Trinity's bedroom was thick with the scent of expensive candles, but the opulence felt abrasive. After weeks of sleeping in the cramped ST bunks—where privacy was a myth and the sheets felt like industrial canvas—the silk linens and vast, silent space of her room felt alien. She felt like a guest in a high-end museum, surrounded by artifacts that didn't belong to her.
She sat on the edge of the mattress, her weight barely making a dent in the plush foam. Her silk pajamas were a stark, shimmering contrast to the rough tactical gear she had grown used to sleeping in. The window was cracked open to the night, but instead of peace, it let in the jagged edges of a familiar war. She couldn't help but scratch at her neck, her fingernails digging into the skin. The silence of the room allowed her to focus on the sting beneath her skin—a persistent, maddening itch that had been driving her crazy for hours.
She thought the room was far enough away to hush their voices. But just down the hall, Boris and Alana were at it again. Their voices carried clearly through the heavy wood of the doors: Boris's low, rhythmic rumble clashing against Alana's sharp, escalating tones. It wasn't lost on her that the fights she had managed to overhear had all centered around her.
Trinity simply stood, her resolve hardening with every shouted word from the master suite. If she wasn't going to get any sleep, she might as well ruin the peace of her team. Before she left her room, she knelt by her bed and dug into the discarded pants on her floor. Her fingers found the pouch of liquid. She tucked it safely into her pajama pants pocket, her palm pressing against it as she stood. She knew she wouldn't have much time before she needed to consume it.
Easing her door open, she felt the hinge move silently. The hallway was a long, dimly lit gallery of the life Boris and Alana wanted the world to see. She moved quickly, her gaze flickering past the massive oil paintings and the neatly framed family photos—relics of a life she was supposed to have.
She descended the grand staircase, her bare feet pressing into the cold, unforgiving marble. She bypassed the formal living areas, moving like a shadow through the dark, heading straight for the rear of the house.
The back of the main floor was a stunning expanse of floor-to-ceiling glass, designed to make the walls disappear. Beyond the panes, the manicured lawn gave way to the blackened forest, illuminated by the cold light of the moon above.
She was inches from the glass door when she heard the faint, frantic footfalls closing in from behind.
"You! Give me my wolf back!" Neve growled. Her nostrils were flaring, her face a mask of agony. She looked as though she couldn't decide if she wanted to cry or rip out Trinity's throat.
The voice was a panicked, high-pitched growl of a young woman. Before Trinity could react, a hand clamped onto her forearm with bruising force, the fingers digging into her muscle. "Please! I hate the skin. I want my fur back please!!"
Neve looked fragile, her slender frame practically vibrating with chaotic energy. In the moonlight, her light brown eyes were wide and swimming with a frantic, glazed desperation. Her chestnut hair was a mess, tangled and wild, as if she'd been running her hands through it for hours. Her lips were cracked and bloody from where she'd been gnawing on them incessantly.
Trinity tried to pull her arm from Neve's vice grip, her heart hammering against her ribs. She was completely confused as to how this girl thought she stole her wolf. Trinity didn't even have a wolf herself. The last thing she would be doing is taking other people's wolves.
"Get off me. Shut the hell up!" Trinity's eyes drifted towards the staircase in the distance, her pulse spiking. She checked to make sure no one had heard them. Her right shoulder twitched, a phantom ache blooming there, but she managed to keep her hands from reaching for it. The urge to scratch was growing unbearable.
"You can't go! You can't just leave me here!" Neve's voice rose, losing its whisper and turning into a sharp, erratic cry. Her grip tightened until Trinity's skin paled. "I saw you—you took my true skin in the prison! Give it back."
Though her words were a jumbled mess, Trinity understood in an instant who Neve was. She was the wolf in the cell next to Timothy's—the one that had been stuck in wolf form for years.
"Neve, stop it," Trinity hissed. If her parents heard Neve's shouting, her exit was over. She grabbed Neve's wrist, trying to steady her through sheer force. "Quiet down. You're being way too loud."
"But you don't understand, everything is—"
"I need you to relax," Trinity interrupted, her voice a low, commanding blade. "I get it. But you're confused." With her heart still hammering, Trinity looked to the staircase one more time. Before a light could click on, she pulled open the back door and dragged Neve out into the night air with her. "I am sorry. But... I don't know how to help you. Just I don't know. I'm sorry I have to go."
Trinity spoke the words as she rushed off, her pace quickening. She didn't want to stick around any longer than she had to. The warriors placed on the grounds for protection turned their heads in her direction as she passed, but none of them said anything. As long as Boris hadn't given them a specific instruction to keep her here, she was free to leave as she pleased. Her fingers reached upwards again, scratching at her neck as she passed by a few warriors, only for her to force her hands back down to her sides. She didn't want to cause more damage.
"Fuck!" Neve hissed, staring off after Trinity with undying determination. She didn't hesitate; she chased after her, refusing to be ignored. If it meant she'd be following her around until she finally gave her wolf back, then that is what she would do.
Just above the two fleeing girls, Raven sat on her bedroom floor. She leaned against the wall, staring out the window at Trinity and Neve. She had overheard every word, but she didn't understand what was happening. This pack was far more active than she expected it to be. She just wanted to disappear—for everyone to forget about her.
"You lied to me!"
The shrill voice of the beta female drifted into Raven's room. Raven sighed, her shoulders dropping as she leaned forward to push her balcony doors closed.
"Stop screaming!" Boris said, his voice muffled but firm as he pushed their own balcony doors closed, trying to contain their fight to their own quarters.
"That's all you can say. A lecture on my tone," Alana snapped, pacing the length of the rug. "You lied to me. You didn't tell me that Trinity can feel the bond. That you can feel it so much so that she can speak to you—"
Boris couldn't believe that on the first day back, he was already fighting with Alana over Trinity. It was the same old argument that seemed to have no end. "I don't trust you with Trinity. You don't even care about her. And you don't even try to hide it. She's not a conversation that I want to have with you." His stance hadn't changed since before he left. He did not trust Alana before his trip, and after his trip, nothing had changed for him.
"I'm trying to save Trinity! The real Trinity—the one that is buried inside. The wolf that I actually gave birth to. And you're fighting me on it!" Alana screamed. Her arms were flailing in frustration. Why wouldn't anybody just listen? She wanted the best for Trinity. The real Trinity. Not this husk. Not this deformed thing. Trinity could be perfect, and Boris was just happy to settle with anything. And she was not like that.
"Stop! This is the problem. No, I'm not having this ridiculous conversation again and again. Leave her be." Boris stepped toward her, his expression grim. "I'm warning you, do not force my hand."
Boris was tired of giving her chances and opportunities to just love Trinity as she was. He wasn't going to cover for her or make excuses anymore. If she stepped out of line again, there would be consequences—lasting consequences.
Alana scoffed, her eyes cold. Grabbing her bathrobe, she wrapped it tightly around her pajamas as she stormed toward the door.
"Where are you going?" Boris sighed, his head dropping into his hands as he tried not to raise his voice.
Alana didn't bother speaking. She stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her with a force that rattled the frames on the wall. Even with all of the guests, they had an abundance of rooms, and she had no intention of sharing one with him tonight.
Author's note:
Can you feel the pressure?