Marked by the alpha, Bound by the moon

Leah pov

The closet smelled like mothballs and old coats that nobody wanted anymore. Kind of fitting, really. I pressed harder against the wall, trying to make myself smaller.

Blood dripped down my temple, hot and sticky, gathering at my jaw before dropping onto my jeans. Each breath hurt ribs protesting where Harriet had landed that last kick.

"Come on, Leah!" Harriet's voice rang out from the other side of the door, sing-song and sweet like poisoned honey. "Don't you want to celebrate your birthday with us?"

Laughter erupted. Three, maybe four of her friends.

I recognized Jessica's horse-like whinnying, and that was definitely Brittany's trademark cackle.

"The charity case probably thinks she's too good for us now," someone said. Sounded like Morgan.

"She should be grateful," Harriet shot back. "Eighteen years we've fed her, clothed her, given her a roof over her head. And this is how she repays us? Attitude and disrespect?"

More laughter. My stomach twisted, but I'd stopped believing their words years ago. Stopped letting them cut as deep. The real cutting happened with belts and fists.

I touched the gash above my eyebrow, checking the damage. That's when I felt it something shifting under my skin. Not the wound itself, but underneath. Something alive and angry, pushing against the inside of my flesh like it wanted out.

My breath caught.

"Fine, hide in there," Harriet said, her footsteps retreating. "We'll just eat your cake ourselves. Not like you deserve it anyway."

Their voices faded down the hallway, back toward the main house. I waited. Counted to three hundred just to be safe. When I finally emerged, my legs shook.

The belt marks on my back screamed as I straightened up. Harriet had really gone for it this time eighteen lashes for eighteen years. She'd called it a "birthday tradition" while her friends held me down against the bed.

Most of them had laughed. But I'd caught something in Sarah's face. A flicker. Maybe discomfort, maybe disgust. She'd looked away when the belt came down the seventh time. I hadn't cried. Wouldn't give them that.

The bathroom was occupied I could hear Harriet's shower running, probably washing my blood off her hands. Literally.

So I headed for the service corridor instead, the narrow hallway the actual servants used before Uncle Malcom fired them all last year. Said they cost too much. Really, he just wanted to make me do all their work.

I grabbed some paper towels from the supply closet, dampened them with water from the utility sink. The cold helped with the swelling around my eye at least.

That's when I heard voices echoing up from the main floor. Uncle Malcom and Aunt Vivian, arguing in his office. The vent carried their words straight up through the old house's bones.

"can't keep this up forever." Aunt Vivian sounded stressed. She always sounded stressed when it came to me.

"The wolfsbane is working." Uncle Malcom's voice was hard, certain.

"She still hasn't shifted." Everything went very still. Wolfsbane.

"What if the Luna Ceremony triggers it anyway?" Aunt Vivian pressed. "All those wolves in one place, the energy, the—"

"Then we'll increase the dose." A pause. "Or handle her permanently."

The paper towel fell from my hand. They'd been drugging me. Poisoning me. That's why I'd never shifted, why I'd always felt wrong, disconnected, like everyone else could hear music I was deaf to. I had a wolf. I had a f*ck*ng wolf and they'd been suppressing it my entire life.

"Leah?" I spun. Marcus stood at the other end of the corridor, medical kit in his hands. His eyes went wide when he saw my face.

"Jesus Christ." He was beside me in three strides, fingers gentle as he tilted my chin up to examine the damage. "She used the belt again?" I couldn't speak.

My throat had closed up, but not from the beating. From the revelation still ringing in my ears. Marcus opened the kit actual supplies, not the cheap stuff they usually gave me. Antiseptic, butterfly bandages, gauze.

"I stole these from the pack doctor's office," he admitted, cleaning the cut above my eye.

"Figured you'd need them after today."

"You shouldn't have." The words came out hoarse. "If they catch you—"

"They won't." He worked quickly, efficiently. Marcus had always been better than the rest of them. Different.

"Besides, I did something way more likely to get me killed." That got my attention.

"What?" He pressed a butterfly bandage over the cut, smoothing the edges.

"I contacted the Council. Anonymously. They're going to force Malcom to bring you to the Luna Ceremony." My heart stopped.

"Are you insane? He'll kill me."

"Or you'll find your mate and escape." Marcus met my eyes. His were gray like storm clouds, serious as death. "It's a risk either way. But at least this way, you have a chance."

I shook my head, immediately regretted it when pain lanced through my skull.

"You don't understand what you've done."

"I understand that if we do nothing, they'll eventually kill you anyway." He packed up the medical kit. "At least this way, maybe something good happens. Maybe you find your fated mate. Maybe he's powerful enough that even Malcom can't touch you anymore."

Fairy tales. That's what mates were to me. Stories other wolves told, bonds I'd never feel because I couldn't even shift. Except now I knew why.

"Marcus." I grabbed his wrist. "I overheard them. Just now. Malcom and Vivian."

His expression sharpened. "And?"

"They've been giving me wolfsbane. To stop me from shifting." The medical kit hit the floor.

"What?"

"They said if the ceremony triggers it anyway, they'll increase the dose." My voice dropped to a whisper. "Or handle me permanently."

For a long moment, Marcus just stared. Then he started laughing, this broken, bitter sound that had nothing to do with humor.

"All this time," he said. "All this time we thought you were just weak, defective. That's what they told everyone. But you're not, are you? They're just terrified of what you might be."

The pieces clicked together. The constant monitoring. The "vitamins" Aunt Vivian forced down my throat every morning.

The way Uncle Malcom watched me sometimes, like I was a bomb that might go off. I had to know.

Back in my room really the converted attic storage space I locked the door and sat on the floor. Closed my eyes. Reached inward the way I'd seen other wolves do, searching for that part of themselves that was other, wild, free. Nothing. Just like always. No wait. There. Deep down, buried under layers of chemical fog. Something growled. My eyes snapped open. I tried again, pushing harder.

The thing inside me pushed back, snarling against whatever cage they'd built around it. I could feel her now my wolf, trapped and furious and desperate for release.

But the wolfsbane held firm. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "I didn't know. I swear I didn't know."

The wolf's rage flooded through me, hot and righteous and utterly helpless. A knock on the door made me jump.

"Leah." Uncle Malcom's voice. Flat, dangerous. "Come down to my office. Now."

My stomach dropped. I stood slowly, checking myself in the cracked mirror. The butterfly bandages on my face stood out stark and white. Nothing I could do about that.

He waited at the bottom of the attic stairs, arms crossed. Didn't say a word, just gestured for me to follow. Aunt Vivian sat in the office, hands folded in her lap. Harriet lounged on the leather sofa, inspecting her nails. A family meeting then. Great. On Uncle Malcom's desk sat an envelope. Heavy cream paper, sealed with red wax. An official Council seal.

"Do you know what this is?" Uncle Malcom asked, his voice too calm.

I shook my head. He picked up the envelope, turned it over in his hands like it was something rotten.

"A summons. From the Council. Apparently, they've received complaints about our treatment of you." My heart hammered. I kept my face blank. "They're requiring your presence at the Luna Ceremony."

He said it like the words tasted foul. "All unmated wolves of age must attend. No exceptions."

"That's ridiculous," Harriet interjected. "She's not even—"

"Quiet." Uncle Malcom didn't look at her. His eyes stayed locked on me. "The Council has made their position clear. She goes, or we face an inquiry."

Aunt Vivian made a small noise of distress. Uncle Malcom's face was white, bloodless. A vein pulsed at his temple. Then he moved, sudden and violent, sweeping everything off his desk. Papers scattered.

The lamp crashed against the wall. Aunt Vivian flinched. "Interference!" He grabbed the chair and hurled it at the window. Glass exploded outward.

"They have no right, no authority to dictate what happens in my own house!"

"Malcom—" Aunt Vivian started. He rounded on me. For a second, I thought he might actually do it. Might kill me right there.

His hands flexed, and I saw my death in his eyes. Then he smiled. Slow and cold.

"You're coming to the ceremony," he said softly. "You'll wear what we tell you to wear, say what we tell you to say, and behave like the grateful little orphan we've raised you to be."

I didn't respond. He stepped closer, until I could smell the whiskey on his breath. "But if you embarrass me, if you cause a single problem, if you make me look bad in front of the other packs..."

His hand shot out, gripped my jaw hard enough to bruise. "You won't live to see the journey home. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Uncle Malcom." He shoved me back.

"Get out of my sight." I left before he could change his mind, taking the stairs two at a time back to my room.

Behind me, I heard Harriet's whining start up, Aunt Vivian's attempts to soothe Uncle Malcom's rage.

In my room, I locked the door again and leaned against it, breathing hard. The Luna Ceremony. Three days away, in the capital territory. Every unmated wolf in the region would be there, including the most powerful alphas. Including, maybe, my mate.

If I even had one. If I survived the journey. If Uncle Malcom didn't increase my wolfsbane dose and turn me into a drooling vegetable before we even arrived. Too many ifs. But Marcus was right about one thing. Staying here meant death, eventually. Going meant risk, sure, but also possibility.

I pressed my hand against my ribs, feeling for that presence again. My wolf responded, weak but there. Angry. Waiting.

"Just hold on," I told her. "A few more days. We're getting out of here." One way or another.

Uncle Malcom's solution came the next morning, delivered over breakfast like he was discussing the weather.

"You'll attend as Harriet's bonded servant." I looked up from the toast I'd been pretending to eat. Aunt Vivian wouldn't meet my eyes. Harriet smirked into her orange juice.

"A what?"

"It's quite simple." Uncle Malcom buttered his toast with precise, controlled movements. "The Council demands your presence. Fine. But they didn't specify in what capacity."

My stomach turned to ice.

"Bonded servants are a time-honored tradition," Aunt Vivian added, her voice too bright. "Many young wolves bring them to formal events. It's perfectly acceptable."

"It's also magical," Harriet said, leaning forward with barely contained glee. "Which means you'll have to do everything I say. Literally everything."

Uncle Malcom set down his knife. "The alternative is being declared mentally unfit for public gatherings and remanded to permanent psychiatric care