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Weekends are the best. I get to just relax and read usually, no worries about anyone else coming after me, saying something rude or cruel just to upset me. Even going shopping in town with Mom is relaxing. Other kids won’t begin to do it. They think it’s beneath them. The human mates like cooking for their own families and doing their own shopping, unlike the full bloods. Most of them only eat the food prepared by the omegas, don’t know how to boil water or do the laundry. They’d likely die of starvation if they couldn’t shift and hunt if the omegas were all killed or left.
School the next week is worse than the one before and the one after it even more so. It seems like Dana is out for blood, likely worried that it’ll be her last chance to draw it without being called out immediately. At the school, there are far more hidden spots than at home, especially since I don’t risk being near any of them along at the packhouse.
Every day at school is just one more that I can mark off my calendar. It’s also one more for my nerves to deepen.
It feels like something bad is coming. Like no matter what I do, how much precaution I take, nothing is going to be enough to keep me safe, even with as little time left as I have to face here.
The morning of graduation dawns bright and sunny, and I can’t keep the grin off my face when I see the breakfast surprise Mom put together on the table. Usually, it’s filled with every kind of breakfast meat possible, bacon, ham, sausage patties, sausage links, turkey bacon, turkey sausage, chicken fried steak and regular steak even because it takes a ton to fill up all of the men in our family. Today though, there’s French toast of every variety and fresh fruit as a side.
The guys grumble good naturedly until we leave for the school to get to the ceremony on time. I’d love to just skip it, but Mom’s been looking forward to this day for a long time, and I don’t want to disappoint her.
As we’re standing in line to get ready for the processional, someone grabs me, pulling me back into a darkened hallway, a hand over my mouth quieting me until it’s replaced with tape. A dark bag blocks my view as it’s pulled over my head, tied tight around my throat, barely letting me breathe as whoever is doing it keeps tightening it.
My arms are jerked hard behind me, and I scream against the tape when one of my shoulders pops out of place. Darkness is pulling me under, and it turns black as something is slammed into my middle, over and over, until I pass out, unable to stand it another moment.
Chapter 1
Mora
The clock shows eleven-thirty when I wake up, not at all surprising since I usually can’t fall asleep until after three in the morning anymore. I used to be an early riser, someone that enjoyed the first break of sunlight crossing the horizon, but now, not even that makes me smile.
It’s been three and a half months since graduation and the attack that nearly took my life. I still can’t say for certain who was behind it as I didn’t see any faces, and Dad is pissed at the entire pack because no one will step forward and admit they were my attackers.
The only reason I’m still alive is because of Sammy and Ryan. They noticed I wasn’t in line as everyone started to file into their seats and came looking for me. I was completely unconscious when they found me, still tied up, the bag nearly suffocating me. When Sammy came carrying me out, it ruined the entire ceremony, and that’s made people mad at them, instead of being furious that someone here attacked me.
It’s made tensions amongst the pack intensify and more than ever, I want to leave. Except for now I can’t, because currently, I can barely dress myself or go to the bathroom alone.
The attack broke every single one of my ribs, tore my shoulder apart, and shattered my leg. It took everything the healers had to put me back together, since their methods are usually meant for shifters who have faster healing abilities. I’ll likely have a limp for life, a weak left arm, but at least they didn’t have to amputate my leg as they’d first feared.
I’m still recovering. My leg in the third cast, well, brace I suppose is more accurate now, but it’s not a giving one. It starts mid-thigh and goes all the way down to my ankle, making stairs nearly impossible to navigate. Not to mention walking simply hurts my still not healed ribs. The healers said they could take up to six months or more to fully heal and its hell.
Up until the last week or so, I was mostly bedridden. My family would get me up, gently as possible, and put me in a chair to try to avoid bed sores or would take me downstairs to be with them rather than all alone upstairs. It’s just not the same as being able to go do what you want, when you want to.
Not to mention the nightmares the attack has caused. They make it impossible to sleep during the night, even more afraid of the darkness, shadows, than the light. Even if that’s when the attack happened.
I guess that’s because I know during the day, someone is at home—I’m not alone. Whereas at night, while I might not be alone, it would take them longer to realize if something happened to me. If whoever did this returned during the darkness of night and tried to kill me again, they might succeed this time.
School is starting up again soon, which means my brothers won’t be home with me during the day, and it has me worried. As much as Mom loves me, she wouldn’t be able to protect me from an attack the way the boys can. It takes more to hurt her, she’s definitely stronger than I am, but since she’s only a mate, a human mate at that, she can’t take down a born shifter, not even one that’s only a quarter by blood. They simply have a different makeup than the rest of us.
As soon as I’m up and moving, at my door, Ryan’s there, carrying me down the steps so I don’t hurt myself worse by falling down them. The couch in the living room they’ve deemed my throne, piled with layers of cushions and pillows, blankets in case I get cold, with a little table pulled close for the huge cup of water they insist I drink three or four of every day.
Ryan settles me into it, making sure my injured leg is propped up still, so it doesn’t swell. Mom brings in a plate and my cup, settling them within reach and presses a kiss to the top of my head, making me smile despite the discomfort that continues to flow through my body.
It’s not her fault that I was hurt. It’s not Dad’s fault either. Or the boys’ fault for that matter.
The fault lies with the cowards that attacked me. Since no one’s stepped forward to claim responsibility, I can only guess that Dana was behind it. Something she cooked up to keep me from graduation, from getting any recognition.
It’d be like her to try it, and she would have had easy access to the school building being that she was also graduating. She’d have known where I was supposed to be in line to wait and convinced enough of the others to be late so there wouldn’t be any witnesses. I just don’t have the proof to accuse her of it, without worrying she’ll issue a challenge in return. It’s not like I could fight her and the only girls that would stand behind me wouldn’t be able to beat her. By pack rules, only another female can fight her, so I’m out of luck on that one.
The day fades into afternoon quickly as I snack on the food. My appetite is non-existent anymore. I spent a month on a liquid diet because my throat was so swollen that I couldn’t swallow anything thicker than a smoothie, so now, food doesn’t interest me, which just makes Mom worry more about me. I don’t like them worrying about me, but I also can’t seem to make myself care enough to just eat what they give me without complaint.
By late afternoon, my eyes are shut and I’m in a half-asleep mode. Something that’s normal as well when I never used to nap during the day. Usually, it’s when my brothers head out to do whatever they need or want to, while Mom cleans up around the house. I don’t normally wake until about five, but today, something pulls me out of it making my heart race wildly.
Strange sounds filter in through the windows, and I wrestle my way up to a sitting position, gasping in shock when I spot Mom outside, struggling to get loose from some man’s hold. He’s not someone I know. I’ve never seen him in my life and that worries me more as I call out to see if anyone else is home.
There’s no response and I hobble to the door, grabbing up Ryan’s metal bat. It’s dented in spots from as hard as he can hit the ball. They can’t use wooden bats because they simply shatter whenever they hit the ball, metal bats are the only thing that lets them play.
The man attacking Mom doesn’t even seem to notice me hobbling down the steps until I let out a shout, swinging the bat as hard as I can with my right arm, my left nothing more than stability to keep the thing up. It hits him in the head, and he drops his hold on Mom, but he doesn’t fall. Instead, his face snaps back my way, a snarl coming from his mouth and his eyes glow red, rooting me to my spot.
