Ariana
I stumble back from the metal tray, my hand clamped over my mouth. The polished surface falls from my other hand, clattering against the stone floor with a sound that seems impossibly loud in the silent infirmary.
It can’t be. It’s a trick of the light. A smudge on the metal. A hallucination brought on by the beating.
I drop to my knees, my body screaming in protest, and snatch the tray from the floor. I hold it up again, my knuckles white. The reflection is shaky, distorted, but the truth it shows is undeniable.
One brown eye. One violet eye.
The violet is electric, a storm cloud lit from within by lightning. It doesn’t look like it belongs in my face, in this room, in this world.
A cold terror, sharper and deeper than anything Joric can inspire, grips me. This is wrong. This is a sickness. A madness. They will see it. They will say I am cursed. They will cast me out. Or worse.
My breath comes in ragged, panicked sobs. I have to hide it. I have to cover it.
*It is a gift, little one. Not a curse.*
The voice is not a sound that comes through my ears. It resonates inside my skull, as clear as a spoken word but intimate, like my own thought. Except it isn’t my thought. The voice is female, calm, ancient, and deeply, deeply amused.
I scramble backward, away from the tray, away from the voice, until my back hits the hard wooden frame of the cot. My heart hammers a frantic rhythm against my cracked ribs. I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing the heels of my hands into them.
“Who’s there?” I whisper into the empty room, my voice trembling.
*I am here. Where I have always been. You are just now learning to listen.*
I’m losing my mind. The beating, it must have broken something in my head. That’s the only explanation. The eye. The voice. It’s a nightmare.
“You’re not real,” I choke out, pulling my knees to my chest.
There’s a soft chuckle that seems to vibrate through my very bones. *Oh, I am very real. More real than the pain in your ribs or the fear in your heart.*
“What do you want?” I ask, my voice cracking.
*To see you become who you were meant to be. But all in good time. Patience, child. For now, just breathe.*
I try to follow the command, to draw a breath, but my lungs feel tight and small. Panic is a wild animal clawing at the inside of my throat. My world has tilted on its axis. Nothing makes sense.
The heavy wooden door to the infirmary creaks open. Light from the corridor spills into the room, silhouetting a large, familiar frame. My blood runs cold.
Joric.
He steps inside, a smirk already twisting his lips. He lets the door swing shut behind him, plunging the room back into the dim candlelight. Lyra must have left for the kitchens.
“I heard our broken little toy was awake,” he says, his voice a low drawl. He saunters further into the room, his eyes scanning me. I keep my head down, my hair falling forward like a curtain, hoping he won’t see. Hoping he won’t notice the impossible color of my eye.
“What, no greeting for me? After I took such special care of you this morning?” He stops a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest in the same arrogant posture his father favors.
I remain silent. Saying nothing is always the safest option. Saying nothing means there is nothing he can twist, nothing he can use as a new excuse.
*He expects you to cower. Are you going to give him what he expects?*
The voice is back. Calm. Questioning. It’s a strange anchor in the swirling sea of my fear.
Joric scoffs at my silence. “Still defiant. I thought I beat that out of you. Seems I’ll have to try harder next time. My father is too soft. He thinks a few cracked ribs are enough. But you omegas, you’re like rats. You need to be stamped out completely.”
He takes another step closer. I can smell the scent of pine and sweat on him, the scent of a predator.
“Look at me,” he commands.
I don’t move. I keep my gaze fixed on a crack in the stone floor. If I look up, he will see my eye. The thought sends another jolt of terror through me.
“I said, look at me!” he roars, his voice bouncing off the stone walls. He reaches down, his hand closing on my chin in a bruising grip. He forces my head up.
His cold gray eyes bore into mine. I try to keep my right eye mostly closed, praying the shadows and the flickering candlelight will hide it.
“There now. Is that so hard?” He studies my face, his thumb rubbing harshly against my cheekbone. His eyes narrow. “You look different.”
My heart stops.
“Still the same pathetic, worthless omega,” he continues, his gaze sweeping over me dismissively, “but there’s… something. Did the old crone give you one of her potions? Put a bit of fire in your belly?”
I just stare at him, my mind a blank wall of panic.
*He is a boy playing at being a monster. Show him how unimpressed you are.*
Where are these thoughts coming from? That’s not me. I’ve never been unimpressed. I’ve only ever been terrified.
Joric’s smirk returns. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing can change what you are. You were born weak, and you will die weak. A stain on my pack’s honor.” He releases my chin with a shove.
His words are the same ones he always uses. The same tired insults meant to grind me into dust. They have always worked. They have always left me feeling hollow and worthless.
But today, something is different.
The voice in my head is a quiet hum of power. And the words that leave my mouth feel like they belong to someone else entirely. Someone stronger. Someone unafraid.
“Is that all you have?”
The question is quiet, almost conversational. It hangs in the air between us. Joric blinks, his head tilting as if he’s misheard me.
I look up, fully meeting his gaze, forgetting for a moment to hide my eye. “I asked if that is all you have. The same insults, day after day. It’s… boring.”
The last word comes out with a sharpness that shocks even me. My hand flies to my mouth, but it’s too late. The words are out.
Joric’s face, which had been a mask of arrogant contempt, goes slack with disbelief. His jaw literally hangs open for a second before snapping shut. A slow, dark flush creeps up his neck.
“What did you say to me?” he hisses, his voice dangerously low. He takes a step forward, looming over me.
My body trembles, a primal fear screaming at me to apologize, to beg, to take it back. But the calm presence in my mind holds me steady.
I don’t answer. I just hold his gaze. The flickering candlelight must be dancing in my right eye, because his own eyes widen almost imperceptibly. He squints, leaning closer.
“Your eye…” he begins, a confused frown replacing his anger.
Before he can get a better look, the door opens again. This time it’s Lyra, carrying a steaming bowl of broth. She stops dead in the doorway, her eyes darting between me on the floor and Joric standing over me.
“Joric,” she says, her voice tight with disapproval. “What are you doing here? This is a place of healing. Your presence is not required.”
Joric tears his gaze from me and glares at her. He is the Alpha’s son. No one speaks to him like that. But Lyra has been the pack healer for fifty years. She has a status that even he cannot easily challenge.
“I was just checking on the pack’s property,” he snarls.
“She is not property. She is a pack member under my care,” Lyra counters, her voice like flint. “And she needs rest, not your torment. Now get out.”
For a long moment, it feels like the world is holding its breath. Joric looks from Lyra’s stern, unyielding face back to me. His eyes are full of a new, venomous promise. He is no longer just toying with me. I have defied him. I have embarrassed him. I have crossed a line.
He turns without another word, his shoulders rigid with fury. He strides out of the infirmary, slamming the heavy door behind him with a boom that echoes in my bones.
I collapse back against the cot, my entire body shaking with the adrenaline and the terror of what I have just done. I risked everything for a single moment of… what? Defiance? Pride?
Lyra rushes to my side, setting the bowl down. “Child, what did you do? What did you say to him?” she asks, her hands hovering over my shoulders, her face etched with worry.
I can’t answer her. I can only stare at the door he disappeared through. I should be consumed by fear of his retribution. And I am. A part of me is screaming in terror.
But another part of me, a part I have never met before today, is alight with a strange, thrilling warmth. A flicker of fire in the cold, empty space where my wolf should be.
*You see?*
The voice is back, and it sounds pleased. It sounds like a proud mother.
*That was only the beginning.*
