Chapter2

"Mom!"

Driven by sheer pup instinct, I didn't think. I lunged forward, desperately craving to bury my face in the familiar scent of pine and earth clinging to her fur.

But my claws passed straight through her, dissipating into nothing like pale smoke.

I stared down at my translucent hands. The hollow realization finally settled in—I couldn't touch her. I could never touch anything again.

I drifted after her, trying to plead my case, to voice my needs, but she wasn’t here for me. She strode straight past where my broken body lay, reaching for the hook by the doorway to snatch the ceremonial silver bell—the one required for Luna’s First Howl.

Without a single backward glance, she spun around and pulled the door shut.

Her cold voice filtered through the crack in the wood. "You can scratch your claws against this door all you want, Briar, but the result won't change. What you draw is what you get. It’s the Moon Goddess's will. You only have yourself to blame."

"Mom, hurry up!" Luna’s voice echoed from the front hall, breathless and bursting with excitement. "We're going to miss the Howl!"

"I'm coming, sweetie," Freya’s voice instantly melted into pure honey. Then, she tossed a careless afterthought toward my door. "I left a piece of Moon-Elk venison on the stove for you. I didn't even make you draw a bone for it. That’s generous enough."

Generous.

Three months ago, entirely lightheaded after a grueling training run, I had secretly scooped a spoonful of fish-tail broth from the pot. Mother had caught me and slapped my muzzle so hard my ears rang. "Every drop you steal is one less for your sister!" she had hissed.

And now, she was leaving food just for me?

I drifted out of my bedroom, passing effortlessly through the solid oak door, and floated into the kitchen. There it was, resting on a chipped ceramic plate—a small cut of venison.

My physical stomach no longer existed, but the phantom memory of hunger still bit sharply at me. My throat convulsed unprompted, trying to swallow saliva that wasn't there. I reached for the meat, but my fingertips phased straight through the plate, grasping nothing. I tried again. Still nothing.

A soft thump at the window broke my focus. A massive, ragged timber wolf vaulted silently onto the sill and dropped to the kitchen floor. It was Soot, an aging rogue wolf, completely blind in his left eye.

When Grandmother Elowen was alive, she used to share her leftovers with him every morning. Even years later, his nose still remembered the scent of the only person in this pack who had ever shown him kindness.

Soot padded over to the stove. He sat heavily on his haunches, positioning himself squarely between me and the plate of venison. He didn't eat. His ears twitched, and he sniffed the air deeply. That one good eye locked unblinkingly onto the exact spot where I hovered, then shifted toward my locked bedroom door.

He stayed there, guarding the space until the sun dipped below the horizon. Finally, he rose, vaulted back out the window, and vanished. He hadn't taken a single bite.

Suddenly, the front door was pushed open, bringing in a rush of crisp night air and celebratory laughter.

Luna bounded in, her chest puffed out proudly. Around her neck hung a thick cord woven from pure gold and silver wire—the Elder Pack's highest blessing for completing a brilliant First Howl.

She rushed right to my closed door, scratching her claws excitedly against the wood. "Briar! Did you hear? The Elders said the moon got brighter when I howled!"

In the kitchen, Freya paused by the stove, staring at the cold, untouched plate of venison. Her sensitive Beta nose twitched, her gaze darting toward my bedroom door as she caught the bitter, metallic tang of blood. But instantly, fierce disgust overrode her instincts.

"Enough," Mother scoffed. She snatched up the plate and aggressively scraped the meat back into the simmering main pot. "Stop clawing at yourself just to piss me off—if you’re going to be so incredibly petty that you refuse the kindness Luna wanted to share with you, then I'll just stew the meat to Luna's taste."

Garrick walked in shortly after. He paused by the hearth, leisurely filing his Alpha claws. His ears flicked slightly toward my door, as if he sensed something was terribly amiss. But he merely ground his fangs together and strode right past without a word.

I floated near the ceiling, watching numbly as my mother stirred the thick stew, purposefully adding the nightshade herbs she knew would cause my throat to swell and blister.

For ten years, the main cooking pot had been exclusively reserved for Luna's favorite dishes. My bowl only ever saw coarse bran cakes, fish-bone broth, and gristly scraps.

I remembered Grandmother Elowen brushing my badly matted fur years ago, her voice heavy with sorrow. "Your mother doesn't hate you, Briar. She just treats you like a weed. As long as she tosses you a scrap, she expects you to survive."

I looked down at the bubbling pot.

It was fine, really. At least when I was alive, I got to drink the fish-bone broth. The disgraced pups in the neighboring territory didn't even get a drop of water when they misbehaved.

I still had soup. That meant I was lucky. Wasn't I?