around her neck. “This is the only thing I have from Mother,” she whispered. “Please don’t hate me for wearing it.” The next second, she suddenly grabbed my hand, dragged it up toward her throat, and yanked hard. The necklace snapped. Pearls scattered across the marble floor. “Why would you do that?” she cried, staring at me in shock. “If you hate seeing Mother’s gift on me, I’ll take it off right now. I won’t stay and make things difficult for you. Just please don’t tell Father and Mother. I don’t want them caught in the middle, and I don’t want this family fighting because of me.” She curled into herself on the marble floor, shaking as she cried, while the guests around us immediately turned to stare. I stood there completely stunned. I had imagined a thousand ways I might meet my daughter again. I never imagined she would look me in the eye, mistake me for someone else, and frame me before I had even spoken. Because I was not Valentina. I was her mother.

My daughter Lyra believed the Moon Goddess had given our kind one virtue above all others: honesty. So she never told a single lie. I put on a newly bought lipstick and turned in front of the mirror. "Sweetheart, does Mommy look pretty today?" She glanced up at me. "Honestly, Mommy, you were ugly to start with, and that color only makes it worse." One evening I was scrambling around the kitchen while my mother-in-law scolded me for not being able to cook a decent meal. I asked Lyra, "Grandma says Mommy's useless. Does that upset you?" She kept stacking her blocks. "Honestly, I'm actually glad you're getting scolded." That night, while my husband read her a bedtime story, he asked whether she would take care of me when I was old and could no longer walk. She thought it over seriously, then rolled onto her other side. "No way. A useless wolf should just go off and die on its own." Something in me went cold. She only grinned. "But I'm just telling the truth." Later, when a caseworker from the Pup Welfare Council came to register us for the census and asked Lyra a few routine questions, she insisted on telling nothing but the truth. This time, though, it was a truth she would regret for the rest of her life.

My five-year-old daughter loved telling lies. I had taken her out to a simple school supplies run, but she yelled on the street that I was a human trafficker. Consequently, I nearly got arrested and taken to the police station. When we went home, she cried and threw herself in my husband’s arms to complain about me before I could say anything. “Dad, Mom wouldn’t buy me stationeries. She even hit me on the street!” I offered my husband an explanation. He heard me out, but I did not expect him to angrily slap me when I was finished. “Our daughter is only five. She can’t lie. Can’t you just put up with it?!” When I drove my daughter to school, she got down on her knees in front of me while the other parents were around. “Mom, please let me go to school. I don’t want to take naked photos for those guys.” When the teacher checked my phone, it was full of my daughter’s explicit photos. A mob of angry parents pushed me into the traffic, killing me. I could not figure out why my biological daughter would behave that way, even as I lay dying. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day when I was about to buy stationery for my daughter.