Chapter 3 Kiera

I

mpatience and disgust lined every furrow and crease of the grizzled taskmaster’s face as he studied the crowd of slaves gathering in the courtyard of the enclosure.

While the announcer’s voice called out work divisions and their tasks for the day, Ephrim’s one meaty hand hovered within easy reach above the handle of his stun baton strapped to his thigh.

I watched as his fingers twitched every now and again, as if he wanted nothing else than to reach for his favorite torture instrument—one I was very much acquainted with. My bruised ribs and stiff jaw shuddered in response, and my tummy grumbled its own hollowed resentment at me as well.

“Arryl’s work division, you’re cleaning the bottom floor of Keep Affect,” Bak called monotonously from the front, reading from a piece of paper, as he did every morning. “Marko, the second and third floors.”

His voice quickly faded into the background again as I recalled yesterday’s dizzying blur of hits and snarls. Suffice it to say our bulky taskmaster’s baton had its fair share of action to last him a while.

I’d called him a foul word behind his back, effectively redirecting his cruel paws away from my kid brother.

After my beating, I’d been forbidden from collecting the meager food portion a slave was permitted once a day. The rules were simple: if we didn’t work that day, we didn’t eat. And if our taskmasters wished it, we didn’t eat that day either.

The void in my stomach glared and folded its arms at me. I know it’s hard, but try to be a bit less stupid today, it seemed to say.

As if he could feel my attention, soulless beady eyes shifted to me before I could look away, or at least wipe the scowl from my face. The gloating curl to his lip stretched, and his twitches became more animated as he slid his gaze over my body. Most likely wondering where he’d best like to aim the end of his stun baton next.

If I’d still had some fight left in me, I might have lengthened my defiant stare and deepened my frown, just to show him he didn’t scare me. Instead, I quickly tore my gaze away before he could glimpse the rising dread in them.

“Hey, sis,” Ralph whispered in my ear from behind, almost making me yelp. “Why didn’t you eat the loaf I left by your cot?”

Since I hadn’t been allowed to enter the eating area last night, he’d sneaked a stale slice of bread for me from his own portion. He always did that, but no matter how hungry I was, I never ate anything he brought me, hoping he would stop taking such risks. But he was stubborn—like me. Like our mother had been.

“I told you, I won’t accept anything you risk your life for,” I said flatly, turning to look at my brother.

His cropped russet hair, though somewhat dirty, had a golden hue to them in the morning sun. But his hazel eyes were cast in shadows of disapproval as he said, “As long as you keep trying to get yourself killed whenever Ephrim throws as much as a dirty look at me, I will keep ignoring what you tell me not to do, too.”

We silently glowered at each other for a moment, seeing who would break first. But Ralph must have sensed the defeat emanating from me because his gaze softened with concern almost instantly.

“Kiera,” he sighed, lifting his long, skinny fingers and softly brushing them along my jawline, where a dark bruise stained it. “I’m all grown up now and tougher than you think.”

I pushed down the wetness stinging my eyes. “I would hardly call fifteen all grown up,” I said, letting a small smile tug at the corners of my mouth despite myself.

Ralph loosed a breathy laugh. “Well, if you were able to look after me when you were barely eight, since…you know—I think it’s only fair that you should let me do the protecting from now on.”

He referred to when our father had died. We’d been suddenly left alone, and I had to step up as his big sister. What he didn’t know, though, was I’d had to care for him a long time before that—since our mother had passed away giving birth to him when I had still been a pup myself.

Our father could hardly look at Ralph, much less take care of him when it’d happened, as if he’d blamed the infant for taking his mate from him. He wasn’t much of a father to either one of us in the few cycles that followed, up until his own foolishness got him killed.

“Mirda’s division—coffee plantation,” the announcer’s voice captured my attention again, for we were next. “And Ephrim, you’re group’s on cleaning duty at the power plant.”

Something perked up within me.

“Try not to stare at the shiny blue ball too much this time, Ker,” Ralph said, his hazel eyes crinkling with a knowing smile.

“Move, you two,” Ephrim growled from behind us.

We scrambled to obey, joining the listless shuffling of the other slaves exiting the fenced area of the enclosure. The taskmaster leered at us—at me—but I kept my eyes downcast as I followed Ralph out into the vibrant streets of Palatine City.

Navy-uniformed guards patrolled past our group, each with a casual hand resting on the pommel of a sword at their hip. Some of the other werewolves seemed in a hurry to get somewhere, whereas others were out jogging with their headphones on. A group of youngsters passed us by as well, skipping and chatting excitedly on their way to school. All gave us a wide berth.

We were the condemned progeny of the Cursed One’s original followers, after all. Forever to atone for our ancestors’ sins by laboring in the Goddess’s city until one day she would forgive and finally set us free.

Most of us had given up ever seeing this prophesied Day of Mercy in our lifetime, but in a way, it remained the sliver of hope we still clung to, needing every help we could get to face daily exhaustion, hunger, and rough handling.