NEW COVEN
Freya Gibbons pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, shivering as the cold bit through the fabric. The wind howled through the trees, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine. By now, darkness had swallowed New Coven, painting the sky in bruised shades of gray. The moon above hadn’t reached its fullness yet, but its silver glow illuminated the path home.
Her heart pounded as she walked briskly toward the house, her fingers trembling as she reached for the door. Too late. She had sworn to return before sunset, but the damn book had stolen every bit of her attention.
The wooden door creaked as she eased it open, stepping inside with careful, measured breaths. Maybe—just maybe—she could slip upstairs unnoticed. But as boots scraped against the wooden floor, her stomach lurched.
Her father sat in the center of the room, hands folded in his lap, his gaze heavy and unyielding. Alpha Lazarus never needed to raise his voice to be terrifying. His mere presence carried the weight of authority. Nearby, her mother, Celeste, stood with her arms crossed, fingers curling against her sleeves. Not quite angry—but disappointment, fear, and something else unreadable flickered across her face.
Freya swallowed hard and stepped fully into the room. Her boots felt too loud against the floor.
“Where were you?” her father asked, his voice quiet and controlled. And yet, for Freya, it was the worst kind of anger.
“I was just—”
She tugged at her cloak, tucking it closer, but the movement only drew attention to the books beneath. Dark and gleaming leather covers peeked from the folds. One on human anatomy. Another on the world beyond Lycan borders. And the last—a thick, worn tome on witches and their forbidden magic.
Her father stood. Freya flinched before she could stop herself.
Alpha Lazarus lifted the books from her arms with slow, deliberate movements. He studied them as though they were something rancid, something that would taint him if he held them too long.
“Again,” he said flatly. “Sneaking around. Reading.”
Her mother exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “Freya, why do you do this to yourself?”
She should have said nothing. She should have bitten her tongue and let the moment pass. But the fire inside her burned too hot and she couldn’t take it anymore. “There’s nothing wrong with reading.”
Her father’s expression darkened, his huge hand snapping out before Freya could shield herself from the physical blow. "There is when you're reading this filth!"
The slap sent her stumbling and the impact left her face stinging. The taste of copper bloomed in her mouth. Her mother gasped, stepping forward, but Lazarus didn’t even glance at his wife. He loomed over Freya. “Your future has already been decided. You will not disgrace this family with your foolishness.”
Freya pressed a hand to her cheek. Deep inside, she wanted to scream and tear the whole house down. Instead, she forced the words through gritted teeth. "I don't want to marry Magnus Brahms."
Her parents stayed silent, probably weighing the weight of her words. But Freya could see it now—she would be punished once again for saying that aloud.
Lazarus inhaled sharply through his nose. Without breaking eye contact, he angrily tossed the books into the roaring fire in the hearth. The flames licked hungrily at the pages, instantly curling them into blackened wisps. The last thing Freya saw before they crumbled was the illustration of a woman with glowing eyes, bearing the mark of a Witch-Queen.
“Father! What have you done? I just borrowed them from the library!” she shrieked, her voice cracking as she lunged forward. Celeste caught her arm, holding her back.
Alpha Lazarus didn’t even glance at her. "The hell with that damned library! You are fifteen years old," he said. "In two days, you will be sixteen. You will have your shifting ceremony, and the moment you shift, you will be given to Magnus. That is how it is. That is how it has always been."
Freya yanked at his grip. “I don’t love him.”
“You know you don’t have to.” Freya winced as her father’s grip tightened around her wrist.
Celeste stepped forward. "Lazarus, you’re hurting our daughter!"
"Step aside, Celeste," he snapped. "She will learn."
He dragged Freya through the house, up the wooden stairs, and past the empty halls that smelled of smoke and pine.
Freya thrashed, digging her nails in her father’s arms and kicking at the floor. And yet, it didn’t matter. She was only a Tyro Lycan—a young Lycan yet to shift—and her father was the Alpha of the Gibbons Pack. She was no match for his strength. Before she knew it, the door to her room flew open, and she hit the floor with a loud thud.
"Two days," he said from the doorway. "You will do as you're told."
The door slammed shut. The lock clicked into place. Freya sat there, breathing hard as her hands clenched into fists. Her cheek throbbed. The taste of blood still lingered on her tongue. But her fury burned hotter than any pain.
Downstairs, the fire crackled, devouring what little freedom she had left.
