Two Weeks Ago
Escaping My Abusive Stepfather
I could hear my heart hammering in my chest, like a boiling pot on the verge of exploding, as I ran. I'd been running for over an hour, my wolf tired and my body exhausted. Pain clawed its way under my paws, and even my joints felt weak. I was already throbbing from the effort, but I had to keep moving. If I stopped, I'd be caught and dragged back to that house I hated. I shouldn't have to endure this. I was young; I deserved a good life, not to be held hostage and treated like a slave.
I had my first transformation on my twentieth birthday, which was three days ago. Thankfully, no one was home that day. The monster who'd abused me for fourteen years didn't know I'd gained my wolf, so I escaped while I had the chance. I hadn't transformed like the others when I turned eighteen, so people thought I was weak and abnormal. My mother had been a werewolf, but I couldn't understand why I couldn't transform at eighteen like everyone else. I didn't even know my biological father; my mother never spoke of him.
My mother was known in the pack as a single mother after she moved to Crestwood, where she met the man who became my stepfather. Meeting Val, my wolf, was the best day of my life. For the past few days, Val had understood my pain. She'd helped me hide our scent and offered the plan to escape, leaving no trace behind. I seized the chance; the urge to flee that hellhole was overpowering.
I'd endured verbal and physical abuse from my stepfather, who called himself my guardian. He reminded me, at every opportunity, that I was at his mercy. He'd turn me into a slave since I was eight, making me do endless housework and never letting me have friends. I was homeschooled from middle school through high school. He kept me isolated so I would depend on him alone.
I remembered the time he caught me talking to a boy who wandered into our backyard when I was thirteen; he beat me so badly I broke my arm. I carried bruises for weeks because, of course, I didn't have a wolf to heal me. He called me all sorts of vile names, but the sting of being called a whore—just like my mother—hurt the most. That hurt surpassed the physical beatings that covered my body.
If not for young Claven, who dragged him away from my limp body, he might have killed me—just like he killed my mother. He was a cold murderer. I'd seen it with my own eyes as he snuffed the life from my mother's weak body; I'd hidden in the closet in her room when it happened. They'd argued, and the fight turned physical. The memory shuddered through me, and I urged my wolf to run farther from this territory, as far as we could go, so we'd never see that monster again.
After another hour of nonstop running, I reached an open field near a tiled road. From the scents in the air, I was sure this was a human-populated area. It felt safer here, far from any werewolf territory. I stopped, my body drained and weak. My wolf compelled me to transform back into my human form with my last ounce of energy, and I collapsed, sinking into unconsciousness where nothing hurt, and no thoughts hunted me.
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I opened my eyes slowly. Bright light pricked at the edges of my vision, and I winced. I tried again, blinking my eyes open bit by bit. I found myself lying on a soft bed, a pink blanket covering me. I drew it down and found I was wearing red-striped pajamas. A dull dizziness lingered as I tried to piece together the last memory: I had been naked and exposed on that field.
The room around me had white-painted walls adorned with girlish art and frames, creating a soft, feminine vibe. A vase of flowers sat on a vanity facing a window, sunlight pouring in and making the white linen curtains flutter. The table held books, perfumes, and creams, confirming I was in a female bedroom. The corner closet was open, showing gowns and tops, and a shoe rack below displayed boots, heels, and flats.
I breathed in deeply and sneezed; lavender mingled with the scent of people, thick in the air. I froze, pretending to be asleep as movement stirred. The bedroom door opened, and the lavender scent grew stronger. "I thought I heard her sneeze," a soft, melodic female voice said.
"But her eyes are still closed; she's sleeping. Let's leave her be, shuu," a male voice answered, trying to quiet the other.
"Who are they?" I wondered silently.
"Well, why not open your eyes and find out for yourself," my wolf Val teased, obviously amused by my attempt to stay hidden.
"Val!"
"OMG, I'm so glad you're here. I figured you'd be exhausted after making her run for so long."
"Well, I'm not as strong as I used to be, but I'm not entirely weak either, which is good," Val replied, her tail flicking with renewed energy. I smiled.
"She's smiling!" the female exclaimed, her excitement jolting me awake. I blinked open to see a girl with long, wavy blonde hair and bright blue eyes, roughly my age, leaning in close. The lavender scent around her made me feel oddly safe, a feeling I hadn't known since my mother died long ago.
"Who are you?!"
I blurted the question before I could stop myself.