Chapter 2

"Move your trash to the servant’s cellar. Now."

The moment I stepped through the front door, my mother hurled a tattered black trash bag at my feet.

It contained the few clothes I owned.

"Acacia needs your suite for her post-Awakening recovery," my father added, eyes glued to a tactical map. He didn't even look up.

"Since you’ve failed to shift, the Pack will no longer provide your refined meat or private trainers. Tomorrow, you report to the kitchens for scullery duty."

"I am your daughter," I spat, my fingernails drawing blood from my own palms.

"You are a failed investment," he snapped, finally looking at me with pure vitriol. "We believed the prophecy was about you. Now we know it was Acacia all along."

I turned to leave, but stopped at the threshold as their voices dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.

"Did we choose wrong?" my mother hissed. "The scent she had when we brought her home... it was so primal. How did she turn out to be a dud?"

The blood drained from my face.

Brought me home? I wasn't their daughter.