Chapter 3

They locked me in the cellar.

It was damp and cold, the only light coming from a single bare bulb. The head of security, the same man I had injured before, was my jailer. His name was Marcus, and his face was still bruised from where I' d fought back during my "cleansing." He enjoyed this.

He brought me a plate. On it was a piece of dark, cooked meat.

"A gift," he said, his voice a low taunt. "From Miss Chloe. She said you might be hungry. Game meat. Fresh."

I stared at the meat. I knew. I knew what it was.

"She said to tell you," he continued, leaning close, "that the rest of him was delicious. A little tough, but very flavorful."

The world went red.

I didn't scream. The rage was silent this time, cold and sharp. I looked at him, and then I looked at the plate. I picked up the piece of meat. I brought it to my mouth.

And then I launched myself at him.

I was a cornered animal. I used the plate as a weapon, smashing it against the side of his head. He stumbled back, surprised. I was on him in an instant, my nails digging into his face, my teeth finding his ear.

He roared in pain, trying to throw me off, but the feral strength born of grief and fury was too much. I bit down. Hard. There was a tearing sound, and the coppery taste of blood filled my mouth.

The cellar door burst open. My father, my mother, Ethan, and Chloe stood there, their faces masks of horror.

Marcus was on the floor, clutching his bleeding head. I stood over him, breathing heavily, the piece of his ear still in my mouth. I spat it onto the stone floor.

I looked at them, at their shocked, civilized faces. I slowly bent down and picked up the piece of meat from the floor, the piece of Fang they wanted me to eat. I held it in my hand like a sacred object.

Ethan took a step back, his hand trembling slightly.

"See?" I said, my voice raspy. "Are you scared, Ethan?"

Chloe was the one who recovered first. Her eyes glittered with a sick, victorious light.

"She's insane," she said, her voice shaking with manufactured fear. "Completely delusional and violent. Father, she needs to be committed. For her own good."

The idea took root in their eyes. It was the perfect solution. The wild girl wasn't just uncivilized; she was crazy. They could lock me away, and no one would ever question it.

My father looked at Ethan. "It's the only way."

I looked at Ethan, my last, desperate appeal. I saw him struggle for a moment, a flicker of something-pity? guilt?-in his eyes.

Then he looked at Chloe, at her perfect, pleading face.

"Yes," Ethan said, his voice flat and dead. "She needs help."

It was the final betrayal. The final nail in my coffin.