Four Months Earlier...

*****

The atmosphere is tense in the yard of our estate. I can sense my siblings' subtle confusion; almost hear the unspoken question on their lips as they cast brief glances my way: why is she hunting with us?

I understand their confusion, seeing as I don't often participate in hunts. When I have, it's always ended with me being left behind or, in severe cases, a trip to the infirmary. However, what they don't see are the glances Mother and Father shoot my way, their eyes ablaze with expectation. They don't have to tell me, because I already know what this is—a test. A test of my worthiness, of the right to call myself an Agnarys. If I fail this hunt, I will not just be failing myself, but them as well.

My parents will be watching today, and I cannot let them down.

"Don't go too hard, Naomi. Just do your best," Jade says. I look into her dark green eyes, glittering with guarded concern. One year my senior, Jade has always been my nicest sister, but even her words of encouragement can become patronising at times. "If you start to get palpitations, make sure to stop. No one is expecting much of you, so no need to go all out."

I smile at her double-edged words. I don't think she means to do it. "I will," I say.

I won't. How can I, when this is a test of my eligibility? A test of my worth?

I look towards my father and mother, the former talking to one of my brothers as the latter hovers at the edge, observing her children. I am the fourth in a line of six—sandwiched between two older sisters, one older brother, and two younger brothers.

For a few moments, I observe them. To my siblings, this is just a game, another activity to pass the time. For me, however, this is a test of my strength. If I fail this, how can I ever call myself a werewolf?

You will not fail this, I tell myself. Still, I reserve my doubts as my siblings transform around me, one by one, into their wolves. The sound of fabric ripping fills the air as supple lupine bodies replace human ones, all packed with powerful muscle and lethal grace. All of them share the same colouring—tanned skin, dark eyes, brown hair, brown fur... all part with the Agnarys look. We are one of five Noble bloodlines, and just like every other bloodline, we keep a unique appearance. With Agnarys being the house of fire, my family certainly looks to the part with their dark features and warm tones.

Staring at my blank arms, I watch as pale fur replaces pale skin. I am the glaring exception.

"You have a hell of a lot of faith in yourself," someone sneers. I turn, feeling myself physically tense as I meet the chestnut gaze of my eldest sister. She stands above me, hands on her hips, smirking down at my wolfish form. "Quit while you're ahead. You won't make it past the damned tree line."

"Knock it off, Althea," Jade says, though I can tell she's not really paying attention. Her eyes are locked on Mother's, and I sense a silent exchange passing between them. It's not uncommon that my siblings look at Mother that way. She always expects the best from us, and she never fails to make it known. Well, maybe not so much from me...

But that's going to change today.

Althea's expression turns sour as she regards Jade. "What? It's not like I'm wrong. We all know Naomi's only doing this because she wants to look good for the Queenstrials." She turns to me. "But you're delusional if you think you have a fighting chance. You've never caught a hare in any of these hunts, and that's not going to change now. And even if you do, what difference will it make? Prince Kohl would never want an Invalid such as yourself, anyway."

I tense at the mention of the Queenstrials, and I sense that Jade does as well. Tension within the family has grown with every day the Queenstrials have approached, but I suppose I can see why. Every girl on the continent of Raelia knows about the Queenstrials; even those who are not eligible for it. It is a once-in-a-lifetime event, the reason noble mothers hold off on having children until the queen has her own. When the crown prince of the Gahndor bloodline is of age, every eligible girl from the five Noble houses will have the opportunity to compete for his heart in a gruelling competition. The competition itself is largely a show of strength and power, both of which I know I lack. Still, only the prince will have the final say.

I swallow. I've heard much of Prince Kohl, but words can only travel so far before becoming muddled. Some say he's cruel, while others say he's merciful, and a few even claim that he's mentally challenged. I don't believe the latter. All that is certain, though, is that he is a Gahndor, and being a child of the royal bloodline, that leads to only one other certainty about him—he must have golden eyes. All of them do.

I give Althea a hard look. She might have the prince's heart in mind for the Queenstrials, but I do not. I don't care about getting picked by the prince. All I care about is proving myself worthy; not to Kohl, but to everyone. To myself. The Queenstrails will be my only chance to prove myself, and I don't give a damn what Althea has to say; I will try just as hard as the rest of them. "You don't know what I'm capable of."

Althea laughs. "Whatever. Have fun getting outpaced by the rabbits, Invalid."

With that, Althea transforms into a brown-furred wolf and saunters away. I try to tune out her words, but they affect me more than I care to admit. With a heart that could fail at any moment and a body more fragile than glass, I'm not exactly the strongest werewolf alive. I'm familiar with the term 'Invalid', but I can't seem to associate that word with myself. Runt, yes, but Invalid? That's reserved for the weakest of the weak. I don't think I'm that cursed.

"Children, gather around," Mother announces. I watch as she shifts into her wolf, her brown hair becoming brown fur as her clothes tear from her form. Unlike the rest of us, who often opt for stretchy clothing that is easy to slip out of after a shift, she likes to wear formal clothes. I don't really know why; I've lost count of the number of blouses and dress pants she's torn through. Then again, as a Noble, it's not like she can't afford it.

Silently, we gather around her. My father falls back with my three brothers, all of them quiet and attentive.

"We're going to go on a hunt for hares," she says. "Be vigilant and alert. I expect all of you to catch at least one." Her eyes pass over each and every one of us, my stomach knotting as they linger on mine for a split second longer.

She moves away, our silent cue to get ready. Placing one foot in front of the other, I lean forward, preparing to sprint. Several seconds of tense silence pass. One moment, and we're all poised at ready. Next, everyone is sprinting towards the line of trees. My body quickly adjusts to the sensation of running on four legs as opposed to two, but by the time I reach the edges of the forest, I am already lagging behind.

"Pick up the damn pace, Naomi!" my eldest brother—Jason—yells as he whips past. I ignore him and his demeaning tone as he races to the front of the pack. Yes, I may be smaller than them. Yes, I may be physically weaker and more fragile...

But they don't have my knowledge of the forest.

I linger at the back of the pack, dust and dirt particles entering my lungs as I fight for air. With every big gulp of air, I concentrate, waiting for it to hit me. Finally, I pick up the faint scent of what I'm looking for – a hare.

I stare ahead. My siblings are farther away now – I can barely see them through the thick undergrowth. They'll be following the scent of the hare as it runs, closing the distance slowly but effectively. The hare has a few minutes at maximum before it's caught in one of their jaws.

Unless I get there quicker. I recall my mental map of the forest and remember that the nearest hare warren is a couple of minutes west. I continue to swallow the air. I know it's a risk, but there's a high chance the hare will retreat to a nearby warren. At this point, my predictions are my only advantage.

I shut my eyes. One moment, I'm a straggler. The next, I am diverging from the path, straying further and further from my pack. I think I hear Althea throw a snide remark my way, but I cannot be sure. Blood is roaring in my ears, and I'm too focused on my heartbeat to hear anything else.

Tha-dunk. Tha-dunk. Tha-dunk. I have to keep it steady. If I don't, it'll get the better of me. As I run, I find a pace that suits me—not so fast that it's strenuous, but not so slow that I'm at a disadvantage. Before long, only the sounds of my ragged breathing can be heard as I leap over streams and duck under fallen logs. Contrary to my physical condition, I like running. In fact, I love it. I love the feeling of wind through my fur, of the moss under my paws, springy and soft. I wish I could run all day every day, to the ends of the earth, away from my problems, away from my expectations.

Tha-Dunk-Tha-Dunk-Dunk. But my heart will never allow it.

For minutes, I continue on my path towards the warren. At one point, I doubt my decision as the hare's scent fades. But just as I almost give up on hope, it comes back to me. Closer. Stronger. I break past a thicket, and when I hear the patter of paws and laboured breaths behind me, my heart jumps in victory. My predictions were right. I stare ahead as I run, my eyes searching, and then I see it. Kicking back on its hind legs, running under logs and hopping between stones, is a white-furred hare. I push harder to catch up, its scent an ode to my victory.

Tha-dunk-dunk-Tha-dunk-Tha-Tha-dunk-Tha-dunk.

Someone rushes up my flank. My muscles hurt, my chest aches with every heaving breath, and my body is riddled with stitches, but I do not slow. I push faster, harder, focused wholly on the rabbit ahead and not the dangerously uneven beats of my heart. I will win this. I have to win this.

Whoever was at my flank runs abreast to me now, and I know who it is the moment I hear their snide voice. "Give up, Naomi," Althea snarls between pants. "This life wasn't made for you."

I tune her out. I am focused on the hare, on the prize. My body is burning, my legs are screaming, and my heart is beating so wildly that I can barely hear, but I will not stop. I know I'm about to go into arrhythmias. I know I may be risking my life right now. But if I can just catch this goddamned, stupid hare, then it'll all be worth it.

I run faster, faster than I've ever run before. Adrenalin pulses through me as I get close enough to hear the hare's rapid breathing. This is the final stretch. This is it.

Three feet. Two feet. One foot.

I lunge.

Dunk-Tha-Tha-Dunk-Dunk-Dunk-Tha-Dunk-Dunk-Tha—

Something slams into my side, and my world tilts. My vision flashes red, green, and blue as my head slams into the ground. For a moment, I can't quite process what I'm seeing – the hare running away from me, my siblings running after it—past me, over me, around me—one by one, after the prize that was supposed to be mine. That is mine.

Something in my heart fissures. Two people linger at the edges of my vision, but I cannot take my eyes off the sight. As I watch them disappear, I realize this is one of those moments that's going to ingrain itself into my mind forever, to come back and haunt me in my nightmares.

After what feels like an eternity, I tilt my head to stare at the wolf above me.

I want to scream at her. I want to call her every word under the sun for sabotaging me, for stealing my victory away. But my lungs won't let me. I am gasping for air, gasping and gasping and gasping like I haven't breathed in years.

For a moment, Althea just stares at me, her gaze hard. Then, she pushes her paw down onto my head, forcing me into the dirt.

She leans down beside my ear. "I'm doing you a favour, Runt," she says, her voice low and dark. "You'll never be one of us. You'll never be a true werewolf. Accept it."

I hold her cruel gaze, and as though it is not failing already, I can somehow feel my heart break further as I see the conviction in her eyes, the absolute belief in her words. After a few moments, she lets go of my head and trots away. That's when my eyes slide to the other two people in the area. My mother and father stare at me with disappointment written all over their lupine faces. Disappointment, but no shock. My eyes sting. I failed them.

Quietly, they turn to leave. I know my mother says something to me – I can hear the ring of her voice in my ears – but I just can't make out her words. Not with the blood rushing through my head, not over the arrhythmic thudding of my heart.

I watch them walk away. I watch them until my vision goes dark, until I can watch no more.

Tha-Dunk-Tha-Dunk-Tha-Dunk-Tha-Dunk...

******

I wake up in the infirmary.

It's dark by the time my eyes flutter open. Outside the window, the sun sets below the hazy horizon, and other than a couple of candles lighting the otherwise dim room, I am wholly alone.

Stabbing pain forms in my left shoulder as I lean back against the pillow. I look down to see a moonstone splinter sticking out of my flesh, the opaque rock glimmering in the candlelight. I pull it out and toss it to the floor, not caring that I need it to heal me. Not caring that I might still need it to stabilize my heart, and that is probably why I'm here. Instead, I stare at the plaster-tiled ceiling, my eyes stinging with tears as my heartbreak plays out over and over again in my head.

Althea is right. I'll never be one of them. I'll never be worthy.

I'll always just be the runt.