The Wolfsbane Queen

P R O L O G U E

The heavy steps of my boots were the least of my worries — especially since I knew they could smell me, exactly like the wild animals they are. Those creatures claim to be human, to be friends and allies to us, but their bittersweet promises was only a front.

They ruined our homes, separated our families, and destroyed our livelihood.

To enrich their own packs of their wealth and power, to ultimately and completely rise to the top, they forced us to suffer in the light of day.

Wolves. Werewolves. Beasts. It doesn't matter how they call themselves towards us — they are all the same monsters who tried to break down our spirits.

I took a sharp left turn at the end of the street. As a child, I remembered the houses in the neighborhood used to be well-kept, the lawns nice and fresh from the workers who showed up every two weeks, but now, it's been abandoned, forgotten, and lost.

"My Queen," a man whispered, his shoulder leaning against the door frame. His eyes caught mine, fear and worry swirling in his irises. He coughed, "Are you in trouble?"

I nodded my head, smirking, "Would be worrisome if I wasn't." Before the man could answer me back, I had already passed his home — pissed off at the fact that there wasn't even a front door to his little home.

An iron taste filled my mouth when I bit my tongue in anger. Jeffery Kurt is what the man called himself. Before we even knew those beasts existed, he had been married to Piper Kurt for almost a decade with three children: Jeffery Jr., Payton, and Ivan.

Similar to every other human, the beast ripped apart his family. Piper — matenapped. Ivan — taken with Piper due to being born four months prior. I doubted poor Ivan is still alive. Payton — suicide when she meet her own mate. Jeffery Jr. — his death was the aftermath of Payton's mate, who lost control of his wolf.

Now, Jeffery Kurt lives all alone, in a house with no front door. In all honestly, I highly believe he isn't sane anymore, not after watching every single member in his family suffer while he couldn't do anything about it.

Near the end of the street was a small house — under my dead biological father's name. He past away three months ago, and silence of the house haunts me with every step I take.

I miss my father — more than anything in the world. In the center of the square, there is a platform with certain equipment: a whipping post, chains, locks, anything to punish humans for refusing to bow down.

His body stayed up there for three weeks; then, the wolves got annoyed by his scent of death.

I remembered that night like it was yesterday. For voicing out his thoughts, he paid the price and fear swept through this town once again. However they shouldn't have killed him for his voice, they made a mistake of not killing him for his mind.

My father's dying wish was for me to complete what he couldn't, and the day was getting closer with each step I took.

I walked into my house. The lights no longer worked, and the darkness swallowed everything whole. Dust covered every surface of the house, and I had no heart cleaning anything up.

I stayed near the door, leaning against the wall with my arms crossed as I waited.

Only certain acts of treason were punished on that platform: stealing, disobeying, inspiring, and attempted murder. My punishment wouldn't be in my town, the place I've lived since I was born.