Palma W
The Hollis twins were prodigies. They never needed sedatives to keep their wolves under control during full-moon trials, because they had me.
I was 19, and I still hadn't shifted. My parents said I had a weak heart, that I couldn't stop taking my medication or leave the house during a full moon.
But whenever the twins trained under a full moon, my mother rolled up my sleeve and connected a collection tube to the machine.
By the time I was too dizzy to stand, Jace and Skye Hollis were already back in front of the cameras, acting as if nothing had happened.
When I was seven, Jace went into a frenzy and bit straight through my arm. My mother stitched up the wound, gave me a piece of candy, and said next time she'd protect me first. When I was 13, Skye's claws tore open my back. My father praised me for being so understanding and promised that once I shifted, he'd take me up into the mountains to run all night.
I held on to those promises and waited six years.
At 19, I'd passed the admissions interview at an out-of-state university. My application was in, but my father still hadn't signed my out-of-territory clearance, and my family hadn't agreed to cover my first year of tuition. He kept telling me to wait one more week, until the twins' coming-of-age trial was over.
He wrote the promise on the back of a treatment consent form but left out the date and tuition amount. This time, I didn't just nod along. I told him to put the terms in writing: one more bag of blood, then the day after the trial, he would return my documents and sign my out-of-territory clearance.
My father looked at me as if he'd only just realized a bag of blood could be leverage.
And he had no idea that two labels with my name on them were already hidden under the insole of my shoe.
Seven days before the full moon, I was back in the blood-draw chair at our family clinic.