Chapter 2

I stood outside the door for a long time, knocking with fingers gone stiff from the cold.

No one answered.

I knocked again. Still nothing but silence.

So I pushed open the side door instead.

The living room was warm—almost too warm—the fireplace casting a golden glow across the entire space.

Daphne sat wrapped in thick blankets, curled against Odette. Alaric was reading her a bedtime story. My brother Holden sat in the armchair nearby, holding a bowl of bird's nest soup.

They all turned when the door creaked.

The moment Daphne saw me, she instinctively pressed herself further into our mother's arms.

"Rowan, are you okay? It was so cold out there..."

"This is all my fault. If I hadn't said I was cold, you wouldn't have had to—"

Odette's frown appeared instantly, a flash of disgust crossing her eyes.

"Who said you could come in? Daphne's still sick."

I opened my mouth, but a thick, metallic taste of blood surged up my throat.

I swallowed it down.

"I've been standing out there for four hours, Mom."

"I'm a little hungry."

"Hungry?" Alaric snapped the book shut and rose to his feet, striding toward me.

"Daphne could barely finish half a bowl of soup tonight because her heart was hurting. What right do you have to complain about being hungry?"

He grabbed my collar and shoved me roughly toward the kitchen.

"Get down to the basement! Get out of my sight!"

The shove sent me stumbling. My knee slammed into the floor.

Pain exploded through the joint, so sharp I nearly screamed.

I tried to push myself up, but my legs wouldn't hold. It was like they'd simply stopped working.

Why does this hurt so much?

"Get up. Stop faking it." Odette's voice was sharp with irritation.

"Trying to win sympathy again? We saw through that little act of yours a long time ago."

Holden let out a scornful laugh. "Seriously. Kneeling there like that—you're scaring Daphne."

I gritted my teeth and forced myself upright, then limped toward the kitchen.

Alaric grunted and turned back to the couch, picking up the story where he'd left off for Daphne.

My stomach twisted violently, like a rusted blade churning inside me.

I made my way to the massive double-door refrigerator and reached for the handle.

I froze.

There was a new digital lock fastened to the door.

The cabinets were locked. The pantry was locked. Every single thing that could be eaten had been locked away.

Holden appeared in the kitchen doorway at some point, arms crossed, watching me with a cold expression.

"Don't bother. I changed the code."

I turned to look at my brother—at least, in name.

He used to sneak me a piece of chocolate back when I was punished, made to kneel for hours.

But that had been years ago.

"Why?"

"Because you've gotten sneaky, that's why."

Holden's laugh was cold as he let his gaze drop to my knee.

"Faking a limp, making yourself look pathetic on purpose—just so Mom and Dad feel guilty and can't focus on taking care of Daphne. Am I wrong?"

I lowered my head, staring at my own frostbitten, purple toes.

"I'm not faking it."

"You think you can fool me?" Holden stepped closer and jabbed a finger hard into my shoulder.

"You've always been stronger than Daphne. Standing outside for a few hours isn't going to kill you. She ends up in the ER over a light breeze!"

The shove sent me stumbling back, my spine hitting the edge of the counter.

The taste of blood in my throat became impossible to hold back.

I doubled over, coughing violently.

A small mouthful of dark red blood splattered into the white sink—along with a yellowed tooth.

My teeth were starting to loosen.

Holden froze for a second, then his frown deepened even further.

"God, Rowan, you're disgusting. Pulling this kind of trick just to steal attention?"

He grabbed a paper towel, wiped his hands with visible revulsion, and walked out of the kitchen.

"You're staying in the kitchen tonight. Keep your filthy sickness away from Daphne."

The kitchen fell into dead silence.

I stared at the tooth sitting in the sink and rinsed it away with water.

My stomach ached with hunger. I was so weak I could barely stand.

I opened the ice maker and scooped half a cup of ice into my hand.

The cubes were dirty, tasteless. I chewed them anyway. All I could taste was the blood seeping from my own gums.

I leaned back against the cold cabinet and slowly let my eyes fall shut.

What exactly do I have to do to make them love me?