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She fought the urge to tidy up the mess and instead got to work, shaking open the tote she’d tucked into her book bag. She moved quickly, filling the bag with photo albums, her favorite vintage books, old school assignments she was still proud of, and memorabilia from her childhood. Anything that held sentimental value to her, she took it, keeping an ear on her father’s incessant snoring.

Once the bag was full, she secured the strap to her shoulder and picked through the wreckage on tip-toes.

Glass crunched under her sneaker. She paused, bending to pick up the framed photograph of her, Dallas, and Loren, the picture taken by Taega when they were kids. It was summertime, and they were smiling brightly at the camera, Angelthene’s old lighthouse standing stately in the background. Loren was in the middle—the very heart of their friendship. Her hair was saturated with ocean water, that same solar amulet hanging from her neck.

Now that Sabrine knew the necklace had contained a wish that would save them all from death a decade later, she foundherself viewing the simple piece of jewelry in a different light. It was strange to think that something so important—something they’d played with when they were children, as if it had no greater value than a plastic toy—had been around Loren’s neck all these years, waiting in patient secrecy for her to unlock the wish inside it.

Heart aching with memories gone by, Sabrine flipped the frame over and popped it open. She removed the picture and tucked it into her bag, being careful not to mar it with creases or fingerprints.

“Hell are you doing here?” came a grating voice.

Sabrine’s head snapped up, her heart skipping like a stone on water.

Claude pushed into the room, his reedy form staggering into the dresser so hard it rocked. “Thought I told you not to come back here.” He scanned the space with bleary eyes, his breath reeking of alcohol and stale cigarettes. “You stealing from me? Are you stealing from me, bitch?”

Sabrine’s mouth dried out, her palms prickling with sweat. Suddenly, it didn’t matter that she was an adult. A werewolf capable of shredding him apart. She was the little girl in the picture again, who spent her days in fear of walking the wrong way, talking the wrong way,livingthe wrong way. Nothing had ever been good enough for him, and nothing ever would be.

Claude moved toward her. “Stealing from your old man?” His graying brows flicked up. “That’s low, Sabrine. Real low.” He reached for her. “Give me that bag,” he rasped.

Not today. This wasn’t her life anymore.

With a battle cry, she pushed past him, shoving him into the dresser. He shouted out in anger, the dresser tipping onto its side with acrash.

Sabrine bolted toward the kitchen, her bags thumping against her hip.

Glass smashed and wood snapped as her father burst out of the bedroom and raced after her, screaming his lungs out. If he kept up with the hollering, Logan would surely come in here and maul him to death—exactly why she’d instructed the alpha to wait outside and let her deal with her deadbeat dad on her own. She could handle this—shewantedto handle this.

Her sneakers squealed as her feet hit the kitchen tile, her speed sending her straight into the counter. Her hip took the brunt of the collision with a bone-deep bruise, the dishes in the cupboards rattling. Claude’s footsteps shook the house, his nearness charging the air with a warning.

Sabrine grabbed a knife from the wooden block and spun around, pressing the tip against her father’s jugular.

He slid to a stop, rocking back on his heels.

Slowly, he lifted his chin, looking down his nose at her.

Sabrine nudged the tip of the knife against his stubbled throat. “Put your hands on me, youfilth,and see what happens,” she snarled, adding a second hand to the knife to steady it.

He stared at her, stupefied, finally seeing her clearly for the first time.

But then he laughed—a low, wheezing sound. “I was just playing, Sab.” His fake smile sank into a sour grimace. “You know that.”

The corners of Sabrine’s lips twitched upward, and she felt something sharp scrape against the bottom one. “I wasn’t,” she crooned.

She felt it, then—the Shift. Her body temperature cranked up, her eyes glowing like two small suns. The shaking in her hands…it was not from fear at all, but restraint.

Her wolf wanted to play.

Claude’s gaze flicked between her eyes and teeth, her canines elongating into wicked, pearly white points.

“What the hell is this?” His question was hollowed out with surprise. Hollowed out—just like the rest of him. “What’s happened to you?”

She sidled toward the door, her bag scraping against the cupboards. “Don’t follow me,” she instructed. “After today, I never want to see you again, do you understand me? I have no need for you in my life, and if you try to get in touch with me—” She let her teeth show, just a little, and gestured to the knife in her hands. “I’ve got forty-two of these in my mouth now.” Her wolf teeth—all forty-two of them—continued to lengthen, her gums stinging as the extra teeth pierced through and claimed their spots.

Claude merely gaped as Sabrine backed toward the screen door. His daughter was not the same anymore—in more ways than one.

With a backward kick, she opened the door and eased over the threshold, letting it slam shut behind her. She crouched down, her father barely visible through the mesh, and set the knife on the porch.

Then she hurried down the steps and into the street, not looking back—not once.