Crescent (Book 1)

+ 14 +

I've never felt so weak, so desperate for sleep, so warm while being so bare. I'm too aware of everything. I feel the tree branches twitch in the air above me. I feel the wind biting into my skin. I hear snow falling in tiny drops beside me, and I feel my heartbeat throb in my skull. Even from miles away, I can smell the food being baked in the castle.

Somehow, I know... Something else- something cruel- has taken root inside me. I don't know how I do it, but I bring everything into focus. When I open my eyes to the same wintery landscape as before, it's nighttime. Even in the dark, I know I'm not alone. I feel two sets of eyes watching from behind. I'm naked, I realize. No amount of vanity can make me cover myself.

"You have to complete the cycle," Ceth said. I'm only guessing that my newfound strengths come with it. Anger comes easily, pure heat flooding my veins as I remember him forcing me to my knees.

"Dinner will be served soon, m'lady," one of the guards says from above me. I gather my strength and force myself to stand. My clothes are in a pile by their feet, and with wobbly legs, I yank them on. It only takes a few moments before I tug my boots over my feet. Anger is a tether that leads the way back to the castle. I know Ceth is waiting. I'll kill him for doing this to me.

The guards follow me to the cathedral doors and I throw them open, storming inside. My footsteps are like thunder echoing off the stone walls. I can smell him, the scent of pine like a path straight to him.

"Stop!" Moira yells as I search for him. She sits at the top of the stairs almost as if she'd been waiting for me. I'm halfway up by the time she bounds toward me. "Don't go in there in a rage. It's exactly what he'll expect."

She grabs my hand and tugs me to a stop. "He- He-"

"I know," she breathes, her eyes looking over me. Something about her voice steadies the growing rage inside me, and exhaustion hits me like a hammer. I feel weak- hungry- and as usual, she's right. He'll expect me to be angry. "Don't give him what he wants." There has to be a reason he's making me do this. Whatever the hell the cycle is. I inhale slowly, and she squeezes my hand. "He's in the library. Don't give him the reaction he wants."

My legs are still weak when I finally push myself up the last of the stairs. The door to the library creaks when I push it open. Ceth's already there, his eyes traveling over my long trench coat and boots. I pretend peace, I breathe calm, I become serenity as I approach him.

He eyes me suspiciously... as if waiting for me to snap. But I refuse to let him see me break. I saunter toward my seat across from him. A single lantern flickers in the middle of the table, revealing a large box. A label with my name scrawled across it is tied together with ribbon- just like the gift when I'd first arrived. But another memory flashes in my mind- one long forgotten, long buried:

I remember Grayson all too well. I remember his sandy brown hair and his perfect pearly-white smile. I remember the summer we hooked up and I hid it from my parents. Sometimes we'd sneak bottles from my parents' liquor cabinet and drink in the woods behind my house. I remember when he first shoved me. I was hiding bruises for a week, and that was only the first time. He would always apologize after, when it was too late. He'd flash that dimpled smile, would brush his hand down my thighs and expect forgiveness all over again. Until I had no more to give.

Seeing the damned box reminds me of him- of his gifts, of his anger, of his punishing touch and his stupid half-hearted smile. I set the box aside, shoving the memory away and carefully digging into dinner instead. Ceth doesn't move. In fact, he looks more irked than if I had stormed in and tried to hit him instead. Moira's right about one thing: I can't give him what he wants. I'm hungry enough that I hardly even taste the food, simply swallowing down bite after bite.

"Well?" he quips and I raise a brow.

"Well?" I repeat around a mouthful of food.

He sighs and glances toward the box now on the floor. As if he hadn't just stripped my last bit of control away. "I'm gone for weeks, and I bring this back for you. Aren't you going to open it?"

I focus on chewing my food like it takes all of the concentration in the world. My tone is pure venom: "I've shifted. What now?"

His eyes find the abstract paintings on the wall behind my head, jaw clenching. He flicks a lock of hair out of his eyes. "You wouldn't have unless-"

"You forced me too," I offer. His hands grip the arms of his chair as I smile. "You almost make it sound like you're worried about my feelings on the matter." He growls lowly as I continue pushing food around my plate. "You say it's because I'm pureblooded, but I think-"

"The man you grew up with is not your father! Don't you realize that?!" He roars, shoving his chair back as he stands. I suspected he'd say it, but somehow hearing it aloud makes me falter. "She had an affair with another man, Brenna. You are the byproduct-" He laughs, stopping himself. My expression is blank. "When you see her, ask her yourself. You can't hide from the truth, Brenna."

Part of me jumps at the idea of seeing her again. Another part of me wonders why he'd have any reason to lie. I shrug and swallow another mouthful of food without looking at him. The box at my feet is a sudden weight. "I am sorry, Brenna," he grits out. I feel a sense of victory when he fists his hands, biting the inside of his cheek. "But you know nothing of the duties of a court's lady."

I'm too tired to fight him. "You're right," I shove my seat back from the table. "I don't." I brush imaginary crumbs from my coat before looking at him. "Am I dismissed now, Lord Shawcross?"

He's silent, though his green eyes simmer and his jaw slackens. I don't wait for a reply before I stroll out the doors. At the end of the hall, I hear his voice again: "I expect you to be dressed properly to greet our guests tomorrow evening!" The box abruptly appears and slams to the ground at my feet. I don't need to open it to know what's waiting inside.