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Chapter 10

One year prior, in a familiar circular clearing to the southeast of Howling Grove, there stood three she-werewolves. One had a coat of unruly black fur; another was tall and robust, with a gray coat of fur and a sizable bust; and the last one was somewhat smaller than the other two, with a snow-white coat of fur and beautiful emerald eyes. This last one had a pendant hanging from her neck. A Moon Pendant.

“Alright, Anabelle! Today's the third day since you've gotten your pendant, isn't it? That means it's going to start glowing any moment now, and then the ivory gate will be open for you!" said the black-furred one. “Even though you've only been training with me for nine days, you've already learned more than most other vanni learn in five months. Honestly, I'm impressed! I can already tell you'll be a force to be reckoned with in the future. Of course, I have no doubt that you'll pass the Grand Alpha's test with flying colors."

Anabelle said nothing.

“So," continued Rose, “now that we've reached this point, will you finally tell us what's been bothering you all this time?"

A very small gasp from the white she-werewolf.

“You... noticed?" she quietly asked.

“Of course I did! You might have fooled others, but I could tell from day one that something is eating at you."

“I noticed it too, girl," said Marjorie. “We didn't want to say anything out of respect, but... If there's anything we can help you with, you know you can count on us, right?"

“I... I'm sorry. I didn't want to bother anyone with my problems; especially not the two of you," said Anabelle, flattening her ears apologetically. “Rose, Margie, I've been selfish. Again, I'm sorry. I guess I do owe you the truth after all."

“The truth? What truth?" asked Rose, quizzically raising an eyebrow.

The white-coated one sighed.

“The truth is... I'm not going to pass the Oneness Test. It's not happening."

“Huh? Why'd you say that?"

“Because... I broke the second core rule of the pack," she explained, ashamed; her beautiful green eyes downcast. “Only an hour or two after accepting Darkhowl's gift of change, before I set foot in Howling Grove for the very first time, I drew my brand-new lyccan claws and fangs against a man and spilled his blood. It wasn't in self-defense, or to save anyone. I... simply murdered him because I wanted to."

The other two she-werewolves were stunned speechless.

“Y-you mean to say... all this training... was for nothing?" snarled Rose eventually, furious. “You wasted my time knowing full well that you'd be expelled from the grove for breaking the rules and killing some guy? What the hell, Anabelle?? Why??"

“It— it wasn't a waste of time!" loudly shouted the white-coated one. “I just thought that... e-even if all my memories of Howling Grove were to be erased, the survival skills you taught me would remain with me. So, all this time, I was training so that I could fend for myself when I was back to just being a regular human girl. So, I— I'm sorry if I wasn't being completely honest with you. Please, forgive me."

“You abused my good faith for your own selfish ends, Anabelle. I have nothing more to say to you. Good-bye," curtly spoke Rose, turning away from the eighteen-year-old she-werewolf.

“W-wait! You may despise me all you want, Rose! I won't blame you for it! But before you do that, at least let me explain why I broke that rule, please!"

“I don't give a shit about why you did that. You are dead to me. And, soon, I won't even remember you anyway. No one here will. So, what's the point?"

“Come on, Rose. You're better than this," calmly, yet firmly spoke Marjorie, always the mediator whenever a conflict arose. “Let's hear her out first, okay? We can judge her later if you want."

“But she lied to me! And to you, too! She purposefully deceived us both by not telling us she had killed a man! A lie of omission is still a lie, you know?!"

“Rose..."

The huntress werewolf stopped and sighed. She couldn't argue with the big gray lycca-vanni when she used that tone on her. Nobody could.

“Fine!" she relented, turning back. “Alright, you filthy liar. Explain."

“Go ahead, sweetie," warmly said Marjorie to the white she-werewolf. “We'll hear you out, so tell us what happened, if you will."

“O-okay..." began Anabelle. “Thank you for giving me this chance to explain myself. I... I guess I should start from the beginning..."

~*~

Eighteen years ago, there was a married couple that had moved from Roud to St. Belaroix in search of peace, quiet and fresh, open air. Two years prior, the husband had inherited his father's fortune, which meant money wasn't much of a problem for them. And so, they could comfortably afford a nice house near the center of the village. It was a big property, surrounded on all sides by a vast, beautiful yard that kept it rather isolated from the neighboring homes. As for the reasons behind the move, well...

The wife had always been sickly and frail. Apparently, she had been born with some sort of chronic, debilitating condition that made her physically weak and prone to spending days bedridden. It had something to do with her heart, I think. Eventually, their family doctor had recommended them moving someplace away from the hustle and bustle of the city; somewhere where she could breathe in pure air and live a life free of stress. And that's why they had left Roud City for St. Belaroix.

But there was no happiness waiting for them in that village. Only two months after settling down, the husband was drafted into Roud's army and sent to fight in some faraway war. He never returned. The frail, sickly wife was now alone in the world, expecting a child who would never meet his or her father.

Of course, she inherited his late husband's fortune, which suddenly made her a very coveted widow in the village. Eventually, one of her new suitors managed to convince her that he could be the strong pillar she needed to survive in such a cruel world, especially considering that the child she was expecting would need a father. Of course, that man only wanted her gold, but he was charming enough to deceive her with ease. It didn't help that she was at her most vulnerable at the time, making her an easy target for his deception.

And so, within a month, that man married that desperate widow. Even though it couldn't be said that she loved him, she had certainly deluded herself into thinking it was all for the best. After all, she didn't know the first thing about administrating her inheritance, and was convinced that she couldn't possibly rear a child without the care and support of a man at her side, especially if she were to fall ill again. In the end, I guess you could say she married that man for the sake of her unborn child. Ah, I don't think she ever realized just how colossal a mistake she had made...

Two months later, Anabelle Lenoir was born.

Well, on the papers I bear that man's last name, but I refuse to even acknowledge it. I'm a Lenoir, as that was my real father's last name, and I won't let anyone ever tell me otherwise.

Anyway, that would have been a loveless, yet relatively stable marriage, right? After all, he more or less played the part of the husband well enough to keep up the illusion that he cared for my mom, and she willfully believed it. Sure, he slowly chipped away at her fortune, spending it drinking, gambling and sleeping with every prostitute in the village behind her back, but at least he had the decency to treat her reasonably well. So, you might be wondering what made this house of cards eventually collapse, right?

It was me. I did it. Or, rather, my lack of pigmentation did.

You see, I had the gall to be born in a world that hates albinos. Most people see the hand of the devil in our pinkish red eyes, and believe our white hair and pale skin are both offensively unnatural and a mockery of God Himself. And so we are treated as pariahs. Wherever we go, we are persecuted, shamed, assaulted, declared unholy, and overall just treated as lesser than garbage; all over something we just can't change.

Well, the man who married my mom didn't count on her giving birth to an albino baby girl. He immediately declared that my existence had to be kept a secret, lest his 'reputation' and 'good name' be tarnished. He somehow managed to convince my mom that it was for my own good, since that would save me from facing discrimination and whatnot. And so, from the moment I was born, I was kept hidden from the outside world.

For eight years, Mom raised and educated me as best as she could. When I grew old enough to ask her why I wasn't allowed to step outside our home, she explained to me that the world was full of bad people who wanted to harm me because they didn't like the color of my eyes and hair, and that home was the only place where I could be safe. It pained her to say that, but... well, she wasn't wrong. As for my 'loving' step-father, he hardly ever spoke to me. I think he just wanted to pretend I didn't even exist.

One day, a few months before my ninth birthday, Mom's chronic condition worsened and she never recovered. She eventually fell into a coma and passed away shortly after. As soon as he returned from the burial ceremony, my step-father began to make arrangements to have me sent to an orphanage far, far away in secret. Yep, he was just going to discard me like garbage. But his plans fell through when an official arrived home to read Mom's will to him.

In her will, Mom left all her fortune and properties to me, including the house. But, of course, since I was a minor, I couldn't make use of any of it until I turned eighteen. My step-father was to become my legal tutor. He was to take care of me until I reached the age of majority. He had no choice in the matter either, since it was clearly stipulated that if he neglected me in any way, I would have been sent to a foster home and he would have lost all access to my late mom's inheritance. Likewise, in the event of my death, the entire fortune, as well as the house and everything in it, would have been reclaimed by the Crown and he would — again — have been left with nothing.

“Of course, you understand that, from now on, a Child Protection Services inspector from Roud will come visit on the first day of every month to make sure that Miss Anabelle is being properly taken care of," said the official before leaving. “Granted, this is just a legal requirement; and in no way I'm suggesting that I don't believe you'll be a good father to that poor child."

“Oh, I absolutely understand," responded the widower, faking a very convincing smile. “Rest assured, my little angel here couldn't possibly be in better hands."

Satisfied with that answer, the official left. As for my step-father, well... His smile vanished the instant he closed the door. “So I'm stuck with you, huh?" he said, glaring at me. “God, you're such a freakish eyesore. I can't stand the sight of you."

“B-but... what did I do?" I innocently asked.

“DON'T— SPEAK TO ME! To the basement, now!" he barked, grabbing me by the wrist and practically dragging me to the basement, where he left me to cry alone, locking the door as he left. I was almost nine, and didn't understand a thing. All I knew was that Mom had passed away, and that I was left alone in the world; trapped in the basement of my own house, under the 'care' of a man who hated my guts. And I was afraid. Deathly afraid. But what could I do? Nothing, that's what. Nothing but curling up on the ground and crying my heart out.

So, from that day onwards, that was my life. I was kept locked in that basement, in complete isolation. He would only unlock the door once a day, to leave a bottle of water and a bowl with something resembling food, but that was it. There were no forks or spoons or anything, so I had to eat that flavorless paste with my hands. Basically, I was reduced to less than an animal.

After five days of that, I tried to pick the lock with a piece of wire I had found. It took me hours, but I somehow managed to unlock the door! It didn't seem like my step-father was home, so I immediately ran out of the basement, headed directly to the door leading outside. I never reached it, though. Turns out he was home after all. “WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING??" he yelled as he grabbed me by the arm and yanked me away from the door so forcefully he left a bruise.

SLAP!!

For the first time in my life, I tasted my own blood.

“Listen to me here, you dirty white rat! You are FORBIDDEN from ever coming out of the basement! AM I CLEAR??" he snarled as he dragged me back to that lonely enclosure. I, of course, was kicking and screaming, but it was all in vain. There was nothing I could do to defend myself.

“I SAID: AM I CLEAR??" he repeated, but I was sobbing uncontrollably, unable to say anything. Unfortunately for me, my lack of an answer only seemed to make him more and more enraged.

Eventually I found myself back in the basement, with a bruised arm and a bleeding lip. But that wasn't all. I also had a brand-new collar on my neck, which was connected to a chain that was padlocked to a piece of tubing protruding from a wall. Yes, you heard that right. My step-father leashed me.

“Stop crying, goddamn it!!" he demanded. “It was YOUR fault for disobeying me! You alone are to blame for this, so shut up already, you disgraceful, red-eyed pale brat! I SAID SHUT UP! Or do you want me to give you something to REALLY cry about?"

Of course, I kept wailing and sobbing and weeping like an abused nine-year-old would.

“FINE! You asked for this, you little hell spawn!!"

He lit a cigar, gave it a quick smoke, and then pressed its burning end on the skin of my left shoulder, leaving it there for a few excruciating moments. I... screamed. Oh, Lord, how I screamed. I wailed so loudly my throat hurt.

“There you go! NOW you can cry all you want!" he said, satisfied, before walking out of the basement and locking the door behind him. He also took away my makeshift lockpick, so that was it for that. As for me, I just kept crying and crying and crying, clutching my burned shoulder and shaking powerlessly. The pain there felt horrible, like it was throbbing along with my pulse. I can't even remember how much longer I wept that day. I probably cried myself to sleep.

'The inspector. He will save me. He will save me. The inspector will save me. The inspector,' I repeated in my head over and over after waking up some time later. I had remembered that the officer had said that an inspector would come to check on me on the first day of every month. So, all I had to do was endure the torment until that inspector visited me. And then he would save me. That was my hope.

Then, a few hours later, something unexpected happened.

I heard the door to the basement unlocking, then creaking open. I braced myself for more shouting, but... in came my step-father, holding a puppy in his arms.

“Here, this is for you," he said, setting the puppy on the floor. “It's an eight-month-old female poodle. And, look, it's all white, just like you! Let it never be said I don't do good things for my little angel, okay?"

I was beyond speechless.

“Alright," he continued. “I'll leave you two to get acquainted with each other."

And then he left. Locking the door behind him, of course. Not that I could even reach that far anyway, considering I was on a leash. Regardless, I had no idea what was going on. What could have gotten into him, to bring me a puppy after slapping me and giving me a cigar burn? Did he have a sudden change of heart? Or was he trying to bribe me for some reason? I honestly didn't know what to make of it. But my plan didn't change. As soon as the inspector visited us, I'd be free.

Still, I had a little doggie now. The poor thing was completely innocent, and simply snuggled up to me lovingly, blissfully ignorant of the fact that I was a prisoner there. She had a cute lavender bow in each ear. I scratched her head and she licked my hand. Suddenly, somehow, I had made a tiny furry friend.

Eventually, I decided that I needed to call her something. Thus, I named her 'Jacinthe,' after the protagonist of a fable Mom once read to me. And so, the days passed. I stayed in the basement, chained to that pipe on the wall, eating with my hands from a bowl and sleeping with Jacinthe in my arms. My step-father would take her outside while I ate, so that she didn't soil the floor with her business. As for me, I was glad that my leash was long enough to let me into the small bathroom that was part of my prison cell. I mean, my basement.

The scab from the burn on my shoulder eventually fell off, leaving a tiny scar you would never notice unless you knew it was there. Same with the wound on my lip. I had healed, but nothing else had changed. My step-father didn't really say much of anything after giving me the puppy. He just visited once a day in the afternoon to bring me a bowl of food and take Jacinthe outside, returning one hour later to retrieve the empty bowl and give me back my puppy. Such was the jailer routine he had settled into.

One day, the routine changed.

He unlocked the padlock, grabbed the leash and pulled it upwards, forcing me to stand up.

“Walk," he commanded as he led me out of the basement and into the main bathroom of the house. “You have one hour to take a bath, brush your teeth and dress in the clothes I left in there for you. Make sure you are as clean as clean can be. I don't want to even see a single stain on you, understood?"

I nodded silently, not really comprehending what was going on. I mean, locked in the basement as I was, I hadn't had a bath or brushed my teeth in who-knows-how-many weeks. Little me wondered why on Earth he was so suddenly concerned about my hygiene. Anyway, he padlocked the leash to a handle inside the bathroom, presumably so that I wouldn't attempt to run away again. Then he stepped outside, closing the door to give me some privacy, I guess. But he didn't leave.

“What did you name the puppy again?" he asked from the other side of the door.

“I, uh— J-Jacinthe..." I waveringly answered, surprised by his unusual talkativeness.

“Ah, yes, like the flower. So, I trust you two get along well?"

“W-we do..."

“That's good to hear. After all, every good little girl should have a puppy, right?"

I didn't know what to say to that.

“Well, I hope Jacinthe is a good friend to you," he continued. “The man who sold her to me told me that her breed is very friendly. Is it so?"

“I— Y-yes! She likes me a lot, and— a-and... I like her a lot too."

“Of course, of course. I was counting on that," he said mysteriously. “Alright. Take your bath, brush your teeth, and your hair too. I'll be back in an hour."

And then he left.

An hour later, he returned with Jacinthe on a leash, and freed me from the bathroom. I was all clean and dressed in surprisingly nice clothes. I almost didn't recognize myself when I looked in the mirror.

“Okay, now listen here, you," he said. “The inspector from Roud is coming to see you today. I believe he'll be here in an hour or so."

My eyes widened. It all made sense now. He was making me presentable for the inspector. That's right! I had lost track of time, and didn't realize that a whole month had passed! Inwardly, I let out a joyous shout. I was about to be free! The inspector would come, and then I would tell him everything. I would let him know how my step-father kept me locked in the basement the entire time, and how he beat me and burned my shoulder with his cigar and everything! And then I would be taken somewhere else, far away from him!

“So, this is what's going to happen," continued my step-father. “He'll see you, and then he'll probably ask you a few questions. You will tell him that you are very happy here, and that I treat you well. If you don't, Jacinthe dies."

He showed me a knife he was keeping in his pocket, pointing it casually at my little poodle — whose leash was in his hands — to drive his point home.

“You understand, right? Speak out of line even once and the little doggie gets it. So you better be all smiles with the inspector, because if you say anything that makes him take you from me, I swear to God, your precious Jacinthe is going to choke on her own blood."

My world collapsed right then and there. I could free myself from his clutches, but it'd cost me Jacinthe's life. I looked at her bright, innocent eyes, and I wanted to cry. And that was when I realized why he got me that puppy in the first place. All along, his plan was to use her as a hostage against me, knowing that my isolated, love-deprived, captive self would desperately cling to her.

So, of course, I caved. I couldn't sacrifice my Jacinthe for my freedom. Thus, the inspector came to our home, he asked me if I was happy; if my step-father was treating me well, keeping me properly fed and whatnot, and I said yes to everything, showing him a smile while I felt my very soul dying inside. He was satisfied and left, and I just watched him leave. In my mind I was screaming for him to turn around and come back, but he didn't hear me. No one did.

Now, I understand that there are probably half-a-dozen things I could have done to save both Jacinthe and myself at that time. But you have to understand that I was eight, and fear can blind the mind like few other things in this world can, especially at that age. I was simply convinced that my step-father had somehow thought of everything, even though he realistically couldn't have. Alas, that's what living in fear does to you.

Thus, once the inspector was gone, my step-father had me change back into my dirty clothes, put my leash back on and locked me in the basement with Jacinthe again. One month later, the entire process was repeated, and then again the next month, and the one after that, and so on, and so forth. Every time, the inspector would arrive, he would ask me if everything was alright, I would tell him everything was perfectly fine, he would smile, maybe he would ruffle my hair, and then he would leave. All while I was silently begging him for help behind my coerced smile.

Some time after I turned twelve, my step-father decided that he was done with feeding me for free. “You're a woman, aren't you? Then make yourself useful and go wash my clothes! Now! And you better do a good job, or there won't be any food for you today, you hear?" he said.

The good news: I was out of the basement. Well, mostly. At least I could wander around the house some more. The bad news: he had barred all windows. He also made sure that the only door leading outside was always locked, and that he had the key on his person at all times. Interestingly, the door to the kitchen was locked to me as well. At first I thought it was so that I couldn't 'steal' food from him. But I eventually realized that he just didn't trust me not to poison his meals or something. Likewise, I had no access to the cutlery, presumably for similar reasons.

So, I was basically 'promoted' to being his personal slave. He made me do the laundry, mop the floor, wash the dishes, and pretty much anything else that didn't require me to step out of the house, or into the kitchen. He also set a few rules. For example, under no circumstances was I allowed to look him in the eye. I always had to keep my gaze down around him. “Unholy trash like you have no right to look anyone in the eye, ever!" he explained. Ah, yes, another rule was not to ever speak unless spoken to.

So, what happened when I accidentally broke a rule, or failed to clean a spot, or dropped a plate, or... did pretty much anything he didn't like? Well, he lit his dreaded cigar. You can guess what he did with it then. But I will say this: after that first time, he only picked places that could be easily concealed, such as my back, my legs, my stomach, my soles... And if I resisted, he'd smack me across the face over and over until his own hand hurt.

“Don't hate me! Hate yourself for being so clumsy and stupid!" he'd say to me every time it happened. “You ungrateful little bastard! You useless pile of horseshit! This is how you repay me for keeping you fed?? You'd better think twice before disappointing me again, you hear me? Or do you think I like punishing you? You force me to do this to you! It's all your fault, goddamnit!!"

For the next few years, that was the kind of hell I lived in. Screaming for help when he wasn't home was useless. I tried it many, many times, but no one ever heard me. Hell, no one in the village knew I even existed. I was simply trapped in that infernal hole, with no hope of escaping. Truly, the only thing that kept me going was Jacinthe. For the most part, she was as much of a prisoner as I was, but at least we could suffer together. And so, we would always cuddle every night, and I would cry into her curly white fur as I silently prayed to God for help. To be honest, had I not had her with me during those nights, I might have killed myself long ago.

A couple months after I had turned sixteen, the inspector from Roud came to visit us as he always did, on the first day of the month. The same usual 'stage play' ensued, with me smiling and telling him that all was fine. However, something unexpected happened; something that put the whole 'script' in jeopardy. He noticed a bruise on my wrist. It was barely visible under my sleeve, but he saw it, and I saw his brow furrowing...

“How did you get that bruise, Anabelle?" he asked me.

“Oh, that?" quickly reacted my step-father. “You see, she simply—"

“I asked her, Mr. Marder." Pointedly said the inspector to him, and then he turned to me. “So, what happened? How did you bruise your wrist?"

“I, uh..." I began. “I slipped and fell... i-in the bathroom."

“That, she did! Just a minor mishap; you know how slippery those bath tubs can be, hahahah!" laughed my step-father. But the inspector wasn't convinced.

“Mr. Marder, could you please give me a few moments alone with Miss Anabelle?"

“O-of course! Absolutely!" he said, and then he walked out of the house, but not before taking Jacinthe with him and patting his back pocket ever-so-subtly with his other hand. The inspector missed it, but I didn't, for I knew exactly what he was keeping in that pocket. The message couldn't have been any clearer: 'You better not screw up, or else...'

“He isn't here now," the inspector said to me once we were alone. “Tell me the truth, please: how did you get that bruise, Anabelle?"

“I... just slipped and fell in the bathroom," I repeated, thinking of what would have happened to my poor Jacinthe if I dared tell him the truth. But my answer was met with a sigh.

“Are you sure it was that?" he tried, looking me in the eye. “I will protect you, little one. That's my job. You have absolutely nothing to fear. So, if there's anything I should know, now is the time to speak. Otherwise, I'm powerless to do anything. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Oh, how I wanted to tell him everything. How badly I yearned to just break down crying and let him know all the hellish abuse I had endured for the last eight years of my existence. But... but... I couldn't. I had to swallow my suffering and keep it all to myself, as I always did. I had to do it, for Jacinthe's sake.

“I understand, and it was just a silly accident. There's nothing more to it, I promise!" I said to him with my best rehearsed smile.

He simply stood silent for a few moments, and then sighed a very long, tired sigh.

“Alright, Anabelle. I guess I... Uh, never mind," he said, shaking his head. “You know, I see things in my line of work — things kids like you should never see or even hear about, and... just now, I suppose I saw something that wasn't really there. I'm sorry for that."

Then, he called my step-father back in, apologized for having sent him out in the first place, and prepared to leave. But before he left, he said one more thing to him:

“Oh, and of course I trust that you will make sure she never slips in that bath tub again..."

“B-but, of course! Absolutely!" he said, trying his best to hide his fluster.

Then the inspector tipped his hat and left, and a deep, heavy silence fell onto the house.

“What did you tell him?" my step-father curtly demanded.

“T-that I slipped and fell, nothing more!"

“Don't you dare lie to me, you disgusting albino freak! WHAT DID YOU TELL HIM??"

“I didn't tell him anything, I swear!" I cried as he backed me against a wall.

“This wouldn't have happened if you hadn't forgotten to mask that bruise with make-up like I taught you!!" he snarled, slapping me brutally with the back of his hand. “WHY do you INSIST on making me BEAT you?? Do you LIKE being in pain?? Is that it? Not only are you a godless cockroach, but you're also a fucking MASOCHIST?? WELL!! I'll just have to BEAT the masochism out of YOU, then!!"

I ended up with a black eye, a broken tooth and several cigar burns that day.

Hurt. Everything hurt. Just being alive hurt. Life was torture. Life was pain. God had forsaken me. I was nothing. My existence was hell. Hell was my existence. I was nobody. Nobody knew I existed. Nobody could save me. Nobody would ever deliver me from that cursed life in the bowels of hell. Why was I even alive? Why couldn't I just die? I mean, I was thin, weak, malnourished; all because my torturer had long decided that I deserved no more than one meager meal a day; that any more would be a waste on a useless mockery of a human being like me. And yet I still clung to life. Why?

Jacinthe. That was why.

Ah, poor Jacinthe. She feared him as well. Even though he wasn't as cruel to her as he was with me, she still witnessed all the abuse I would go through day after day. But she couldn't do anything other than whine pitifully and go hide somewhere safe whenever he started yelling. More often than not, she would hide in the living room couch, perhaps because the pillows there had pretty much the same color and texture of her fur. Regardless, she was just as powerless against that horrible man as I was. But we still had one another.

“Some day we will be free, Jacinthe," I would whisper to her in the night, as though she could understand me. “I don't know how or when, but... one way or another, we'll find our freedom."

Time passed, and I eventually turned seventeen. By then, it had finally happened. I had become numb to the abuse. Yes, of course, his 'corrective punishments' still hurt, and pain was still pain; but my heart had hardened, and I no longer cried as much. After all, being in pain was normal. It was an everyday thing. I was born to suffer, wasn't I? Well, I suppose my tears had to run out at some point. That, and I guess my body learned how to build a resistance to pain. Or maybe it was all in my head. Maybe my mind just detached itself from my body whenever the beatings began.

Sometimes I would still force myself to cry, though. Especially once I realized that not crying only made him beat me harder. I suppose he took some kind of sick delight in making me scream in pain, even though he always said that everything was my fault; that it was me forcing him to beat me. And it was worse when he was drinking. Because, yes, he had started drinking more often now. Oh, how I hated his rank breath. I hated it so much. Somehow, it was even worse than his accursed cigars.

And when he wasn't beating me, he was... groping me. Yes, he had begun to develop a fixation on my buttocks, and saw nothing wrong in pinching me there whenever he felt like it. That was the worst part. Not his breath, not his backhand slaps, not his cigar burns, not his keeping me locked in the basement like subhuman garbage... but his groping. Up to that point, nothing he ever did to me was more degrading than that. It was like I was his property. Like it was his right to touch me wherever he pleased. And it disgusted me. Oh, God, how I wished I could just cut off his hands somehow.

That's another thing. Maybe it was a coping mechanism or something, but I had begun to envision scenarios in which I was able to turn the tables on him. I found that I would often escape into the safety of my mind space, where I could then picture myself stabbing him over and over with a knife, poking his eyes out, or maybe slicing his throat open and watching him drown in his own blood, among other such fun things. That's right: all the things I wished I could do in real life but wasn't able to, I did in my head, which was the only place in the entire universe where that monster was powerless against me. That, somehow, helped me to stay sane... I think.

And then, one day, I turned eighteen.

On that day, everything came to a head. The inspector from Roud visited one final time, late in the afternoon, informing me that my mom's inheritance was all mine to make use of as I saw fit. I could legally move away anytime I wanted, he told me. Hah. Poor inspector. He couldn't see all the invisible, yet very heavy shackles chaining me to my step-father. Well, at one point he did make a comment that I looked a bit underweight, but my step-father was quick to dismiss it nonchalantly with some bullshit like 'that's just her natural constitution; her mother was like that too, and she takes after her.'

Once the inspector had left, my jailer locked the front door. The sun had already set, and it was the twilight hours before evening. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey from his collection and shouted: “Well! I believe this calls for a celebration!"

And then he began to drink, and drink, and drink...

“I bet you're happy that soon we'll never have to see each other's face ever again!" he laughed. “Now that you're finally eighteen, your mother's will can no longer hold her inheritance hostage! All that sweet gold is free, at long last!"

As the first bottle became empty, he opened a second one...

“Oh, boy! God knows I worked so hard for that fortune — so fucking hard!" he shouted almost deliriously, beginning to slur his words. “Ten years! For ten blasted years I had to put up with your disgraceful, godless existence! Ten years of having to feed a useless, disgusting, good-for-nothing albino cockroach! Ah, but good things come to those who wait, right?"

And he kept on drinking...

“Now, all I have to do is to take care of you, just like I took care of your mother. Then, your fortune will be all mine!" he said, bearing a horribly crooked grin. “Good thing I happen to know a nice doctor who's willing to help me for the right price! Oh, but don't you worry. He already assured me that you won't feel a thing. Isn't that great news? You'll be dealt with in the most humane way possible, and I'll be rich! Everyone wins!!"

I couldn't believe all the horrible things he was drunkenly spewing at me. And I was frozen in shock. Part of me wanted to lunge at him, but... to do what? Weak and malnourished as I was, and without anything I could use as a weapon within my reach, what could I have possibly done? Not to mention that he still had Jacinthe's leash wrapped around his arm; a silent reminder that he was always, always holding her hostage. Always.

“Ah, but it doesn't have to be that way," he said with a noticeable slur, slamming his empty glass on the table. “You see, I'm not a monster. Unlike you, I'm a good, god-fearing man. As such, I have it in me to forgive you for being the unholy aberration that you are. Not that you deserve that much mercy, considering you're not actually something that could rightfully be called a human being, but I can still spare your worthless life all the same."

He stood up.

“Rather than putting you down like a diseased animal, I could tell my nice doctor friend to simply declare you legally insane," he explained as he walked very slowly toward me. “He owns an asylum in the outskirts of Roud, you know? He can easily give you a nice padded room for you to live out the rest of your miserable life. Why, he'll even feed you some happy pills that will keep you forever content and well-behaved! Doesn't that sound great?"

He backed me against a wall.

“Either way I'd be doing you a favor. And whether you end up in that asylum or six feet under, I will still be rich. Because, let's face it: that gold was always mine. I worked my ass off for it. I earned it. And it isn't like your mother or you would have made better use of it, right? After all, what does a woman know about handling money? You'd have spent it all on useless stuff like fancy dresses, make-up and jewels! No. By right, that inheritance has always belonged to a man, and I am that man! You're just a woman, and women are good for one thing, and one thing only!"

He grabbed the front of my dress and violently tore it apart, exposing my breasts. I shrieked and covered myself as I tried to escape from him, but he grabbed me by the wrist.

“Where do you think you're you going? C'mon, don't play stupid with me! You knew this was going to happen sooner or later!" he shouted as he grabbed me by the throat, choking me. I tried to resist, but he smacked me across the face three or four times before punching me in the stomach once, knocking the wind out of me.

“It ALWAYS has to be the hard way with you, huh? I guess cockroaches just never learn! But that's fine. I'll just have to SHOW you your place!!"

And then he dragged me to the basement, kicking and screaming. Jacinthe hid among the white pillows in the living room couch, as she usually did, shaking in fear. Oh, how I wished I could just hide somewhere safe as well. But no such place existed. Not for me.

“You filthy, ungrateful bastard! Is this how you thank me for sparing your life? By throwing a temper tantrum? Let me spell it out for you, since your tiny female brain doesn't seem to comprehend it: YOU'RE NOTHING! In fact, were you to die today, I guarantee that no one would shed ANY tears for you! That's how WORTHLESS you are! If you're still alive, it's because of ME! I OWN you! Hell, I kept you fed for TEN FUCKING YEARS!! And I'm going to have you repay me for each and every one of those ten years right now, in the only way a woman may properly repay a man!"

CRAACK!! — That monster thus tore open the waist of my dress as he brought me down onto the filthy floor of the basement. Again, I tried to fight him off, but it was all to no avail. He had me in his clutches, and his intense beating had left me broken, bloodied and only barely clinging to consciousness.

I was in tears, begging him to stop, but he just laughed at me. And then he bit down hard on my nipple, and I shrieked like I never shrieked before. At that exact moment, pain acquired a terrifying new dimension for me; one I was not prepared for. “Hahahah, yeah! Scream for me, you pale bitch! Scream your lungs out until your throat bleeds!" he roared raucously as he slid his pants down and forced my legs open.

And that was when I discovered the most denigrating face of pain.

My mind went blank. I lost all awareness of where I was, or even of who I was. But I did know one thing: I was nothing, I owned nothing, and nothing could save me. Because I wasn't worth saving. Because I was nothing. Anything that I still had left had been taken from me. Ripped off. Torn away. And that searing pain ravaging my insides had just taken from me the very last thing I still foolishly, hopelessly clung onto: my dignity as a person — as a human being with rights.

That man broke me. Not just physically, but psychologically as well. It was like he took my soul and stomped on it gleefully until it lay dead and mangled before my powerless eyes. You know how some wounds can't heal, right? Not easily, anyway; especially those of the mind. Well, I'm sure that the wound he inflicted on my very being that day will stay with me in some capacity for the rest of my life. Indeed, I would never be the same again.

Regardless, as that rotten bastard had his way with me, I happened to notice something by pure chance: his bottle of whiskey. He had brought it with him to the basement and, in his drunken haste to force himself in me, he happened to leave it just within my reach. And I saw it. Even through the blurry veil of my tears and the silent blankness of my halted, broken mind, I saw it. And I saw my hand reaching to it as though it was moving of its own accord.

CRASH!!

I don't know exactly how it happened, and I couldn't tell you where that strength had come from. Maybe a last ditch effort by my dwindling consciousness? I have no idea. But the sudden impact shook me awake somewhat. I was still very out of it, though; but at least I became aware enough to see that I had somehow smashed that bottle of whiskey into my step-father's face. He was lying on his side, clutching his bloodied, broken cheekbone, trying to suppress a pained scream through gritted teeth.

'Survive. Survive. Survive! SURVIVE!!'

So yelled my innermost primal instincts as they took command of my shaken, bruised, bleeding body. Snatching the bundle of keys that had fallen off my step-father's pants, I hurriedly stumbled out of the basement, making my way toward my only hope for salvation — the front door. As I got closer to it, I suddenly heard a loud profanity coming from the basement. 'Don't look back. Keep going. Survive. Survive. SURVIVE!'

“Jacinthe!"

As I fumbled with the keys, I had the briefest moment of lucidity and went for the couch. Everything was a twisted blur of shapeless shadows and echoing darkness, but I somehow managed to rescue my poor, scared poodle from her shelter of pillows. Another loud profanity rattled the house to its very core, and I pressed on toward the front door, holding Jacinthe very close to my chest.

At last, my shaky hands managed to unlock the door and I rushed outside. Outside! I was outside! Somehow, I was standing outside the house that had imprisoned me for eighteen years! 'Run! Run! Run! RUN!' urgently shouted my instincts, and I ran. I ran into the night. I ran without knowing where I was headed to. I ran without even knowing I was running. I just ran as though my life depended on it, because it absolutely did.

And so, broken as I was, with my clothes in tatters, I ran. Barely aware of myself, in a state of dazed stupor as I was, I ran. Even if my bared feet hurt and bled, I still ran. Only one thought occupied my mind at the time: 'SURVIVE AT ALL COSTS.' Indeed, I needed to get as far away from that horrendous monster as possible. I knew I would never get another opportunity, so I had to put my all into this — my one and only chance for survival.

To tell you the truth, I didn't even know whether my step-father was giving me chase. I was far too afraid to look back and find out. All I knew was that I couldn't let him catch me. But he couldn't catch me if I didn't stop running, right? So I couldn't stop, for stopping was death. No matter what, I had to keep on running. That much I knew, even in my delirious state. Certainly, the echoes of 'Run! Run! RUN!' had become my entire world.

Soon, I had run past the southern edge of the village, where the forest begins. Not that I realized it at the time. I was essentially blind and deaf to anything that wasn't putting one foot in front of the other as fast as possible. Even as I got deeper and deeper into the woods, I still kept on running. My tattered clothes would get snagged by the bushes, but I pressed on anyways. Thus, with every further step into the wilderness, I would lose more and more of my torn clothing. Not that I cared or even noticed, of course.

Eventually, I was running in the woods fully naked like some sort of deranged, desperate animal. There were countless scratches all over my exposed body from the many bushes I had struggled through, and exhaustion had finally begun to take its toll on me. About ten minutes later, I simply couldn't run any longer. My legs were burning and just wouldn't respond to me. And so, I ended up collapsing pitifully on my bare hands and knees, panting heavily as it slowly began to dawn on me that I wasn't in the village anymore.

Then, I raised my head. And I saw them.

Right there, in front of me, stood three enormous werewolves. Tall, dark and mightily imposing, they towered high over my weakly, broken form. I think I felt my heart skip a beat or two as I stared with trembling eyes at such terrifying creatures like cornered prey; my paralyzed mouth silently agape. And their glowing amber eyes... It was like they pierced holes into my soul. I couldn't move. I couldn't do anything. I was hopelessly petrified, frozen in place, entirely at their mercy.

For the briefest moment they exchanged quick, quiet glances among themselves. Then, two of them nodded toward the third one and simply left. The one who remained with me was easily the largest of the three. He looked positively fearsome, like a nightmare incarnate. Truly, that werewolf was like a dark, mountainous mass of bulging, beastly muscle that could tear me apart with but a single swipe of his huge, horrific claws. I don't think I could possibly tell you just how deathly scared I was.

And yet...

I still feared that one man more.

“Help," I said to the immense werebeast in something of a broken, voiceless whisper, still on my hands and knees. “Help me, please," I tried again, barely recognizing the wavering sound of my own voice as tears began to cloud my terror-filled eyes. Of course, I was expecting to get nothing other than a gruesome, violent death at the claws of that terrifying wolf-like creature. But even that would have been preferable to the fate I had escaped from.

“If... if I am to die by your hand... a-at least give me a painless death, p-please... It's all I would ask for," I humbly begged him with tearful eyes, still on my hands and knees, broken and at my most vulnerable, and still helplessly naked before his towering, fiercely intimidating might. Perhaps something as puny and pathetic as me didn't have any right to even make that request. Perhaps he couldn't even understand human language in the first place, but... Well, I simply had to try anyway, and it wasn't like I had anything else to lose other than my life.

Thus, I saw him looking at me with his piercing werewolf eyes, and I anxiously waited for his inevitable response. At last, he gave a step toward me, and I closed my eyes shut. But the finishing blow never came. Instead, that massive hulking beast dropped to one knee in front of my pitiful self and softly pulled me into the warmest, gentlest embrace I had ever known.

I was stunned beyond words. Never before had I felt warmth so overwhelmingly nice. His huge, muscular arms wrapped protectively around me, his thick fur pressed reassuringly against my exhausted nakedness, my astonished face resting comfortably over his soothing chest... It all felt absolutely unreal, like I had been suddenly pulled into an impossibly pleasant, fairytale-like dream. And I didn't want to wake up.

“You are safe, vanni," he quietly said with a deep, gravelly voice. “Here, with me, no one shall ever hurt you again."

Safe. I was safe. There, in his arms, I was safe. Shielded. Protected. There, in his arms, my step-father's malevolent influence could never reach me again. He could never hurt me again. But, could it be? The truth is, part of me wanted to resist that very concept. It just couldn't accept that I was safe at long last. 'It's simply too good to be true,' it cynically said to me. But the other part wanted to believe. And I was so tired... so exhausted... I simply couldn't do anything other than surrendering myself to the idea that I had somehow found my salvation in the arms of a werewolf.

I was... happy. For the first time in my sorry life, I was happy. It felt so strange and surreal... I just had no concept of what happiness was like, and was thus woefully unprepared for it. And so I began to cry. I wasn't sure why, but my tears just started to flow, and they wouldn't stop. I felt safe, I felt protected... So, what was I crying for? I had no idea, but I did know that it somehow felt... good. Liberating, even. Yes, as odd as it may sound, it was a good cry. The kind of cry I never knew could exist.

“Yes. Let it all out, little one," compassionately said the werewolf as I wailed into his chest, soaking his fur with eighteen years' worth of blood, pain and tears. “Cry all your suffering away, for you are finally home, and you shall suffer no more."

And so, on that night, I cried for several long minutes into the warmth of his broad werewolf chest — my new home. And he patiently received all my tears, simply holding me securely in his gentle embrace. Finally, once I had calmed down enough, he quietly asked:

“Do you feel better?"

I nodded with my eyes closed, still snuggling his chest.

“May I have your name, little one?"

“A... Anabelle..." I said between sniffles. Somehow, I was able to remember my own name. An impressive feat, considering how physically, mentally and emotionally drained I was.

“Would you allow me to speak it?"

“I— Y-yes...?"

“Thank you, Anabelle-vanni. It appears as though I was chosen to be your servant, as the call of the forest has quite clearly guided you directly to me. Thus, I will gladly accept the honor of being your lycca, should you permit me," he said, still holding me in his soothing embrace. “If I may introduce myself, my name is Darkhowl, and I humbly hope to be all you will ever need."

That's right. He had already been named that when I met him. He later told me that he received his name from a woman he once crossed paths with, about thirty years ago. Apparently, that woman was already married at the time, and once she had to make a choice, she ended up choosing her marriage over his offer to become her soma-bonded life mate. Darkhowl was heartbroken, but understood that it simply wasn't meant to be. And so, they never saw each other again.

Of course, as his soma-bonded lycca-vanni and mate, my desires override those of all the other vanni in the world as far as he is concerned. That means I could easily give him a new name if I wanted to. He himself told me as much. But I didn't think that was necessary. I like the name 'Darkhowl,' and he likes it too, so it only made sense to keep it. As for what happened next...

“D... Darkhowl..." I began. “I'm... ashamed to admit that... I was ready to die by your claw. I... still am, in fact. It's just that... in ten years, no one has ever been this... nice to me."

“I know. I saw the resignation in your eyes. I saw it and I could not believe it. I could not accept that someone could bring so much harm upon you as to take away even your will to live. Such unspeakable heresy... It enraged me. It made my lyccan blood boil," he told me, and I could feel his wrath surfacing briefly in the rumbling tone of his voice as he spoke those words. “For us, vanni are sacred creatures. The very idea of bringing harm upon them is anathema to us. But it seems as though humans do not think the same. You, Anabelle-vanni, are living proof of that, for never before have I seen a vanni so thoroughly broken — both in body and in spirit — as you. Sincerely, I could not possibly imagine the torturous existence you must have had to endure to reach me as you are — shaken, disoriented, dissociated, bruised, wounded, naked, malnourished, and... grievously defiled."

“It was my step-father. He... did it all," I sorrowfully said, closing my eyes as I tried to hold back the tears that the memories those words conjured seemed to bring forth. “That monster of a man took everything from me. Everything. And now I'm just... nothing. Nothing but a broken shell of... of who I used to be. I'm afraid there's just... no hope for me, Darkhowl. E-even if you were to keep me safe for the rest of my life, I'll simply... never be the same again; for the memory of that disgusting man... h-having his way with me... is going to haunt me until the day I die."

“Anabelle-vanni, a soma bond will give you back much of what that man stole from you. Please, accept my Offering of the Fangs. I promise it will heal all your physical wounds and bruises, as well as many of the more grievous ones ailing your woefully distressed mind. It will not erase the past, but it will ease your pain and give you renewed hopes for the future. It will also awaken a much stronger Anabelle-vanni who sleeps within you," he affirmed as fact, with a sureness that made me want to believe him, even though I didn't know what exactly he was talking about. “Trust me: with the lyccan gift of change coursing through your veins, you will never have to fear anything ever again."

“Offering... of the Fangs?" I asked, looking at him with the tiniest glimmer of hope in my eyes.

“It's a lyccan ritual that will link our spirits together for life. You would also gain your very own claws, fur and fangs like mine, and with them you would discover a new dimension of unparalleled freedom. You would then be welcomed into my pack as one of us, and you can be sure that I would forever be at your side to love you, cherish you, protect you, worship you, and just serve you in any way you would desire."

“You... love me?"

“The call of the forest guided you to me. Not any other lycca. Me. In essence, whether through divine guidance or not, you chose me as your lycca. For us, to be chosen is an honor that can only be repaid with a lifetime of loyalty, love and devotion. After all, loving the vanni who have chosen us is both our purpose and an inevitability, for Mother Moon created us lycca to provide vanni with unconditional love. It is an inextricable part of our very nature. And thus, yes, I can already feel my soma — that is to say my heart and soul — growing more and more attracted to yours with each passing second."

“W-what about the other two lycca who w-were with you?"

“One of them, Daggerclaw, already belongs to a vanni. And the other one, he-who-wears-a-bandage, is waiting for a vanni he had already met two years ago, when he was but a little cub. Indeed, among the three of us, I was the only one without a vanni to protect and love."

“A...are you going to... s-sleep with me?" I waveringly asked, frankly scared to hear his answer.

“Perhaps eventually, but never — and I cannot stress this enough: never without your consent. Remember that I am your servant, Anabelle-vanni. Your desires, wishes, wants and needs, all come before mine, always."

Somehow, I felt that my heart had already made its choice. As big and imposing as he was, I could in no way say that Darkhowl was a monster. Even though he looked like a scary cross between man and wolf. And was like twice my height, with massive muscles that seemed very much capable of inhuman feats of strength. But he was so nice to me. So lovingly, genuinely nice, like no one ever was, other than my late mother. And his embrace was so gentle and warm. I wanted to live in it, forever enveloped by those protective arms of his, with my face nestled safely into the soothing fur of his broad, muscular chest. I didn't know if I could let him mate me, but I did know that I wanted that chest to be my home.

“Please, do not feel pressured to make your decision right now," he added, tenderly stroking my hair. “There is no rush. Take all the time you need, little one. I am not going anywhere."

I shook my head quietly, and then I said:

“At this point, I'll accept anything if it will keep me safe in your arms, noble Darkhowl."

“Know that the Offering of the Fangs takes the form of a piercing bite," he warned me. “It is extremely painful, but once the change takes hold and Mother Moon grants you her protection, the pain will fade away and you will be reborn as the free creature you were always meant to be."

“I have already put my life in your hands, so just do it. Do what you must. I trust you."

“As you wish," he said, giving me a most solemn nod.

Then, he reverently took my right arm. Admittedly, I was a bit scared, but I had no intention to back down. I wanted to believe in his promises. He had said I would be whole again, and if his bite could somehow repair my broken soul, then I would take it. Even if I didn't think I could ever know true, complete happiness, I would still take it. I would do it just for the chance to remain in the safety of his arms. Besides, I simply had nothing more to lose.

And so he recited: “Through this offering of fangs, I shall bestow upon you the sacred lycca gift of change. Are you ready to accept it, my brave vanni?"

“I... I am," I said, closing my eyes, bracing myself for what was to come.

“Then, by the holy light of our great Mother Moon, may this Offering of the Fangs be complete!"

Ah, the sharp pain of his beastly fangs piercing my flesh. I remember it well. It was awful, and for a moment I thought I was going to die. I even covered my mouth with my free hand in an attempt to muffle my agonizing screams while tears ran down my contorted face. That's how overwhelmingly intense that pain was. And yet... I can't say it was worse than the endless torment I endured for the last ten years at the hands of my step-father. In fact, just the torturous, dehumanizing pain I experienced when that horrible man deflowered me was still worse by an order of magnitude.

After about thirty long seconds — as you'd imagine — the pain just stopped, and I fell in a sort of trance-like state. When I came back to my senses, I was already a werewolf. Finding myself covered in white fur, with sharp-looking claws and a nice bushy tail was... mesmerizing. I couldn't help but marvel at how great it felt. It wasn't just that I had become taller and stronger. It simply felt good, like I could finally be in control of my own destiny.

Also, all my wounds, scratches and bruises were gone. Just like Darkhowl's words had suggested, the first change is special in that it heals every bodily wound, as well as many of the ones affecting the mind. Indeed, I felt thoroughly reinvigorated, as though I had just woken up from a good night's rest and then some. My crippling exhaustion was gone and my mind was clear. I was perfectly fine, lucid and full of energy. So, basically, I was the exact opposite of what I was before the bite.

“D-Darkhowl, this... This is fantastic!" I told him, elated. Really, I was just shocked at how good it felt to feel good. I was, in essence, an all-new Anabelle! Yeah, at first I had some trouble trying to stay on my feet in my new form, but still! I mean, I could even laugh again! For me, that was quite the surprise, since I hadn't heard the sound of my own laughter in over a decade!

“Welcome to freedom, Anabelle-vanni," he said to me, smiling contentedly. “Now, you can shine the way you were always meant to, and nobody will ever take that from you."

“Oh, my goodness! Now that I'm half wolf, I wonder how Jacinthe will react to—"

I froze.

“J-Jacinthe!" I shouted, suddenly realizing that she wasn't in my arms anymore!

“Jacinthe? May I ask who that would be?" asked Darkhowl.

“M-my pet dog! I had escaped with her and— and—" I hurriedly explained in a panic, looking every which way. And then I saw her. And my heart sank like a rock in the sea.

“I-it can't be..." I gasped incredulously as I picked 'her' up. Words failed me. What my very lucid eyes were beholding was... not my dear poodle companion, but a pillow.

That's right. I had been so completely out of it — so woefully detached from reality, that I couldn't tell I had grabbed one of the pillows of the couch instead of Jacinthe. Why, maybe she wasn't even hiding there in the first place! Maybe I just hallucinated her being on the couch when I made my escape!

“I... I have to go back for her, Darkhowl!" I told him. “I can't just leave her behind! She was the only thing that kept me from losing what little sanity I had left!"

“I understand," he said. “Come. I shall help you back to the human village."

And so he helped me trace my path back to the edge of the forest. At first I had to lean on him for support, but with each further step I slowly became more and more used to my new form. Eventually, I was able to walk on my own. Along the way, I collected the torn pieces of clothing that had gotten entangled in the bushes, knowing I would need them one last time.

Eventually, we arrived to the edge of the forest.

“This is as far as I can go, Anabelle-vanni," he told me. “We lycca are forbidden from setting foot in human territory. I am sorry."

“That's fine. Thanks to you, I'm no longer the helpless, scared little girl who barely stumbled out of that accursed house two hours ago. Now that my step-father can't possibly harm me anymore, I'm positive I can do the rest on my own."

“Careful, my little snow-white angel-vanni," he worriedly warned me. “Please do not fall to the temptation of taking justice into your own hands. Unjustifiably spilling the blood of humans is one of the few ways in which a lycca-vanni can lose Mother Moon's protection, and neither retaliation nor revenge are justifiable reasons to her holy eyes."

“Don't worry. All I want is Jacinthe. I promise you, I'll just go pick her up and that's it."

Then, I changed back into my human form. It was very difficult since it was my first time, but with Darkhowl's advice I was able to do it. So, after putting my ragged clothes on, I ran back home. I went alone, of course, as my noble werewolf savior couldn't accompany me on that last leg of the trip without breaking rules that may never be broken. It was the middle of the night, and the moon was shining brightly among the stars. No one was around, that I could see. It was just me and the moon, headed back to the hellish house from whence I had come. But I had no fear, for my ex-torturer no longer held any power over me.

And there I was, back at home. Not that it was my home anymore, of course. The front door was still open, with the key bundle still dangling from the keyhole, untouched. Slowly, I made my way in. It was dark inside. Dark and deathly silent. I felt a chill running up my spine.

“J-Jacinthe?" I cautiously called out as I went toward the white couch.

SLAM!

I whipped around. And I saw him. My step-father. He had slammed the front door shut, quickly locking it and pocketing the keys. There was a sickening grin on his face. His poorly bandaged cheekbone was still bloody, and his eyes appeared to glimmer faintly with the cold gleam of his murderous intent.

“Well, well, what have we here?" he said, laughing like a maniacal bastard. “If it isn't the ungrateful little bitch who thought it was a good idea to smash a bottle into my face! Has no one ever taught you that you never bite the hand that feeds you?"

“I'm here for Jacinthe," I firmly told him. “Where is she?"

“Ah, yes. I had a hunch you'd be back for her. Oh, but don't worry: she's waiting for you in the basement..."

I absolutely did not like the gleeful way he had said that, and so I ran into the basement with my heart in my throat.

Well, what can I say that you haven't already figured out? Yes, I found her in the basement, indeed. She was lying on the floor, on a pool of her own blood. Her head had been bashed in, and there was a bloodstained brick nearby. My poor little angel didn't stand a chance. Her eyes, once so bright and full of life, now stared silently into the void of eternal nothingness.

“See? There she is!" said the bastard as he entered the basement behind me, blocking the exit.

“Wh...what have you done?" I asked as I turned to him, shaking with barely contained fury.

“What have I done? Whatever do you mean? You did this! Had you stayed put like a good little girl, this wouldn't have happened. But you forced my hand. You made me do this. You were bad, and I had to teach you a lesson! What else did you expect me to do, huh? This was YOUR fault! So, if you must blame someone for that dog's death, blame yourself, not me! Her blood is on your hands!"

Inside, my own blood was boiling with rage.

“Oh, and of course, forget about going to an asylum," he continued as he slowly made his way toward me, cracking his knuckles. “You godless albino trash don't deserve that kindness. So, after I'm done beating you to a bloody pulp, you're going straight into a ditch in the ground, and then I'll just bury you alive. A fitting end for a misbehaving rotten heathen like you, don't you think? But I'm no monster: I'll throw in your stupid dead dog too, so that you don't go to hell alone."

My quivering fists were clenched tight, even though I was trying so hard to keep them down. “Beg me..." I quietly growled through gritted teeth. “Beg me for your life right now... and I won't kill you..."

“Hahahah, what?" he chortled derisively, mockingly, obscenely. “Did that tiny, peanut-sized brain of yours finally snap? You don't really believe that a weak, pathetic, defenseless woman like you can beat a grown man twice your age, do you? Yeah, you got lucky once with that bottle, but you'll have to be crazy to think that's happening again!"

“Last chance..." I warned, pointedly giving him an intense glare full of seething hatred and silent fury. “Drop to your knees, beg me not to kill you... and I will spare your despicable life..."

SMACK.

That was his response; a brutal backhanded slap across my face. Its sheer force made me stumble backwards a little bit, and I stood frozen in that smacked pose, with my head turned in the direction of the blow.

“If anyone here is going to drop to their knees and beg for their life, that's going to be you!" he angrily spat at me. “Dirty albino bitch, I'll teach you to respect the man who OWNS you, you little piece of shit!"

I hadn't yet moved from that pose, but I did begin to laugh. It started as a quiet little chortle, but soon grew in intensity until I was guffawing like a madwoman. Why was I laughing? It was simple: I had just realized that his vicious backhanded blow... only barely stung. He really had no chance against me. None at all.

“What— Why the fuck are you laughing?" he asked, confused. I couldn't answer. I was too busy laughing like a deranged hyena.

“Quit that, you crazy lunatic!" he yelled angrily, grabbing me by the shoulder and taking another swing at me. But that second attack never connected. I stopped his fist before it could reach my face, grabbing his arm by the wrist. It was so easy. So effortlessly trivial, even...

“I warned you..." I darkly said as I turned to look at him in the eye through the white veil of my disheveled hair. “I gave you a chance to escape my wrath, and you blew it. Now, whatever happens to you, you will have no one to blame but yourself..."

“W-what the—" he sputtered as he tried to pull his arm back, but that wasn't happening. It seemed like he wasn't expecting my grip to be that strong.

“You know..." I continued while he struggled uselessly. “I don't think you could fathom just how many times I envisioned myself butchering you in the most gruesome ways imaginable. Yeah... For years, my mind was the only place where I could give you back all the pain and suffering you've given me, and more..."

Slowly, I began to transform before his eyes.

“Tonight, as a parting gift, I'm going to show you exactly what kind of horrible, unspeakable things I did to you in those merry daydreams of mine. Oh, it's going to be so much fun..."

Seeing the expression on his face running the gamut from annoyed confusion to disbelief, and then to abject horror as I transformed was a treat for my eyes. Ah, it was so satisfying to see him turn as pale as a ghost, cowering like a cornered rabbit. I can only imagine the sheer terror he might have felt as my entire body grew and shifted into its decidedly bigger, taller and stronger lycca form — fangs, fur and all.

“No..." he gasped as he stared helplessly at my towering werewolf form. I'm sure I looked downright demonic to his eyes, like a creature from his worst nightmares. And you better believe I was grinning from ear to ear with sadistic glee, making sure he could see all of my very sharp lyccan teeth.

“Yes. And now I suggest you brace yourself, for I'm going to take my sweet time tearing you apart bit by bit. So, are you ready to start screaming like you never screamed before?"

“I... I'm sorry! F-forgive me, please!" he begged pathetically, but I just laughed.

“A bit too late for that, don't you think? Like I said, you had your chance and you blew it. Now, let's see what my sharp werewolf claws can do to your puny helpless flesh, shall we?"

Well... I'm not going to go into too much detail about what exactly I did with him. It's... far too disturbing even for you, Rose, and I'm afraid neither of you would ever see me the same way again if I told you. All I'm going to say is, the whole thing took about an hour. After restraining him with the same chains he had used to restrain me in the past, I... proceeded to give him back all the torment he had inflicted on me, tenfold.

Yes, I must confess I purposefully dragged it out as much as I could. I was excruciatingly slow and methodical through it all, as though I was performing a vivisection. His agonizing screams filled the whole basement every time I cut into his flesh, and he begged me to finish him many, many times. Too bad his pleas for mercy did nothing but making me laugh in his face. “This is your fault! You made me do this!" I gleefully told him as I slowly carved his guts out with gusto. In fact, his eyes were among the last few things I relieved him from, only because I wanted him to see what was happening with his body for as long as possible.

By the time I was done, he was everywhere. That's to say, bits and chunks of him were littered all over the floor. It was an absolute mess — a true bestial bloodbath, and there was blood splattered everywhere; even on the walls and ceiling. There was hardly anything that could be rightly recognizable as a human body. I really made minced meat out of that man. And, yes, I enjoyed every second of it.

Only as I beheld the grisly aftermath of the carnage did I begin to realize the gravity of what I had just done. Yes, I had thoroughly taken my revenge on my monstrous step-father, but at what cost... Oh, don't get me wrong: I have no regrets about ridding the world of that worthless waste of flesh. What I do regret is breaking the promise I had made to Darkhowl. I had told him I wouldn't fall to the temptation of spilling that man's blood, yet that's exactly what I ended up doing anyway. Because I was weak. And, surely, there would be a high price to pay for that weakness. My werewolf savior had wisely warned me so.

“But what's done is done. There's no use in crying over spilled milk," I said to myself as I gazed forlornly at my bloodstained claws.

After dedicating a prayer to my tragically departed canine friend, as well as asking her soul to forgive me for failing her so badly, I smashed open the door to the kitchen and took several bottles of whiskey from the cabinets. Then, I began to pour their contents on every piece of furniture, and also over the floor and walls of every room, including the basement. Especially the basement. Once everything was drenched in my step-father's whiskey, I took a matchbox and headed outside.

“Farewell, Jacinthe. May you rest in peace," I quietly said as I lit a match.

FWOOOM!

The fire spread rapidly, seizing everything it touched, growing larger and larger as it consumed all that was inside the living room. The voracious blaze soon extended to the other rooms, swallowing everything in its path. Eventually, the entire house was in flames, burning brightly amidst the night like a massive beacon of hellfire. But I didn't stay to watch. As soon as I lobbed the lit match through the open front door, I changed into my feral wolf form and took off running towards the woods — towards my Darkhowl.

And so, with telltale splatters of red all over my white fur and a difficult confession to make, I returned to my savior's side.

“I'm sorry," I began, shifting back to my werewolf form. “He... killed Jacinthe, and I... I just... couldn't restrain myself."

“I... had a sinking feeling that this would happen, Anabelle-vanni," he said, crestfallen. “I suppose it was inevitable."

“Are you... mad at me?"

“No. I could not be. I simply... wish I could have done more to help you."

“What... will become of me, Darkhowl?" I asked, feeling a shadow of dread seizing my heart.

“As the head of the pack, our Grand Alpha is very strict. He will likely sever our soma bond and expel you from the forest after erasing all your memories of me," he lamented, his wolf ears flattened against his head. “I, too, would lose all memories of having ever met you. It would be as though our paths had never crossed."

My new home in his arms... I would lose it. Because I was weak, I would lose it, and then I would be alone again. All alone in a cruel world that despises me. But it was my fault. I did it. I had been warned against doing it, but I did it anyway. I stained my lyccan claws with blood. Thus, I deserved whatever punishment was coming my way.

“How... long do we have?" I tried.

“I don't know. Ten days at most, I would say," he answered with a sad sigh as he put a comforting arm around my waist. “All I know is that, until that time comes, I will stay with you. As long as our memories of each other remain intact, I will love and care for you as your loyal servant and protector. That much I can promise you."

“Can't we just... flee somewhere your Grand Alpha can't find us?"

He shook his head sorrowfully.

“The Grand Alpha works in mysterious ways. He sees all and knows all. Fleeing would make no difference, for he can still enforce his sovereign judgment regardless of distance."

“Then I guess all I can do is talk to him. If he's willing to listen to me, maybe there's a chance he might forgive me."

“I hope so, my angel-vanni. I truly hope so."

And then we just stood there for several moments more, his arm around my waist, the two of us just watching in silence as my old house burned to the ground in the distance. Afterwards, he took me to the southern border of the forest, where the trees give way to a plain, which in turn leads to the sea. There, I was able to wash all the blood off my body. Changing into my human form helped too, as that took care of the fur.

Once I was clean, Darkhowl and I made our way back to the forest. Afterwards, he took me to Howling Grove. Then I met you two, and— well, you know the rest.

So... that's it. That's my story.

To be continued...