Wolfborn: Origins (Excerpt)

Growing up

Devon braced herself for the worst beating of her life.

I went against Father's will, and I deserve it, she admitted, filled with shame.

When nothing happened, she glanced at him in utter terror and froze. His eyes glowed yellow, his snarling lips revealed his thick fangs glinting in the firelight, and his face had half transformed into something grotesque and fearsome. The orange glow of the flickering flames added red highlights and dark shadows to the image, making it even more terrifying.

"Burn it."

That predatory growl pushed down on her with the weight of his alpha tone when he dropped the book at her feet, and her heart ached as the leather spine snapped. She could not deny his command because her still-dormant wolf side refused to disobey its master. So, with shaky hands, she picked up the treasured keepsake, her cheeks wet as she cast the last physical reminder of her mother into the hungry flames with marked reluctance.

It was the most agonizing moment of her young life, forever altering her relationship with her father. Watching that book burn awakened the understanding that he could never care for her like other fathers love their children.

His precious blood flows in my veins, but I am not the boy and heir he wanted. When my life ends, the Creed name dies with me and, with it, his legacy. Our family has ruled the werewolf kingdom for generations, and fate gave him a daughter.

Her father had said these things often enough in his conversations with others for the words to be ingrained in her young mind.

The ink made the fire flare in odd colors, and a familiar scent filled the room for a second, reminding Devon of her dream.

As more ashes fell through the grate, she mentally prepared herself for the punishment her father promised her if she disobeyed him again.

She had expected him to honor his word, but nothing happened.

Unable to watch the book burn any longer, she darted a glance at him, but the monster had gone. The odd expression on his face confounded her until she grasped that he was staring at the distinct, wet patch on her light-blue britches.

Is that pity and regret showing in his eyes?

No, Wolfgang Creed is not a man for "useless sentiments."

"Go dress in proper clothes. You are not a boy, and there will be no more playtime from tomorrow. Attend your lessons, and I expect improvement. When you finish in the afternoon, Bayle will teach you to defend yourself with dignity—not like some animal that bites, kicks, and scratches. Perhaps his instruction can pound some backbone into you."

That distinct disdain cowed her as much as his earlier dominance, and she nodded mutely, disgraced by her lack of control.

Relieved by his dismissal, she hurried away.

"Devon?"

The frost in his voice halted her mid-step, and she faced him, dread again snaking through her abdomen. Did I do something else?

"If you ever call her mother in my presence, I will beat you bloody," he promised, stalking past her. He unlocked the door and left without looking back.

Devon's body relaxed with him gone, and the fire drew her attention. She watched until the last flames died away, leaving of her most prized possession nothing more than a charred lump of black. As her tears dried, the physical wounds disappeared, but her disillusionment did not belong in a child.

Never will I allow myself to be disgraced by my actions again, and I shall prove myself worthy of the blood flowing in my veins. Her chin jutted, and her hands fisted as she turned away, going in search of Lya to apologize for getting her in trouble.