|c.3|

It had been another day and a half since Channary locked herself in her room, hiding from the world, from herself, and from the life that had been shattered that night in The Grove. She lay curled in her bed, surrounded by the heavy silence, the air thick with the scent of her own despair. Shadows crept along the walls, seeming to close in on her as if even the walls knew she no longer belonged here. Her father’s voice had cut through the house several times over the past days, demanding she come down, barking his orders like she was nothing more than a misbehaving pup.

It was her mother who finally entered, her expression a mix of pity, frustration, and that strange sadness Channary had seen there for as long as she could remember. She stood silently in the doorway for a moment, her eyes scanning the mess of clothes scattered across the floor, her daughter’s unkempt hair spilling over her pillow, and the dull glaze that had taken over Channary’s once bright eyes.

“Chan,” her mother said softly, kneeling beside the bed. Her voice was gentle, but there was an edge of urgency in her tone. “You need to get up and shower. Your father… he wants to speak with you.”

From beneath the blanket, Channary’s voice emerged, muffled and lifeless. “Māmā, I’m not ready yet.” Her words held a weight that seemed to press the air from the room.

Her mother’s shoulders drooped as she reached out, placing a tentative hand on Channary’s shoulder. “I know, baby. But there’s nothing more I can do or say to make him wait.” Her voice cracked, and she drew in a shaky breath, eyes glistening. Channary could sense her mother’s anxiety and felt a flicker of shame for being the reason her mother was caught between her daughter and her mate.

“Māmā,” Channary whispered, her voice barely holding together, and she threw the blanket off, exposing herself in all her brokenness. Her cheeks were swollen, eyes puffy and rimmed with shadows. Her skin was dull, smudged with days of exhaustion and despair, and her scent—usually a warm, familiar blend of cedar and wildflowers—was tainted, unfamiliar, like an intrusion on her very soul.

Her mother gasped, her face turning a sickly shade of white. She closed the door quickly, locking it behind her. “Oh, my child,” she whispered, her hands trembling as she reached out and pulled Channary into her arms, cradling her, the way she had when Channary was small and scared of thunderstorms. “What happened to you?”

Channary pressed herself into her mother’s warmth, feeling a flicker of the safety she once knew, but even her mother’s arms felt hollow, offering a comfort that felt somehow stolen.

“Where is your mate?” her mother’s voice shook with an old fear, something ancient and deep, and Channary knew her mother had guessed the truth.

“I don’t know,” she replied, the words painful and raw. “I don’t remember him. Not his face, his scent, nothing.” She clutched her mother tighter, as if her mother’s embrace might somehow fill the empty spaces. “There’s no soul tether, Māmā. Nothing.”

“Impossible.” Her mother’s voice was a whisper, her face twisted in confusion. “The soul tether… it’s the very essence of finding your mate. It’s a bond that can’t be broken. Did you at least tell him your name?” Her mother’s hand stroked her hair, but her words carried a faint accusation, like somehow Channary had forgotten the rules.

“Māmā, I don’t remember! I felt sick the entire time, nothing like what you told me the Blood Moon Unity would be like. Everything was hazy. I…” Channary’s voice dropped as she searched her mind for fragments that slipped through her grasp like sand. “I felt drugged. I could barely move, and my head—my head was pounding so badly.” She could still feel the ghost of that pain now, as if it had imprinted itself onto her soul.

Her mother stiffened, her hand pausing mid-stroke. “Are you sure?” Her voice held a skeptical edge, and she looked away, troubled. “That’s… that’s a big accusation, Channary. I don’t know if your father—”

Channary straightened, a flash of anger igniting within her. “My father,” she spat, “is only going to care about one thing: how much of an embarrassment I am to him.”

“Channary!” Her mother’s voice rose sharply, but her gaze faltered, betraying her guilt. “Your father loves you.”

A bitter laugh escaped Channary’s lips, harsh and brittle. “Loves me? That’s rich, Māmā. You mean the way he’s loved me so much he’s sired other children—offspring of other women—just to have a boy?”

Her mother’s face paled further, her lips pressed into a thin, trembling line. “Chan, that… it’s not… your father wanted an heir. It’s… tradition.”

“Tradition?” Channary’s voice was laced with venom. “And did tradition also demand he belittle me my entire life, make me feel like a mistake, a stain on his legacy?”

Her mother flinched as though struck, a flash of pain in her eyes. She tried to reach for Channary again, but this time, Channary pulled back, the anger surging in her chest. She had let her mother pacify her for too long, soothe away every hurt, every bruise her father’s words had left on her heart.

“I know he wanted a boy,” Channary continued, her voice low, barely containing the fury she felt. “He told me as much every chance he got. ‘Why couldn’t you be a son, Chan?’ ‘Why couldn’t you be stronger, more resilient?’” She mimicked her father’s sharp, critical tone, the hurt bleeding through her words. “All my life, I was never enough for him. And I’m supposed to believe he’ll somehow listen to me now?”

Her mother’s shoulders slumped, her face etched with the toll of years spent balancing loyalty to her mate and love for her child. “Chan, I… I will talk to him. He… he may listen to me.”

“Will he?” Channary’s voice softened into something cold and sharp, a deadly calm that replaced the storm raging inside her. “When has he ever listened to you, Māmā? You don’t want to see it, but he uses you as much as he uses everyone else. You’re nothing but a prop in his story, just like me.”

“Enough.” Her mother’s voice was barely a whisper, but the finality in it was unmistakable. Tears gathered in her eyes, and she reached out one last time. “He’s not as heartless as you think.”

“To you, maybe,” Channary replied, the anger in her words only barely contained. She drew a long, shuddering breath, and then, with a calmness she didn’t truly feel, said, “I’m not a child anymore, Māmā. And I won’t pretend that he’s something he’s not just because you’re too afraid to see him for who he truly is.”

The silence between them was thick, laden with the unspoken truths that had always lingered beneath the surface, truths that had festered in the dark corners of their lives. Channary’s mother finally lowered her head, defeated, unable to deny the pain in her daughter’s words.

A sudden, heavy slam echoed through the house, the force shaking the walls. Footsteps thundered up the staircase, swift and angry, and both women froze, their gazes locking in shared dread.

“He’s here,” Channary whispered, her voice barely audible, the bitter resolve in her eyes replaced by a sudden, fierce panic.

“I’ll… I’ll stall him,” her mother murmured, moving toward the door with trembling hands. She unlocked it and turned back, her face taut with a mixture of regret and desperation. “Chan, hurry. Get your things. And… call your uncle. He may be the only one who can help.”

“Uncle Kai?” Channary blinked, a flicker of hope kindling within her. She hadn’t seen her uncle in years, not since he’d fallen out of favor with her father. Kai was the only one her father had ever truly feared—the only man in the family who’d ever stood up to him.

Her mother nodded, her expression urgent. “Yes. If anyone can help you, it’s him. Now go.”

Heart pounding, Channary grabbed her phone, fingers trembling as she typed out a message to Kai. The minutes seemed to stretch into hours as her father’s voice rose from the hallway, his tone low and menacing. She could hear her mother’s quiet, placating responses, could feel the tension mounting like a gathering storm.

Just as she sent the message, the door burst open, and her father stood there, his gaze dark and steely. Channary’s mother took a step forward, trying to shield her daughter with her body, but her father’s gaze remained locked on Channary, fury simmering just beneath the surface.

“You,” he said, his voice dripping with contempt, “have shamed this family for the last time.”

Channary squared her shoulders, her heart racing but her resolve firm. She would not cower before him, not this time. She met his gaze, unflinching, a steely determination in her eyes.

“Maybe,” she said softly, the edge of defiance sharp in her tone, “it’s this family that should be ashamed.”