NEW COVEN
Darkness had already cloaked New Coven when Freya walked back to her parents’ mansion. With her heart hammering in her chest, she looked up and realized the moon hadn’t reached its fullness but its silver glow lit the familiar path leading home. She pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, feeling the cold that did not only reach the surface of her skin but also the deep recesses of her brain.
She walked briskly to the house, her hands trembling as she reached for the door. She told her mother she would return before the sunset but that damn book had stopped her from watching the time.
Freya held her breath as the huge wooden door creaked upon easing it open, then she stepped inside with measured breaths. Perhaps she could slip upstairs unnoticed since there was nobody in the living room. Maybe her parents were not in the house. Or so she thought.
“Freya, come here at once.” A voice shattered the silence. That gruff tone obviously came from her father. Immediately, the sound of her boots scuffed against the wooden floor as she walked slowly toward the dining hall.
There, in the middle of the room, Alpha Lazarus sat with hands folded on his lap. This time, as she stared at her father’s grim demeanor, Freya knew she was in big trouble. She swallowed the lump in her throat, silently scanning her brain for any explanation. But she could not get any. Her eyes darted at the beautiful woman standing beside her father, Celeste. She could tell from the way Celeste crossed her arms over her chest that her mother wasn’t happy either. Although fear and worry mixed in her alluring face.
Freya stepped fully into the room; her knees felt wobbly as her parents stared at her sharply.
“Where were you?”
Her father’s voice sounded controlled, and yet, for Freya, it was the worst kind of anger.
“I-I was just—”
Her hands absentmindedly tucked the books she had been meaning to borrow from the library. But doing so only guided her parents’ gaze to them. The covers of the books peeked from beneath her cloak. One was about human anatomy, another about the mortal world beyond Lycan borders. And the last book was the worst of all—a thick, worn tome about witches and their forbidden magic.
This time, her father stood and towered over her like a mountain. Freya flinched before she could stop herself. Alpha Lazarus lifted the books from her arm. He studied them, his eyebrows scrunched, and the immediate expression of disgust crossed his face. He looked as if the books in his hand were rancid and would taint him if he held them too long.
“Why am I not surprised?” the Alpha said, his voice laced with a condescending tone. “Sneaking around. Reading.”
Celeste exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “Oh, Freya, why do you do this to yourself?”
She should have said nothing. She should have bitten her tongue and just let the moment pass. But the fire inside Freya’s heart burned so hot that she could not take it anymore. “There’s nothing wrong with reading.”
The comment left her father’s huge hand snapping out before Freya could shield herself from the physical blow. “How dare you talk back to your mother!” he growled. “And what you’re reading is filth!”
The slap sent her stumbling and left her face stinging. The taste of copper instantly bloomed in her mouth. Celeste tried to step forward but Lazarus stopped her from doing so.
“Your future has already been decided. You will not disgrace this family with your foolishness anymore.”
Freya’s hand flew to her cheek, and her other hand curled into a fist. Deep inside, she wanted to scream and tear the whole house down. Her Lycan beast was growling at the back of her mind, eager to fight. But she forced the urge through gritted teeth. “I don’t want to marry Magnus Brahms!”
Her parents were quiet for a moment, but the silence only intensified Freya’s expectation of being punished once more for saying that aloud.
Before she knew it, Lazarus angrily tossed the books into the roaring fire in the hearth. The flames licked hungrily at the pages and turned them into blackened wisps. The last thing Freya saw was an illustration of a woman who was marked as a Witch-Queen.
“What have you done?” she screamed, face streaked with abundant tears now. “I just borrowed them from the library!”
Alpha Lazarus caught her wrist; his grip felt iron and curled around her petite frame. “I don’t care about that damn library! You are fifteen years old. In two days, you will be sixteen, and you will have your shifting ceremony. The moment you shift, you will be given to Magnus!”
Gathering all her strength, Freya yanked at her father’s grip. “I don’t love him!”
“You know you don’t have to!”
He once again gripped her wrist and dragged her across the room, sending Freya into a yelp. Celeste tried to intervene.
“Lazarus—”
“Step aside, Celeste!” he snapped. “She will learn.”
He continued to drag her through the house, then up to the wooden stairs, and past the empty halls whose walls were decorated with family pictures and brown varnish. Freya thrashed, digging her nails into her father’s arms and desperately kicking at the floor. And yet, her strength as a Tyro Lycan was nothing compared to her father, who was the Alpha of the Gibbons Pack. Before she knew it, the door to her room flew open, and she hit the floor with a loud thud. She felt her knees crash against the floor.
“You have two days, Freya,” he said from the doorway, pointing harshly at her. “You will do as you’re told.” Then he shut the door before clicking the lock into place.
Freya sat there sobbing as her hands shook in fury. Her father would always go to the extent to punish her. And she, on the other hand, had always imagined fleeing from this hell hole she was in. But now, she would have to wait for another two days to finally break free from her parents but only to be sent to another prison, which was in the hands of the ruthless Magnus Brahms.