“Mama...?”
The little girl’s voice trembled, but not from fear — from the cold that gnawed at her, swirling around her tiny body like the water lapping at her ankles. She stood at the river’s edge, her breath fogging the air, the only sign of life in the desolate, wintry scene. She touched her mother's arm, which was stiff, unyielding. “Mama?”
But there was no answer, only the dull roar of the river as it carved its way through the landscape.
Her mother must be asleep, she told herself. How else could she explain the stillness, the silence? But it was a strange kind of sleep — one where her mother’s eyes were open and fixed on something far away. “Mama, time to wake up.” Her small voice, usually bright and full of wonder, was almost lost against the river’s relentless noise.
She reached out again, her fingers brushing against her mother's blue lips. “Bue,” she whispered, then corrected herself, “Pitty.” Her mother was always blue and pretty, wasn’t she? Even now, even when she wouldn’t wake. The child’s shivers intensified, her little body instinctively retreating from the river’s edge. She stumbled over the rocks, her bare feet catching on jagged stones that seemed enormous to her small frame.
She looked back at her mother, a small flicker of hope glimmering in her eyes. She didn’t want her to drift away, not like they had been drifting down the river before. But the leather strap around her mother’s wrist was still tightly wound around a thick branch lodged in the muddy bank. Her mother had tied it there, so quickly, with hands that had trembled even then. She had called it an adventure — an escape — when the fireworks had started. The branch held firm against the river’s pull. Her mother would be safe, wouldn’t she?
The girl’s eyelids began to droop, her tiny body growing heavier as if the cold had seeped into her bones. She couldn’t feel her feet anymore, nor the stinging cold that bit into her chest. All was fading, becoming distant.
And then, through the haze, a voice. A woman’s voice, soft and urgent. “Oh, dear God!”
Strong arms scooped her up, pulling her away from the river’s grasp. She clung tightly to the necklace her mother had given her — a simple thing with letters she was too young to read. The woman held her close, wrapping her in warmth she hadn’t felt in hours.
"Cassidy?" the woman whispered, disbelief in her voice. “How did you end up here, little one?”
The child could only whimper softly, her fingers still locked around the necklace. She felt the woman’s breath on her forehead, felt herself being cradled, and then the darkness took her.
Later
I stare at the moon, naked under its cold, indifferent light. I should be running through the forest, feeling the earth beneath my feet, but instead, I am here, tied to this post. Another lash cuts through the air, then my back. I bite down on the scream that rises in my throat, my teeth sinking into my lip until I taste blood.
“That’s enough,” one of the guards says.
At twenty-three, I have not learned their lesson — or so they say. I know their lesson: to submit, to bow, to keep quiet under their insults, their abuse. But I have never been one to go quietly. Let them whip me; let them try to break me. I will not give them the satisfaction of a scream.
When they finally unshackle me, my legs give way beneath me. I collapse, gasping for breath, unable to hold myself upright.
“Let’s go.” They haul me up, one on each side, dragging me like a sack of grain. My vision blurs in and out, the forest path a dark tunnel leading back to the place they call home. My head lolls, my thoughts slipping away until I see her — Kaylin, my sister, standing at the edge of the forest. Relief washes over me, and I let go, drifting into the darkness.
Flashback
“Give it back!” I scream, lunging for my doll.
“You can’t be a weakling your whole life, Cassidy. Try and take it from me!” Colton taunts, holding the ragged doll high above my head.
“Colton, give it back!” I jump, but my small legs only get me so far. He’s thirteen, tall and strong, and I’m only eight, my arms too short to reach him.
“That’s Alpha Colton to you,” Kaylin chimes in, grinning.
“He’s not the Alpha yet!” I protest. “And he never will be if he doesn’t stop acting like a bully!”
“Show some respect,” Kaylin replies, smirking. “One day, he will be.”
“No! Give me my doll back!” I demand.
“Say please,” Colton teases, his smile widening, enjoying the game.
I stop, glaring at him. His stupid, smug smile enrages me, and without thinking, I pull back my arm and punch him square in the nose. He yelps, his hands flying to his face, blood trickling between his fingers.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” Kaylin shrieks as she shoves me down into the mud. I fall hard, feeling the wet earth beneath me.
“She’s just a runt,” Ezekiel sneers. “No one cares what she does or what she wants.”
Colton’s voice cuts through, “Stop it! Don’t hit her! She’s a little girl.”
“So? She punched you, didn’t she?” Ezekiel says. “She should learn her place.”
“It’s fine,” Colton grumbles, tossing my doll back at me. “Here, take it.”
I scramble to catch it, but before I can, Ezekiel snatches it away again, laughing cruelly. “Aww, is the little runt going to cry?”
“Give it back,” I growl, trying to hold back tears.
“Kiss my feet, and I’ll give it back to you, Cassidy,” Ezekiel sneers, muttering under his breath, “What a pathetic name. Her mother must have been mad to name her that.”
Fury surges through me, blinding, white-hot. I leap at him, fists flying, not thinking, just acting. His laugh turns to a snarl as I land blow after blow. It doesn’t matter that he’s blocking me; it doesn’t matter that I’m not hurting him. I’m not stopping until they understand — until they all see that I won’t be broken.
“Cass...”
“CASS!”
I blink, snapping back to reality, my hands still clenched into fists. Laurel is standing in front of me, her expression a mix of worry and frustration.
“What?” I mumble, disoriented.
“What are you doing?” she asks, glancing around at the field.
“Oh... sorry,” I stammer. “I... I spaced out.”
“Well, don’t,” she sighs. “We need to finish this before the festival tonight.”
I shake off the memory, shoving it down where it belongs. It’s in the past, and I don’t have time for it now. My hands move faster, picking tomatoes and tossing them into the basket.
It’s the festival that’s made me think of them. That’s why the memory surfaced, unbidden. Because it’s in his honor, after all.
I was eight when they pulled me off Ezekiel. The Alpha himself had intervened. I was punished, of course. I’m always punished. I’ve never learned to control my temper, but I’m trying. I have to try because every time I let it out, every time I stand up for myself, I pay the price.
“Look! They’re back!” a she-wolf cries, and I follow her gaze to the horizon where a convoy of trucks and vans approaches.
The warriors, the young men who went away to the fort camps to train, are returning. My eyes narrow. I have no interest in welcoming them back.
Laurel touches my shoulder, her voice soft. “Cassidy, try not to think about it. I know it’s hard, but just — try.”
I nod, biting back the words I want to say. I’m a troublemaker; I know that’s what they call me. But trouble seems to find me, no matter how hard I try to stay away from it.
We continue working until our baskets are full, then make our way to the kitchens, our hands red and raw from the work. As we pass the courtyard, I see the rogues — the prisoners — bound and bloody. They’re left there, tied to posts like I was, their backs crisscrossed with fresh wounds. If they sleep, they’ll be whipped again.
“I am hot,” Laurel says suddenly. “Are you hot?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Maybe I’m just...horny,” she laughs.
I gasp, “Laurel, stop! I don’t need to know that!”
She grins. “You’re going to have to stay away from the house when Jamey gets back.”
“Gladly!” I shout, and she laughs again, that carefree sound I haven’t heard in so long.
Laurel has always been good at telling me to control my temper as if it were that simple, but she can’t control her own tongue. That’s my sister — always unapologetically herself.
