Chapter 2 Unveiling the Beast Within

After a few hours and the replacement of one dumb outfit with a T-shirt and yoga pants, Kira came to my door.

"Miss Nova." She walked into my bedroom, shocking Ivy in her wake.

I missed Kira's points when she spoke. I was curled up on my stomach, reading a love story. The major plot involved a police officer going undercover to free a drug cartel family's daughter. It was like a fairy tale from today.

If I could be this girl, I would...

Ah, what if one of my father's security personnel has seen me develop into a young woman? He's holding out for the proper opportunity to let me know how he really feels so he may rescue me from this lonely agony.

The security detail outside my room caught my attention as I looked up. He raised his left hand and rubbed his neck with it.

A girl can dream.

With the exception of relaying a message from my father or "Miss Nova," none of the security guards even gave me a sidelong glance or engaged in conversation.

My eyes arose from my laptop when I became aware of two people standing above me: Kira and Ivy. They were indeed there by my bedside as I blinked my eyes open.

I quickly closed my laptop while keeping my wrist from hingeing, saying, "Oh."

My bedroom served as a physical representation of the fact that I never made any independent decisions. It appeared magnificent, much like the rest of my father's house. Although I would like to claim ownership of the decoration, my father's interior design team made all of the decisions. All I had asked for was "not pink," yet someone had chosen all-white furniture with gold accents and royal blue accents in the curtains and linens.

My initial murmured response was, "I'm not even sure I like blue."

The last I saw of the design team were their dejected faces. In my defence, they made all following decisions without consulting me about my preferences. Six hours after a big truck arrived in front of the house one morning, my bedroom was still standing.

The dresser with the enormous vanity mirror attached was a mistake by the designer. My preoccupation with scrutinising myself in the mirror as a lifeless shell of a person began there.

A tiny balcony is accessible through ten-foot tall French doors in addition to the conventional furniture. The area would make the ideal balcony for a prince to save a princess from, perhaps steal a kiss from, or even set up a Taylor Swift music video. However, not even a Swiftie extra or prince ever showed up. As my seventeenth birthday approached, I grew angrier and angrier at those silly fairy tales.

As well as at myself for having read them in the first place.

When I first began taking my daily injections, I would climb down the stucco wall at night while daydreaming that I was a vigilante and fall on the soft grass below with a gratified grunt.

I never made it past that landing site before being escorted back inside by my father's security squad. They initially found it funny, but after a few more tries, my father had the doors barred.

I first yanked at the bars until my wrists ached and my fingers went numb, but I was unable to stop them. The lack of fresh air that resulted made the room feel more stuffy and unpleasant in addition to keeping me inside. The oppressive environment served as a powerful reminder of my father's plans to keep me imprisoned here.

They exchanged anxious glances for a minute, then Kira's grey eyes turned to my as she asked, "Will one of you please tell me what's going on?"

Let's get started; inform me of drug distribution and cartel leaders; outfit me with a silver handgun and a pink leather holster; I'm ready.

Without without blinking, she said, "You're a werewolf."

I regarded her for a whole minute, slack-jawed and with my eyes wide open. My heart was thumping through my veins, and my breath became laboured. Laughter began to boil up the back of my throat as my gut tightened. They ripped out of me in the form of brief, incisive barks that tickled my mouth's palate.

I had no idea what to anticipate.

I was unaware of her sense of humour.

I squeezed the word out in between strong giggles, "What?" My elbows thumped into my mattress, my breasts jiggled, and my shoulders pitched so hard.

She pronounced each syllable slowly and deliberately, as if doing so would help me understand it better. "You. Are. A. Werewolf."

Her efforts were ignored because they were drowned out by the endless stream of belly-aching chuckles that came from me. My eyes started to water, and Kira's delighted grin became hazy. My torso twitched as I squeezed them shut, my giggles rising to wild squeaks.

I gasped, "That-that's hilarious," and coughed out my words. My stomach twisted and my back rounded as my shoulders heaved and my lungs burned. I had my knees tucked and was on the verge of rolling off my bed with laughter.

They're making fun.

My right side felt a searing pain, which startled me into opening my eyes. I breathed deeply for a few breaths to replenish my oxygen supply.

They must be joking, right?

I immediately felt compelled to participate in the joke. I blurted out, "Like in the movies? Watch out for a full moon? Hide your silver?"

Ivy interrupted with, "It's not like that," and her eyes were as dead serious as a stone. "I'll do my best to make sense to you."

My eyes widened then narrowed as I heard her smooth, almost angelic voice, and a pit of distrust formed in my stomach. They both looked back at me with fixed eyes, firm mouths, but relaxed jaws; neither displayed any sign of amusement or teasing.

They appear... 100 percent serious.

A tremor ran down my spine as their severity pierced and shattered my laughter. I straightened my posture and gaped as the stillness bore heavily on me. "Are you serious? What about the mafia? The drug front of the pharmaceutical company?"

The more I spoke, the more absurd I appeared to be. My skin tingled and my cheeks cooled, as if the blood had stopped flowing.

Ivy's scowling gaze flicked to Kira and asked, "Mafia?"

The arrogance in Kira's voice when she said, "Nova," was so overpowering that I shuddered. "Your father's business produces medications for the nation."

My belly laughed until the back of my throat dried up. There are no werewolves in existence.

contrary to diabetes.

Which I have been told I have ever since I was thirteen. Even the fact that I had no other reason to assume differently led me to believe I had it.

Kira crossed her arms across her chest and asked, "Have you ever known your father to joke?"

She is correct.

I clenched my hands together and replied, "No." I then looked down at my hands. "So...I don't have diabetes?" you ask.

How is that even doable? Why all the tests and blood work?

At the notion of any worse circumstances, my blood froze. I wrapped my hands about my stomach, which was rolling with nausea, and goosebumps appeared on my arms.

Her mouth formed a tight line and said, "No." "The injections were intended to postpone the beginning of your natural cycle."

The way Kira spoke to me was like being thrown a bucket of freezing water. Any traces of my laughter that might have lingered in the back of my throat vanished.

My wide eyes were so dry from staring at her for so long that I asked, "What... Why?" I scrutinised every part of Kira-her precisely coiffed grey hair, the sharp edges of her nursing uniform, the subtle wrinkles that were etched into the corners of her mouth and eyes whether or not she smiled.

When I realised I was observing a total stranger, I felt it in my bones. My lower lip vibrated as I trembled, and my breath became laboured.

How was it possible for the lady I've known since I can't remember not knowing her to voluntarily manipulate my body in this way every day?

What type of father would give her that advice?

My mind had a hard time processing this concept. The notion of physically altering my body for who knows what purpose sounded so heinously wicked that it was inconceivable.

as if adolescent hormones weren't already horrible enough.

The chill that had gripped my body began to slowly glow. My body warmed as my blood pumped more quickly through my veins, fueled by a simmering wrath that grew the longer I sat there embracing myself. My eyes burned with a steely look by the time I lifted them after drawing my shoulders down. Ivy's lips trembled and puckered inward as Kira stood.

Heat crept into my cheeks at the archaic term, "normally, werewolves first shift at fourteen, after the onset of menses." The delay in your onset was made possible by your father.

My mouth tightened, yet I uttered "How? Why!?" in a choked squeak.

She only reacted, "For your protection," Her mouth drew closer together, like a wall of knowledge hanging in front of her expanding pupils.

She was unable to, or at least refused to, elaborate further. She skillfully kept her mouth shut so she couldn't reveal any secrets she stored in her mental vault. The realisation weighed heavily on my stomach. I formed tight fists with my hands while keeping my arms around my stomach.

Your defence? Who are you up against? What else?

The two types of protection I was aware of were self-preservation, such as when parents withheld information from a child they believed was too young to understand the seriousness of the knowledge, or physical protection from a deadly threat.

I didn't understand how this "protection" fit into either group given those descriptions.

It seems more like a lie about my own body to me.

My eyes burned with hot tears as a result of the intimate assault, and I blinked them away until my lashes clumped.

Kira's cold tone in response to my reactions was all I got; she said, "Your father thought it best to delay the transformation until as late as possible." You wouldn't have been allowed to choose a partner until you were eighteen anyhow.

Father is always better.

I continued to stare at her until the hot tears welling up in my eyes caused her countenance to become blurry. Regarding everything she said, I had no comprehension. A fleeting moment of uncertainty caused a seemingly random thought to suddenly come to life.

He must have created whatever was in that syringe in his labs.

I blinked at my alleged nurse carer and asked, "So... I don't have diabetes?"

Given the more significant, unexplained circumstances that I imagined were connected to the heaviness hanging in Ivy's empathetic eyes, my repeated question sounded ridiculous. Since Kira inserted those needles into me for fictitious reasons, I was unable to go past that minor problem at the time. many years.

I was unable to mentally understand the potential motives for that straightforward behaviour.

On the inside of my left elbow, near the injection site, the pads of my right hand's fingers rubbed the area.

Kira gave a headshake. Leuprorelin, a medication that suppresses female reproductive hormones, was injected subcutaneously to delay the start of your menses.

I couldn't believe that was possible, so I just stared at her. I shouted between clenched teeth, "And these?" and extended the silver circles on my wrists like a servile slave.

"Those were low doses of silver nitrate and wolfsbane administration, just like your muscular injections."

My claws dug into my palms as the words scorched into my soul.

As if she were taking off two pieces of jewellery, she reached out, inserted a little key into each, and then effortlessly released them. I shuddered at the icy air's touch on my skin. I held my wrists tightly and scratched at the red marks left behind as I rolled my wrists inside till they crossed my chest.

I mumbled these strange phrases, "Silver nitrate and wolfsbane," as if hearing them in my own would give them some context or explanation. They merely provoked a heat wave across my face, which caused me to droop my chin.

I'm so... ignorant.

"And what were those used for?"

"Suppressing your inner werewolf from appearing earlier," Kira said without flinching.

That certainly makes things plain.

My voice squeaked, high-pitched like a fearful child, a nervous habit, "but... why."

My feet grounded them flat after swinging over the bed. I straightened up after curling my toes into the plush carpet and tickling the flesh there. With each rapid heartbeat, the gravity and seriousness of the conversation pressed into my chest, dragging my limbs down as though they were pumped full of lead, but I stared directly into Kira's stern, stormcloud-gray eyes.

She kept her eyes fixed on my nose.

a werewolf inside? She's... I'm not joking.

She... What. The. FUCK.

I couldn't speak the term "werewolf" through the cracks and rasps in my voice, but I continued, "I still don't believe you, but if I am a - what you say I am - then why not let it happen naturally?"

They both turned to face me, displaying two distinct looks that both communicated a lack of knowledge. As usual, Kira's eyes were grey and expressionless. Ivy remained silent despite the sympathy in her eyes. She might have been shy or unfamiliar with my father's policy of suppressing information, but I couldn't tell.

I didn't need their response since I already knew the answer-that my father had ordered this series of events. Additionally, if their interaction with him was anything like mine, they were unaware of his true intentions. And even if they had, out of loyalty, they wouldn't have told me.

My knees shook. Under the weight of this discourse, I slipped into my bed. I wasn't sure if I was ready to let go of the final bit of denial that clung to me.

It can't be real. I am a helpless, lonely little girl. I am unable to be a monster.

In response to the blatant manipulation of my body during the previous five years, the other part of me, which increased with each breath, clenched my hands into fists. I had no knowledge about werewolves, but it was wicked of my father to have kept me in the dark. My teeth were clinched so tightly as a result of the thoughts that they began to grind against one another.

I abhor him.

My eyes widened as I looked at my alleged carer.

I abhor Kira.

Ivy had dropped hers to the floor space between us, as I noticed when I shifted my sight.

Ivy, even though we've just recently met, you have my utmost hatred if you had anything to do with this.

The monsters are they.

I closed my eyes as I recalled how earlier today I had been the foolish, ignorant girl who had sat in front of her mirror and questioned who she was.

This would never have been taken into account. Never a chance in a million.

I'm a beast.

My nails pressed into the flesh of my palms, causing a slight sting. I rolled out of bed and strolled over to that mirror with straightened legs. Every step brought me closer to the death sentence of my former life, which may have left me feeling uneasy if I hadn't had heated flushed cheeks, short, quick breaths, and eyes so narrow that the darkness vignetted my vanity.

My fiery eyes returned the gaze like two aquamarine gemstones, as I had done countless times before. As if I could vent my rage through my fingertips, one hand gripped the dresser's top edge firmly. The other hand was so tightly curled up against my leg that my wrist was squeezed. My reflection's eyes changed as the pale blue background was replaced with green striations.

I inhaled deeply and let out the most savage scream I could muster. One piercing vibration at a time, it tore through my throat, leaving my mouth dry and my breath depleted. I clenched my stomach and threw my shoulder before striking my reflection in the middle of the face.

It ached like fucking hell.

Additionally, striking my reflection did not make me feel any better.

And did nothing to make me feel better.

Around my knuckles, the glass fractured into a tiny spider web design and cut into the skin. The mirror was undamaged with the exception of a few hairline cracks. Ivy's mouth gaped in the mirror. Tiny fragments tinkled down to my dresser top like my fabrications were breaking apart.

There weren't enough shards.

The room was filled with a dense, oppressive quiet as the weight of truth pressed down on me.

Malfa does not exist. I'm a moron. a foolish, ignorant fool.

I looked down at the little red hairline scratches that resembled the damage to the mirror on my knuckles. My eyes closed and my fingers let go of my fist after a few moments of silence. My thoughts were unhindered as they flowed through the severity of my non-choice reality.

Nothing matters. I have no other option. Never before have I had a choice, so why should I now?

"When?"

Hot tears stinging the corners of my eyes and soaking my lashes caused me to whisper out loud. The heat in my veins cooled, simmered into a dull ache in the middle of my chest, and was replaced with uncertainty and fear about what would happen next.

Kira ran at me, reaching for my hand, but I pushed her away, saying, "We have little time, Miss Nova." She appeared to be counting down the minutes while looking down and checking her watch.

In the meantime, Flint is waiting for you to arrive for your new afternoon training. "Ivy here is a pack historian from the library. She'll get you up to speed on background information."

My only response was to hang my head till it rested against my chest.

The next time I saw Flint, I wanted to punch him in the face more than ever before. He stood with his legs locked in an aggressive stance and his foolish, big arms crossed over his protruding chest. As soon as I opened the gym door, his brown eyes lit up.

He greeted me as I walked up to him, "So." Flint would serve as my executor if becoming a werewolf was my death sentence.

Princess, are you ready to try something new?

I glanced at his face as he spoke in a mocking tone. He didn't try to hide his delight. I thought he'd known all along because of the glint in his eyes, which were hidden under light brown hair that was dangling across his forehead. Knowing that I will turn into a monster gave him a perverse kind of joy, as evidenced by the little upward curl of his lips into a smirk.

He must be aware. How is he so careless? Until -

My eyes widened as my jaw fell to the gym mats beneath our feet. The question "Are you a-a..."

"You show me yours, and I'll show you mine."

His eyes sparkled in a split second. Before his pupils dilated and flooded his full set of brown-hazel eyes with pure black, his irises filled with yellow. They pooled a vivid cobalt blue with another blink.

Flint's eyes were back to hazel and wrinkled at the corners from his resumed sneer before my wordless gasp left my mouth. I took a few steps away from him like an unfamiliar stranger on shaky ankles.

The last brown-hazel eye smirked at me, saying, "Welcome to the pack, Princess. Now let's really get started. We're doing hand to hand combat and defensive positioning until you transform."

I repeated, "Transform?"

That word is used over again.

He nodded before pointing to a set of black mats that were two inches thicker than the typical grey mats we stood on and were spread out on the gym floor. He took an off-center position and clenched two fists in a defensive boxing stance. He smirked in a challenge, his knuckles raised towards his chin.

I walked over and took a position across from him with hefty steps. In contrast to his, my little, pallid hands and skinny, wiry arms seemed ridiculous.

My brows rose in an upward arch as I asked, "Now what, Flint?" My forehead clenched.

He spat out, "Fight me," in a sarcastic, crude manner.

I glanced at him through my pale, knobby knuckles. Flint was unaware that I had never struck a human being with a fist despite the fact that I had practised boxing by hitting a bag or a hand-held target.

not ever.

My right hand's knuckles were marked with red lines that served as a reminder of the obvious.

except for my reflection.

That blow was an outburst of wrath brought on by a five-year-old falsehood. I experienced a hollow sensation inside at this time, as though my feelings had been removed and cast aside as unimportant. I felt physically weak as a result of the dissipated feelings, like an abandoned and empty shell.

"I can't -"

I was concerned by the way Flint's large lips curled inward and then sprang out to create the word "no choice, Princess."

My palms were bit by my nails as my brows furrowed.

Not a princess, I. I was never one and never will be.

Flint responded as if he encouraged my rage, "Good, get angry, maybe then you'll actually hit me." He baited me, and I narrowed my eyes in disgust, "Before I fall asleep standing up."

My nostrils twitched as they flared open, and my chin rose. My cheeks began to get hot as heat raced up the sides of my neck. I clenched my fists even harder.

He said with emphasis, "That's it... Princess."

I jumped forward with fast-twitch muscles in my legs. He blocked my wrist with his side-swept hand as my fist was aimed towards his face. He put me face-down on the mat, one arm crossed across my chest. My nose suddenly started to hurt, and then I fell and hit my hands, making a smacking sound and inhaling the fragrance of rubber.

I gritted my teeth during the touch, and anger erupted within of me. I let out a loud exhale even though I was aware of how frail I still was and turned to face his smug face. He gave him one look before taking his hand away.

Flint gestured for me to stand by curling his fingers inward. "Don't lunge. Again."

I detest his encouragement.

I leaped forward as my calves stiffened and my heels hit the ground. He turned my advancing fist away from me once more, shifted my forward motion as if I were weightless, and then shoved me backward. He moved so effortlessly and delicately, almost like we were passing each other on a stroll in the park.

Upon impact, my cheeks burned.

Above me, Flint's voice chided, "Again, Princess."

I stood while grunting and placed my hands on my knees. I huffed and shifted my hands, then my feet. I turned and simulated turning right before lunging left. Despite a shift in strategy, Flint pushed me down once more as if I were an annoyance that he had to swat away. Flint caught me easier than a viral cold.

Flint grimaced for the first time in his bland, bored look, "Stop lunging." Move around my blocks and hit me since you're not paying attention.

I want to, I swear!

My palms were cut into half-moon shapes by the deeper bite of my nails.

This time, Flint moved me so that my butt smacked the floor and said, "Again."

I let out a hot, slow breath while shaking my fists. My jaw shook as I fell to the ground. again.

Flint flicked his fingers, "Again, Nova." "Hit me."

It's quite embarrassing.

He rolled his eyes and moaned, "Again," as I fell over like a dead fish. "Get up."

My pale skin had red contact marks, but I still raised my hurting arms into fists and said, "Ugh."

Flint just gave me a faint scoff and pinched my left cheek till my lips swelled out in response to my "Again."

I said, "I'm trying!" and pummelling the mat with my fist.

This progressed to becoming the cherry on top of my "worst day of my life."

"Again."