Chapter 2

I woke up in our bed. The wedding dress was gone, replaced by a silk nightgown. Sunlight streamed through the window. For a moment, the horror of the night before felt like a dream.

Then I saw Ethan, sitting in a chair by the bed, his head in his hands. He looked up when I stirred. His eyes were red, filled with feigned grief.

"Elara, my love," he said, his voice thick with false sorrow. "There's... there's been an accident."

I knew what he was going to say. I felt a cold, dead calm settle over me.

"Fang is gone," he said, his voice breaking. "He must have dug his way out of the enclosure last night. The groundskeeper found the hole this morning. He's... he's gone."

I didn't say anything. I just looked at him. I saw the lie in his eyes, as clear as the water in a mountain stream. I saw the man who had ordered my family's legs to be broken. The man who called me a feral creature.

"I'm so sorry, darling," he said, reaching for my hand. "I know how much he meant to you."

His touch felt like ice. I let him hold my hand. I played my part. I let a single, symbolic tear roll down my cheek. Inside, I was a block of frozen stone.

For three days, I was the grieving wife. I stayed in my room, refusing food. Ethan was the doting husband, bringing me trays, begging me to eat, holding me while I pretended to weep. I let him. I endured his touch, his lies, his false comfort. Every second was a new kind of hell.

My only thought was survival. And revenge. But I had to be smart. I had to wait.

The third day was the traditional post-wedding brunch at the Winston estate. The entire family would be there. Ethan insisted I go. He said it would be good for me to get out, to be around people.

I agreed. I let him help me dress. I let him lead me by the arm to the main house, a lamb being led back to the slaughter.

We arrived at the sprawling back patio. The Winstons and their wealthy friends were all there, drinking champagne, laughing. My father gave me a curt nod. My mother looked right through me.

Then I saw Chloe.

She was the center of attention, as always. She was laughing, holding a glass of orange juice, looking healthier and more vibrant than I had ever seen her.

And she was wearing a new coat.

It was a short, beautiful coat, the fur a familiar mix of grey, black, and silver. The exact shade of Fang's winter coat.

She saw me looking. A cruel, triumphant smile spread across her face. She walked over to me, Ethan's arm protectively around her waist.

"Isn't it lovely, Elara?" she said, her voice dripping with poison. She stroked the sleeve. "It's custom-made. Coyote fur. So incredibly warm."

The world narrowed to her face, to that coat. His fur. They had skinned him. They had skinned my Fang and turned him into a coat for her.

The rage was a physical thing. It wasn't thought. It was pure, primal instinct.

I didn't scream. I didn't cry.

I lunged.

I hit her with the full force of my body, a guttural snarl tearing from my throat. We went down in a tangle of limbs. Her glass shattered. People screamed.

I drove her backward, toward the icy blue of the swimming pool. The same pool where they had tried to drown me.

With a final, desperate shove, I pushed her over the edge.

We hit the freezing water together. The shock of the cold was nothing compared to the fire in my veins. The guests were screaming, pointing. My family looked on in horror.

Ethan was the first to react. He didn't look at me. He only had eyes for Chloe, who was sputtering and crying in the shallow end.

"Chloe! My God, are you alright?" he yelled, rushing to the edge to help her out. He wrapped her in his own jacket, cradling her, his face a mask of pure terror. Terror that his cure was threatened.

My father grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my skin like claws.

"She's out of control," he snarled at Ethan. "She needs to be disciplined. Properly, this time."

Ethan, holding a shivering Chloe, didn't even look at me. He just nodded. "Do what you have to do."

He left me there. He abandoned me to them. Again.