Page 34 of Red

“Why’s your door locked?” Stark demands.

“If it’s my door, I can have it locked.” I yell across the room.

The door hinges creak.

“Come open it. There are pack members here who want to meet you.”

“No, thanks. I’m not some show doll you can parade around,” I say, disgust on my tongue. No one wants to meet me. They want to meet the hidden-from-the-world girl Lirea mentioned. They just want to put a face to the story so they can share their own. Werewolves love stories.

“Just open it or I’ll break it down.” He pounds against it.

“You won’t.”

“Come out. I’m not asking.” There’s a slight rage to his voice now. “I’ll be in the kitchen getting dinner ready.”

Like hell am I going out there.

I lose hold of myself and overheat from head to toe. Spirits damn it, I need to focus. I close my eyes again and count my breaths in and out, letting my chest rise and fall. This is the only way.

Another knock, too soft for Stark. It has to be Jocko.

“Aloka, come eat. It’s going to be a good night. We all go for a run up to Lake Fawnett, then come here to crash.”

Perfect.

“That’s great for you. Have fun.”

“Come on, I’ll go slow so you can keep up.”

“No, thanks. Bye, Jocko.”

The breathing on the other side of the door fades with the foot shadows.

Hours pass by as laughter fills the other side of the house. Pratt never told me about this. He would spend full moons with me on the cliff. My shoulders sink back into the bed as I think about the fact that he gave up so much. Tears prick my eyes, and I let them fall.

Too warm, I take another deep breath in and out, but it does nothing.

Stark knocks again. This time, the door nearly bends when he shoves his shoulder into it, but the chair holds strong. It isn’t going to be enough to keep him out all night.

My hands start to tremble, and I get up to start the shower. Letting ice water run, I don’t need to look at a clock to know what time it is. I’ve got an hour left max.

The ice water relieves my skin for a few minutes until the burning beats it. The water drips off me, warm and steaming. My legs burn with each movement, and I keep the water running.

A howl rips out from outside, then a string of them. They’re finally heading out.

I step out of the shower, and the water on my skin evaporates in seconds.

I know I can’t stay in the bathroom—it’ll be too tight. I slip into a sports bra and loose shorts, slamming the dresser drawer shut, then ready myself in the middle of the room. I’ve already pushed all the furniture out of the way.

The howls fade. If only I could join. If I leaped out the window, I could catch up and be like everyone else—free to be myself.

Stay strong, Alo.

Pratt’s old warning echoes through me as I close my eyes. The heat overflows as the moon aligns and the magic sensation fills my nerves. I can’t hold off turning any longer.

It happens faster than normal. My vision rims with fur, the tops of the bedposts coming into view. I retract my claws and circle into the tightest space I can manage. My tail swipes a picture off the wall, and it smashes on the hardwood. In careful movements, I lower my head and curl into myself on the floor, trying not to tear it to shreds.

This is the worst full moon of my life, in this prison shaped like a house.