Unwanted Daughter

Ever POV:

The silver Moonpetal Ferns curled, blackened, and crumbled to ash in the flames. The girl who had cupped them with desperate hope died in that same moment.

Now, a bone-deep cold woke me. I lay on a pile of scratchy hay, my teeth chattering in a rhythm I couldn't stop. The chill seeped up from the packed earth floor, and the air was thick with the stench of horse manure and rotting straw. A wave of nausea rolled through my empty stomach.

The wooden door screeched open, kicked with a brutal force that made me flinch. A man named Jed Hicks filled the doorway, his large frame blocking the sliver of gray morning light. His face was set in a sneer of pure contempt.

He carried a small wooden bowl.

He didn't hand it to me. He tossed it onto the floor a few feet away. Thin, watery oatmeal sloshed over the rim, spattering onto the hem of my worn dress.

"Eat up, murderer," Jed grunted, nudging the bowl with the toe of his muddy boot. "The Alpha doesn't want you starving to death. Not yet, anyway."

Murderer.

The word wasn't a shout. It was a key, turning a lock deep inside my mind. The filthy stable dissolved, and the world swam out of focus.

I was back in the grand hall of the Blackwood Pack manor, a month ago.

The memory was so vivid I could feel the polished marble floor beneath my thin shoes. I stood in the center of the cavernous room, a stray in a palace, my rough-spun clothes a smudge against the opulent tapestries and gilded furniture.

They were all there, my "family."

Then she came forward. Caroline. My adoptive sister, the one who had lived the life that should have been mine. She was perfect, an angel with hair like spun gold and eyes the color of a summer sky.

She wrapped her arms around me in a warm, welcoming hug. The scent of lavender and vanilla clung to her.

"Welcome home, sister," she whispered, her voice like honey. "I'm going to make you feel the warmth of a real family."

But over my shoulder, I saw her eyes. Just for a second. They were as cold and hard as chips of ice.

The weeks that followed were a masterclass in deception. Caroline was my shadow, my guide, my protector. She taught me which fork to use, gifted me beautiful silk dresses she no longer wanted, and defended me in public from our brother's taunts. Everyone praised her kindness, her generosity.

My real parents, Alpha Fremont and Luna Juliana, were another story. Their gazes slid off me as if I were made of glass. Disappointment was a constant cloud in their eyes. I was their blood, their true daughter, but I couldn't shift. A wolfless. A disgrace.

My brother, Kane, was more direct. "Country mutt," he'd call me, his voice dripping with venom. "You smell of dirt and weakness."

The memories blurred, then sharpened on a single night. The night it all ended.

The smell of smoke.

I woke to screaming. I burst from my small room in the servants' wing and saw it. The west cottage, Caroline's private cottage, was engulfed in flames, the fire clawing at the night sky like a furious beast.

I tried to run towards it, to help, to do something.