Chapter 3 - Liv
CHAPTER 3 - LIV
Trigger warning: references to an autoimmune condition and the werewolves’ instinctual response to it.
The car door slammed like the door to the cell caging me for the rest of my life. Fumes from the vehicle in front of me clogged and burned my nose and throat, and I fought the urge to look away.
Rylie scratched at the windows, her screams splitting my insides, her eyes dark pits of terror. “No. Please, no. Don’t do this!”
My heartbeat stuttered like a dead engine rolling over and failing to start.
Archer, my younger brother, laid an arm over her shoulders, crushing the panicking female to his body, doing his best to soothe her. Her howl climbed in pitch, and he leaned his forehead to hers, whispering to her.
Heather’s hand slipped into mine, her pale face a guise of calm, emotions schooled through three years as a practicing psychologist. Logical and objective decisions ruled. Protect Pack Hester first, provide sanctuary for refugees second. That was where she, Father, and I differed.
“I will ask TJ for mercy and to spare you.” Father’s empty promise shredded the last of my obedience, releasing mutinous thoughts. “Brand you a traitor and release you from his pack.”
Rebellion rumbled along the pack bond, disagreement over this decision, and not just from me. Treacherous sounds I stamped down when I remembered the last time I disobeyed.
Guilt clawed at my throat, threatening to tear it open and spill my blood. I mouthed the words I’m sorry , a pitiful consolation for what awaited Rylie.
Irritation slid over father’s face, and he growled, his Alpha reminding everyone who led this pack. One nod from him prompted Jackson to roll the car forward, down the path through our camp.
Pained shrieks stole the air from my lungs. Archer tucked Rylie deeper into his body, glancing over the back of the seat, first to me, then to Heather.
Grenades exploded beneath my ribcage, the first call of war. Gasoline in my veins sparked, fueling my disappointment, frustration, and desperation for freedom. It took everything in me to bite down the impulse to rewrite everything. Challenge Father for leadership and solve all my problems. Create my own future and salvation.
Father’s dominance weighed down the pack connection, smothering disloyal fires, his eyes a dark, smoky-grey clouding the steel-blue I inherited. His scent sparked with something sharp and bitter like gunpowder, telling me his wolf was ready for the contest if I commenced it.
Ghosts of my past flashed in my memory. Haunted, broken eyes. Mangled debris scattered everywhere. Agonized howls.
Courage faltered within me, and my muscles locked and failed to cooperate. I fell back on Father’s decision and insight on these matters.
Eyes crushed closed, I leaned on Heather, my breath sawing in and out of my chest like the blade slicing fillets from my heart and feeding them to the wolves waiting to devour me. My sister crushed my hand, holding me to her, reminding me I wasn’t alone.
Rylie was all alone, destined for burial in the unmarked grave of a traitor, wandering and restless without the Lunar goddess to take her wolf to the stars for eternal hunting, playing, and chasing.
“This is for the good of the pack.” Father tried his best to reassure me, taking my free hand, his heat burning the ice over my palm.
I jerked from his hold and stared him down, eyes burning red as coals, dripping helpless tears. “Just like it’s for the best for me?”
His gaze seared with a try me look. “One day you will appreciate making difficult decisions to clear the pack’s debt and guarantee our survival.”
I understood. Perfectly. Well. He threw orders my way when it suited him. When money or resources came into play. This was the one place I could control when every other decision was made for me. The one place I sought solace when I felt powerless. And he stripped away the last of my power.
Dominance hit me again, warning me to fall back into line. “This decision was too close to your heart. You lead by emotion and not logic.”
The strong female Alpha regressed to a child when he used his Umbra bark on me, forcing my shewolf into submission, head bowed, tail tucked low.
“Remember what I taught you.” His Alpha energy thudded in my temples. “Make decisions for the betterment of the pack, not for selfish gains.”
Choices that weren’t afforded to me. Everything was set for me the moment I came out of my mother’s womb. Immediately, I belonged to Pack Malice, like the first female of each generation before me, exchanged to maintain the fragile peace. A fate I intended to change for the better of everyone, especially the innocent females dragged into historical wars. Dissolving the pack’s debt and ridding us of the Malice curse scaled to the top of my list.
Self-loathing accompanied me back to my cabin, a reminder of my cowardice and weakness. Dissatisfaction prickled along my nape and our connection. Father hadn’t dismissed me.
“Don’t do anything stupid tonight, like step into that circle.” Father’s Alpha warning at my back rocked me.
Mates matched by the Lunar goddess. Unconditional love. Commitment and loyalty. Friendship and sound boarding. Equality and respect. Protection and nourishment. A partner to save me from the big, bad wolf who wanted to abuse me.
Screw that. I never got caught up in stupid notions like that because of who I was promised to. Fanciful thoughts and daydreams were reserved for free females like Heather.
“Don’t worry.” I released a feral growl. “I’ll do my duty like I always do.”
Heather’s faltering steps chased me, unable to match my pace. “Squeaky, wait!” She used my childhood nickname to reel me back from darkness.
Damnation pushed me up the stairs and inside my darkened cabin, embraced by shadow, the chill of night, and silence without a lit fire. I didn’t bother to flick on the light and went straight to my minibar, cracking open a bottle of vodka and throwing the liquid back. Hot, sour resentment burned my throat as I swallowed and hissed.
The cabin used to belong to our mother’s parents before they perished fending off attacks from the Malices. Heather and I shared the place, and we kept the decor the same to remember and honor them. Furniture inherited from four generations of Hesters when they settled in Bathurst to take advantage of the gold mining. Handcrafted items from the eighteen hundreds, mostly found in antique stores or deceased person’s estates. Heavy as hell and sturdy, lasting the distance compared to the frail plywood junk manufacturers made these days.
Shifters avoided town as much as possible—risk of shifting from a threat, and all that—so we grew, harvested, and reared our own foods, as well as built our own furniture and cabins from what our lands provided us.
Three hundred years back, the Hesters settled in the region and established a successful bakery business that fed the miners, police officers keeping the peace, shopkeepers, teachers, metallurgists, and other colonists.
Five years later, male Lycan explorers crossed a breach in the veil, pierced by a Wolf Moon like the one tonight. The full-blood werewolves lay with three Hester daughters, producing the first shifter offspring in the Central West. Infights divided the family, and ten members split away and started their own packs. Breeding with other bloodlines diluted our genes, however, mating within our pack preserved our Lycan DNA, making the Hesters the strongest and purest in the region.
I threw back more vodka and stared out the cabin’s bay window. Outside, the full moon glowed silver, alluring, and magical. Turning up to the Lunar Ceremony trashed probably wouldn’t help my case with the goddess, but I needed to take the edge off my guilt and rinse Rylie’s face from my mind.
Spent from regret and hopelessness, I collapsed onto my sofa and threw my legs onto my coffee table. Pack cabins were cozy and small, besides those for the Umbra and their offspring, where we hosted guests for dinners and discussions. Each cabin contained minimal features and consisted of a kitchen, lounge, and dining rooms squished together, the space made even smaller with a fireplace, three-seater armchair, cedar dining table, and blackwood bookshelf.
Heather’s lumbering footsteps mounted the stairs to our cabin. The door clicked closed behind her, her gloom sitting heavy on the pack bond.
She limped to my side and snatched the bottle from me. “No, Squeaky.”
“Don’t.” I raised my palms. “Just don’t.”
My sister obeyed my command, letting me reclaim the bottle and wash more liquid down to numb everything. She was the last person I wanted to snap at when I loved her to pieces. Right now, I just wanted to fall apart.
Heather’s face scrunched at standing for so long. Disease and deformity judged her weak and vulnerable in our world, unsuitable to rear strong, healthy pups. Hell, her own fucking father abandoned her, leaving her with our family to raise her.
Thankfully, she lucked out on a fate as one of Malice’s bitches. Where my pack valued all shifters despite their perceived flaws, females like her born into Pack Malice were thrown into the fighting rings to be torn apart for bets and amusement.
I envied her freedom to choose her future, her honor of attending tonight’s Lunar Ceremony for pairing with a mate. I threw more fiery clear liquid back, toasting her fortune of impending happiness and drowning my misfortunes.
Heather’s fingers wrapped around the bottle’s neck, highlighting her red, swollen knuckles. “You can’t stay home and get drunk. You’ve got to pretend everything’s normal and attend the Lunar Ceremony.”
One of few disadvantages of being heiress to Pack Hester… well, in name only, since I lost that title once Father married me off to TJ Malice.
She tugged the vodka from my grasp and thwarted my attempt to swipe the bottle back by setting it out of my reach on the kitchen counter behind me.
Studying me, doing her psyche thing, she pulled her long, woolen pullover tighter and hugged her waist, hiding her plentiful body beneath the thick layers. “The Squeaky I know would tell that self-pity to get fucked.”
Snort . That was the old me. Marriage to a powerful and cruel Umbra awaited. Duty, not love. Peace, not war. Sacrifice for my pack’s future.
“Leave me alone to drown in my ruin,” I growled.
She ground her teeth and resisted my Alpha order.
Cold fingers curled over my chin and squeezed. “If you think I’m going to let you be sold to that asshole, you’ve got another thing coming.”
“What are you going to do, offer yourself as tribute?”
Heather’s grip on the bottle creaked. “I’d sacrifice myself if I could.”
“I didn’t mean it like that, Nimble.” An ironic nickname for her condition, but she chose it.
“I know you didn’t.” Heather leaned over and pinched my nose between her forefinger and middle finger, a habit we kept up from childhood. “Don’t worry, sis. I’ve got it handled.”
I captured her hand between my palms and rubbed. “What do you mean?”
Heather tugged my sluggish body to my feet, her face scrunching at the pain it cost her. “We’ll get you to a safe place just like Rylie.”
Relief teased through my body, relaxing the pinch in my temples and the tumultuous churn in my gut. “You rescued Rylie?”
Hundreds more questions rapid-fired in my brain. Where were they hiding her? With what resources? What story had they feed Father? Was Archer behind the ploy? Out of character for my playboy brother who treated girls like his shirt, wearing a new one each day.
Disobedience in our pack called for death, and worry for my siblings’ safety prompted my hands to catch the side of Heather’s shoulders. “Father will punish you, Nimble.”
Defiance flared in her hazel eyes. “I’ll take it if it comes.” She held out a fist to bump. Another childish game we maintained, although these days, it morphed into girl power or boss bitch vibes. “Team Squeaky and Nimble. Just like old times.”
Fuck. The lengths my sister would go to for me. Right. Back. At. Her.
At her conviction, I flew into her arms, crying tears that stung of dread, relief, and joy. “Oh, Nimble, you’re a surprise.”
“C’mon. Let’s get ready before Father bursts in here and throws around more orders.” The hug didn’t last long, and we broke apart, my sister hauling my ass to the bedroom to change clothes for the ceremony.
If I thought it was tight in our lounge-dining-kitchen, then call my bedroom a prison cell. Queen-sized bed along the window, a set of drawers with a mirror on top in the corner, the top swimming in makeup, jewelry, and other junk I left behind this morning. Small closet on the opposite wall with a rotation of clothing. Doorway into the communal bathroom shared with the second bedroom down the hall.
I cranked open the closet door, tugged out two dresses, displaying them. “What do you think? Fun and flirty?” I flashed the baby blue daisy print summer dress with a square neck, lace-up bust, and flared skirt. “Or representing Pack Hester?” I yawned at the navy tank dress with white floral print and pencil skirt that covered my cleavage.
Hmm. Think I have a thing for blue.
Heather giggled and tapped the second. “Future Hester boss bitch.”
Hope kindled in my belly of getting out of my contract and claiming the life I wanted. Embracing my right as heiress and running the sanctuary and pack without threats from rivals. Why the hell should I pay for the transgressions of my Leelaw because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants?
War erupted after he mated one of old Malice’s side girls. Losses were felt on both sides; burned and destroyed homes, businesses, livestock and agricultural lands. Battles that cost us many good soldiers and left us weak and vulnerable, and ended in our surrender, my Leelaw’s execution, and agreeing to an unreasonable pact. Father offered lands, including forest, and paddocks, but no, Pack Malice was greedy and wanted our females to mate, breed, and reinforce their numbers and strengthen their diluted bloodline.
“I’m down with that.” Fantasies of me assuming position as Umbra, calling off the deal with Pack Malice, and finding another way to settle our debt played out in my head.
I returned the summer dress to my closet and laid the tank dress on my bed. The smarter choice to avoid encouraging TJ’s attention. That son of a bitch wasn’t coming near me until our wedding day, and even then, I’d avoid him as much as practical. Lace his food with sleeping potions at night. Keep busy with pack duties during the day.
Time to transform my sister into a princess, because this was her night to find her prince.
“What are you wearing to allure your dreamy prince?”
Heather absently twirled her chestnut hair around a finger. “Pants, a blouse, and jacket.”
“Hell, no, Nimble.” I selected a sexy crimson number that contrasted with her eyes and held it flush to her body. “You’re going as Cinderella, and I’ll live vicariously through your fairy tale love story!”
Heather cringed at the short skirt revealing her inflamed, swollen knees. Clothes exposing them were prohibited and she shied away from them. “Great. I turn into the ugly pumpkin after midnight.”
I nudged her in the belly. “You’re always a princess to me, and you’re going to captivate your mate and steal the breath from him.”
When we were five, we strayed far from the pack, adventuring in the forest, hunting rabbits. Spikes on a fence bordering our territory caught on her leg, nicking her fur and flesh, trapping her. Frightened, she kicked to get free of the tangle snaring her leg, cutting both knees in the process. An infection set in and led to a rheumatoid arthritis diagnosis.
Shifters like us were born from the Lycans cross breeding with human females, producing half breed werewolves, pedigrees that were diluted when breeding with humans. Unfortunately, Heather inherited weaker shifter genes, her ability to shift dependent on her health. To this day, she hadn’t returned to the wolf skin of her childhood days.
Kids at school and in the pack were mean and unforgiving, teasing her mercilessly about her “ugly cantaloupe knees,” and ever since, she hid them in shame. Baggy pants and jeans. Any skin she tucked beneath long sleeves, high necks, and buried beneath a long coat, even in summer. A shame really, when she had such beautiful, soft, fair skin.
Throughout high school and college, shifter and human males alike steered clear of dating her. Dark, protective heat flashed in my chest at the disrespect and cruelty shown to my sister.
Heather was one of the strongest females I knew to endure all her hardships. Lonely and heartsick, she longed for a mate to look beyond the flaws the rest of the world saw and love the woman inside. Screw that. We were all imperfect in one way or the other. My closet romantic hoped tonight might be the answer to her prayers.
My sister owned two dresses and she only wore them when she had to. Cat suits, trousers, jeans, and long blouses were her go to numbers for parties. Never anything to heighten her insecurities.
“Wear whatever you want from my wardrobe.” I flicked my wrist in its direction.
“Spank you,” she murmured, one of many lines we quoted from too many reruns of Ace Ventura on Netflix .
Desperate to get out of this damn pact, I reclined on my bed, running over a hundred different scenarios to escape my doomed fate. Forsake Pack Hester, run away and never come back. Impossible when I couldn’t doom them to death. Marry that twisted bastard TJ and stab him through the heart when he fell asleep. Accept a traitor’s death in the ring where six wolves brought me to my knees and tore me to pieces. Feasible. Setting in motion an unfortunate accident for TJ with no evidence leading back to me. Worthy of further planning during the month leading up to my nuptials.
Heather hummed her admiration, selecting a satin number with a strapless corset and princess-style skirt, draping it over her front, palms caressing the satin, cinching the fabric between her fingers.
Teal, like my dyed blonde hair. Worn at my twenty-fourth birthday party several months earlier. Hugged my curves and lifted my boobs. Bugged-out male gazes followed me through the pack.
“I wish I could wear this.” She crushed the fabric to her chest. “If we mate, he’ll see my…” Rejection and judgment of her condition were her worst fears.
Hell, if I had to live a life of misery to ensure my pack’s survival, my sister was sure as shit going to get her damned happy ending.
I lifted her chin. “He’s your Lunar mate and going to be smitten. Enchant him with those gorgeous hazel doe eyes. Bat those dark lashes and look up at him through them. He’ll fall to his knees and worship you.”
Guys looked when she walked past, although hiding her body didn’t do her any favors and screamed virgin, unavailable, or nun. She needed to dress for her shapely figure, but no matter what I tried, I couldn’t build her courage to take that leap.
Heather snorted. “Doubt it. Always the bridesmaid, never the bride.”
She squeezed her thighs together and tugged her woolen pullover so tight, it pinched like a bodice. Rounded and perfect, with wide hips, thick thighs, ample breasts, she was physically ideal to rear pups despite what our animalistic instincts declared. My sister would make a perfect mother, treasuring and protecting her pups fiercely, teaching them not to care what others thought… even if she secretly let whispers drag her down.
A sour knot burned in my chest, wanting to maim every single asshole who wounded my sister.
“What about this?” I drew out an olive number twinkling like the stars, long in the skirt and complimentary in the neckline, bust, and waist. “It brings out your eyes. I’ll do a smoky grey eye.” I chef kissed. “You’ll be so smokin’ all the males will be panting after you.”
She worked her bottom lip between her teeth, running a hand down the material, admiring herself in the mirror, twisting back and forward. “Doubt it. None of them look twice at dowdy me.”
The knot in my chest turned hot with bitterness that she didn’t believe in herself. “Let’s get your hair and makeup done.”
Trepidation flashed in her eyes as I removed the dress from her fingers and set it on my bed and ushered her into a seat for her transformation to Cinderella.
I moved to my bedside table and slid out a gift-wrapped sparkly black box with red ribbon and set it in her lap. “A present for tonight to mark this special occasion. Good luck charms.” I threw in a wink for a hint.
Apprehension in her eyes went up in a puff of smoke, and she launched into my arms and squeezed. “Spank you, Squeaky! You’re the best sister.”
I rubbed up and down her spine. “Thank me later when you get lucky.”
“We’ll both get lucky.” Despite the tragedy in her life, Heather clung to her daydream of romance and princes to whisk her away. Fantasies I didn’t fool myself with. At least one of us would be happy, and that gave me small comfort.
Bitterness in my stomach turned sour at the hell destined for me. Sins I paid for. Fuck my Leelaw and the debt he cursed us with. I tired of being told what to do by men. Tired of having my life laid out for me. From here on, I resolved to rewrite my future the way I wanted and let no man have a say in it.
Worrying her bottom lip again, Heather plucked at the ribbons and snapped off the lid faster than a kid on Christmas morning.
A soft gasp escaped. “Oh, Squeaky, these are beautiful.” Tenderly, she traced the burnt amber bra and panty set, diamante hair clip and earrings like a maiden about to be married to a prince. “I… I can’t wear these.”
Like hell she couldn’t. I had them specially ordered, washed and cleaned. She was going to be the princess she dreamed of.
My chest rumbled whenever she didn’t think she was good enough for something. “You can’t wear your shape underwear.”
She ran a hand down her hips. “What’s wrong with them? They keep all my bits tucked.”
I laughed at her. “You need to wear something alluring for when you mate with your chosen. Something to spice up the moment.” I tossed in another wink and drifted my hands seductively down my sides.
Once paired, Lunar Mates were afforded time alone in the forest to get to know one another, run in their wolf fur and consummate the matching if they chose. That was the part of the ritual that worried my sister most.
Heather cough-choked and I patted her back. “I can’t mate in the forest. I need a bed. Privacy. Darkness.”
History with previous boyfriends and dates fueled her paranoia about her swollen knees and uncomfortable mating positions turning off her Moon Mate. Fears she gave life to, nothing more.
I rested the hair clip against her auburn hair and the jewels sparkled. “Pffft. Your lucky mate will be so enamored to have you, he’ll throw you up against a tree and ravish you.”
At least, that was the scenario I envisioned for her—for myself too—well, after a little chase in the woods. My mate was going to earn his right to claim me.
I spanked her hip. “Nimble, you’re wearing that lingerie! I must live vicariously through your saucy Lunar Ceremony encounter since I don’t get one.”
We shared everything from our darkest fears to date stories, and it never felt weird despite being sisters.
“I’ll think about it.” She closed the box’s lid and laid it next to her dress.
She would wear those gifts and feel like the princess at the ball who found her prince. I just had to work on her a little more to build up her confidence and comfort level to wear something sexy and highlight her gorgeous, cushiony figure. One step at a time.
I clapped my hands. “Hair and makeup time.”
In my haste to get her ready, I dropped my Maybelline mascara on the floor and bent to pick it up. The blade I carried in my mid-calf length boots flashed like the moon winked at me. Long. Sharp. Enough to carve out a heart and eat it. A smile nipped at the corner of my mouth. Maybe I found my solution to my problems after all, and a month early.