There was a buzzing in my head, static painful. That was the second thing I noticed. A heavy, raw ache across my skull like someone had shoved a brick through it. I wanted to groan, but I couldn’t move my lips.

I wasn’t sure if I was still alive or halfway stuck in some dream I didn’t ask for.

Everything was so… white and smelled like antiseptic and latex.

Hospital? I tried to open my eyes, but they fought me. My lids felt glued shut. My throat was dry, like I’d swallowed dust. I heard muffled voices somewhere far away.

“She’s waking up… she’s waking up,” someone whispered.

There's a shuffle. A rush of air. “Rory? Rory, can you hear me?”

That voice, Ugh. I didn’t need to see her to know.

Celeste. The world’s most beautifully fake woman. My mother technically and biologically.

Emotionally? That was laughable.

I finally pried my eyes open, slow and sticky. Like my lashes had been stitched together and someone just undid them.

The lights above me were too bright. My vision doubled, then tripled, before finally settling. The ceiling was that typical hospital tile white squares dotted with holes.

Everything smelled of bleach and fake lemon. My muscles ached. My chest felt heavy. My arm stung as an IV line was taped against my skin. A drip bag hung like a useless balloon beside me.

I blinked again and, turned my head slowly and there she was. Celeste.

In her flawless silk blouse and tight beige skirt, not a wrinkle out of place. Her curls were perfectly set. Her eyes were rimmed in mascara. She looked like she was attending a charity gala, not visiting her daughter in the ER.

She leaned over me with a wide, frantic smile.

“Oh my God, how are you feeling, Rory?”

I stared at her blankly, feeling unimpressed and tired.

Then I forced my body to sit up, dragging my bones through a protest of pain. The needle in my arm tugged.

“Did you want me to feel good, huh?” I muttered, my voice hoarse. “Stop asking me stupid things, Celeste. You have eyes, don’t you? Clearly I’m not okay.”

She blinked like she hadn’t expected that. Like me snapping at her wasn’t the most natural thing in the world.

Someone cleared their throat, that’s when I realized we weren’t alone.

There was someone else standing near the door, tall and silent and cold as rock.

Alpha BlackFang. Celeste’s husband. The father of the twins. My stepfather, apparently.

He hadn’t said a single word to me since I moved into their shiny prison of a home.

But now… he was here? I looked at him, confused. “What am I doing here?”

Celeste stepped forward before he could speak. “You fainted at school. Damien brought you here.”

Her words hit me. I sat up straighter, every nerve flaring.

“Wait… what?”

“You fainted,” she said again, as if I was slow. “And Damien he brought you here. He stayed until we arrived. Then he left.”

I stared at her, then at BlackFang, then back at her.

“You’re telling me… Damien—Damien—brought me to a hospital? The same Damien who threw me into a wall?”

Celeste nodded.

“He didn’t say anything. He just dropped you off and waited. The nurse said he didn’t speak the entire time.”

I didn’t know what to feel. I wanted to laugh. Cry. Maybe throw up.

Damien? Why him?

Why not Jaxon, who at least occasionally treated me like I was more than roadkill?

Why not some random teacher?

Why did the most cold, terrifying person I’d met since coming here do something that felt… kind?

My heart stuttered from confusion.

“What exactly happened?” I murmured to myself.

Celeste looked at BlackFang.

He finally stepped forward. His voice was deep and calm in a way that could either comfort or scare the hell out of you.

“You got into a fight and lost control,” he said.

Celeste tried to reach for my hand but I pulled it away and she flinched.

“I’m your mother, Rory. You can be angry, but I’m still your—”

“Don’t,” I snapped. “Don’t say that word. You don’t get to use it.”

“You don’t mean that.”

I laughed empty and bitter.“Celeste, the only time you remember I exist is when it’s convenient for your reputation. Spare me the dramatics.”

BlackFang watched silently, not surprised, not amused. Just… watching.

I yanked the tape off my arm and pulled the IV needle out. Blood beaded instantly and celeste gasped.

“You need rest,” BlackFang said, stepping forward slightly.

I looked at him again. “You know this is the first time you've spoken to me since I got in here stepfather, the first time you’ve spoken to me. Ever. Don’t act like you care now. and overlook the things I do”

He didn’t reply of course. I stood up, my body wobbling, legs shaky.

I grabbed the metal rail beside the bed and steadied myself.

“I want to go home,” I stated.

“You need—”

“I said I want to go home.”

Celeste looked at me like I was something breakable. But not in a motherly way. More like a vase she didn’t want scratched before her next event.

BlackFang just nodded.“Let her,” he said. “She won’t stay here anyway.”

He wasn’t wrong. I would’ve run out barefoot if I had to and just then, he walked out and I followed behind until we got to his car that was parked outside and he drove off.

The car ride was quiet. I curled in the backseat, my forehead pressed to the window, watching the trees blur past.

Everything felt unreal. My reflection in the glass didn’t look like me.

My eyes looked darker. My skin paler. My lips… sharper.

I had fangs. Real, actual fangs. I closed my eyes.

Damien. His face kept flashing in my head. Why hadn't he told his father yet? or even anyone of what actually happened in school.

The way he’d looked down at me after throwing me against the wall.

His voice—“pathetic.”

His hands, strong and angry. God! I need to find out why? Why he did all these...