MORRANA
"I'm moving out," I murmured to the water stain on the ceiling.
'And go where?' Skarre, my wolf, whispered, stretching lazily at the back of my mind. 'Since you forgot, we don't have a dime, Morrana. This place is a cage, but at least it keeps the rain off our fur.'
“I don't care. Anywhere is better than rotting in this swamp.”
I swung my legs over the edge of the mattress as rain hammered relentlessly against the rusted tin roof of the trailer.
Today was my eighteenth birthday, yet there was no cake, no gifts, and no sudden burst of pack magic making me feel like a renewed wolf.
Just the same damp air and the bitter taste of reality.
With a heavy sigh, I left the bed and padded into the kitchen, where I found slightly burnt toast and a piece of paper waiting for me. Mom had already left before dawn to work her underpaid jobs.
I picked up the paper and smoothed its edges before reading.
*Happy birthday, Morra. There’s milk in the fridge if it hasn't turned yet. Be good today. I love you.*
I read the note twice, and its simplicity twisted something raw in my chest.
She was killing herself just to keep this metal box over our heads.
I folded the paper carefully and slipped it into my back pocket, treating it like the most precious gift I could have received.
I reached into my drawer and pulled out a bent cigarette I had swiped from a pack last week. After lighting it, I leaned against the counter and took a long drag, letting the smoke burn down my throat.
‘Smoking kills the senses, you idiot,’ Skarre snapped, pacing back and forth in my head. ‘How am I supposed to track anything if your lungs are full of tar?’
‘Good thing we ain't hunting deer today, then,’ I shot back mentally, blowing a plume of gray smoke toward the ceiling. ‘We’re hunting for high school diplomas. Just hold your horses.’
I stubbed out the cigarette before pulling on my frayed black jeans and oversized charcoal sweater, then lacing up my boots.
I stopped in front of the cracked bathroom mirror and stared at my reflection.
At five-seven, I wasn't exactly short, and I had a softer, fuller build that had earned me more than enough cruel comments over the years. Dark hair clung stubbornly to my temples, framing a face that rarely bothered to hide what I was thinking.
And my temper?
That was something most people learned to avoid by the time they reached middle school.
The walk to school was brutal. By the time I kicked open the front doors, I felt like a walking hazard, soaked from the rain and already irritated enough to bite someone's head off.
As I made my way down the hallway, the usual chatter gradually died. Students pressed themselves against the lockers, their eyes following me with open disgust.
The corner of my lips twitched.
Nothing new.
They hated me. To them, I was trash.
So I lifted my chin and stared straight ahead, letting the ice in my eyes speak for itself. I wanted them to remember one thing:
Trash could still choke you if you swallowed it wrong.
Suddenly, the world spun.
A heavy shoulder slammed into my side before I could take another step, sending me crashing face-first into a metal locker. A sharp pain tore across my cheek, and when I instinctively touched it, my fingers came away covered in blood.
"The fuck!"
“Watch where you’re going, Valmont.”
Draven stepped in front of me, his broad frame blocking the hallway. He was the son of a high-ranking enforcer, built like a wall and blessed with twice the arrogance, and several of his football buddies were already laughing behind him.
“What’s wrong? Too distracted thinking about how your mom pays the rent?” His lips curved into a disgusting sneer.
My hands curled into fists.
"Don't you dare," I hissed.
"What? Little wolf's angry now?"
He shoved my cheek to the side, and his grin widened.
"Word on the street is she's keeping the beds warm for the Delta wolves just to feed you."
Skarre's growl thundered through my skull, her jaws snapping hungrily.
'Kill the fucking bastard! Rip his throat out!'
The insult ignited the rage already burning inside me.
I grabbed Draven’s jacket, pulled him down, and drove my forehead directly into the bridge of his nose with everything I had. His cry echoed through the hallway as he stumbled backward, blood spilling from his nose.
I didn't stop. Grabbing a fistful of his thick hair, I hauled him forward and slammed his face against the locker he'd thrown me into before tackling him to the floor. I pinned his arms beneath my knees and unleashed punch after punch, the sharp sting of my split knuckles mixing with the blood coating my hands.
“Say it again!” I screamed, throwing another punch. “Say another word about my mother, you piece of garbage!”
“Morrana, stop! You’re going to kill him!”
Sloane's terrified voice pierced through the chaos.
Draven’s eyes rolled back into his head, and his body went completely limp beneath me. I raised my fist for one more strike, my breathing ragged as my vision swam in white-hot rage.
"Miss Valmont! Stand down immediately!"
Principal Brook's voice boomed down the corridor.
My fist froze in the air, blood dripping from my knuckles. Slowly, I climbed off Draven and wiped my bleeding cheek with the back of my sleeve.
"He started it." My voice was eerily calm. I didn't regret a thing.
“My office. Now!” Brooks hissed, his face dark with rage as he signaled for the school nurse to tend to the unconscious boy on the floor.
I rolled my shoulders and walked ahead of him without waiting to be escorted.
When we reached the administrative wing, Brooks shoved his office door open. The moment I stepped inside, however, my breath caught.
Sitting in the leather chair opposite the desk was Beta Kai, the second-in-command of the Silvercrest Pack.
“Beta Kai, I am so sorry for the disruption.” Brooks immediately changed his tune, scurrying past me like a loyal hound. “This girl is an absolute menace. She just assaulted—”
Kai raised a hand.