Page 30 of The Ashpaw: Part One

“A-Aye, Alpha.”

She could not see him, but she could hear his own labored breathing, until finally he left, grabbing a book from a shelf and moving towards a chair by the fire. He ignored her as he flipped the pages so quickly she wondered if he was actually reading them.

Fern tried to calm down, tried to be thankful he hadn’t taken a hand or belt to her as her father had on the few occasions he’d been that angry with her.

But the pain that blossomed in her shoulders, arms, and back grew into something worse than a sharp sting that lessened with time.

It was an ache that stole her breath and her thoughts, making it impossible to pretend to be somewhere else. There was no escaping the present.

Her shoulders burned, a deep molten throb spreading down her upper arms until her fingers began to tingle and then slowly numb. The muscles between her shoulder blades spasmed every few breaths, each twitch sending a fresh lance of pain down her spine.

The stone before her was cool against her forehead, but even that small point of contact soon became agony, the pressure building and building until it felt as though the wall might split her skull.

There was an itch at the tip of her nose she could not scratch, and sweat slid in slow trails down her ribs. One calf cramped so sharply her knee nearly buckled, and every instinct screamed at her to move, to shake it out, to do anything but remain trapped inside her own trembling skin.

Behind her was only the soft turn of another page, the crackle of the fire, and Darion’s measured breathing. All proof that while her body slowly unraveled, he remained perfectly at ease, and the humiliation burned hotter than the pain.

She hadn’t even meant for it to escape her lips, but when a soft whine sounded, Darion’s voice cracked through the room like a whip.

“You spoke.”

Could something so wordless and involuntary count as speech? She didn’t think so, but she didn’t dare argue.

“We begin again.”

She pressed her lips together as hard as she could, tears streaming silently down her face and chest shuddering with each soundless sob.

Fern did eventually learn to lose herself to the pain, the tingling numbness that came in excruciating waves. She rode each one without any more whines or whimpers, wishing he’d just beaten her and gotten it over with.

She did not know how much time had passed when the book finally slammed shut.

Relief hit too fast, her body trying to obey a command it had not yet been given. Her knees buckled at once, and cold blackness surged up to meet her as her head struck the stone floor.

When she awoke in her bed hours later, her pillow was gone.

Chapter 9

Fern

There was no evening meal on the night of a full moon, for the wolfkin preferred to hunt for their dinner.

Practically, this worked for the Solvekh as well, since they couldn’t exactly wash dishes and sweep floors with their paws.

But while the other women in the sleeping quarters were looking forward to the break from work and the chance to connect to their beasts, Fern was anxious, and her wolf offered no reassurance.

Her wolf had been very silent ever since Darion’s punishment in the Council Chambers. What had begun as a night of affirmation—proof that she was wanted, that she belonged among her own kind—had driven her into darker shadows than she’d ever been before.

Fern paced the small space in front of the fireplace, chewing on her thumb.

“Nervous?” Annik asked.

Fern looked up, the three women bare and ready for the evening.

She still wore her dress.

“Aye,” she replied, pulling her braid apart with shaking hands. She supposed it was best to get on with it. “Does… does it hurt?”

They looked at each other, as if unsure how to respond. “It is unpleasant,” Vedia finally said. “At first. Your bones break and mend almost instantly, and your skin rips to regrow. I think it wasn’t until my sixth or seventh shift where I was finally used to the sensations.”