Chapter 6

I lunged for the door, fingers brushing Derek's sleeve. He shook me off, cold as ice. "You made your bed. Pay the price."

I dropped to my knees, banging my head on the floor, blood and tears mixing. "Derek, I was wrong! Let me out! I can't stay with them—I'll die!"

My screams were raw, desperate, but he just sneered. "A dirty body doesn't get to be picky." He walked away, like I was trash.

The beggars pounced, dragging me to the bed, their heavy breaths and wild laughs crushing me. Derek's words looped in my head: A dirty body doesn't get to be picky. My heart felt like it was being ripped apart, pain choking my breath.

Just as despair swallowed me, nurses and security burst in, driving the wolves off. I was spared, barely. Grief had killed my tears. I curled up in the blankets, battered and bruised, but my purity intact—my only solace.

After what felt like forever, I dragged myself to the window, staring at the sky. If Mom saw me now, she'd be so disappointed.

As if she called to me, I wandered to the cemetery, needing to talk to her, to pour out my pain and say goodbye. But when I got there, a group was desecrating her grave. Her favorite flowers were smashed, her headstone smeared with dirt.

My heart seized. I charged, shoving them away, screaming, "What are you doing?!"

But I was no match for those hulking wolves. They yanked me aside, holding me back as they kept digging. Derek's voice cut through, mocking. "Last night's beggars weren't enough? Now you're throwing yourself at more wolves?"

I turned, and there he was, hand-in-hand with Brittany, their laced fingers a knife to my heart. Brittany smirked. "Hannah, you went too far yesterday. Derek was pissed, so you got punished—but we can't forget your mom. Once he cools off, I'll have her grave fixed. Deal?"

Her smugness was poison. I stared at Derek, incredulous. "You're insane! Come at me! Digging up my mom's grave? What kind of wolf are you?"

I screamed with everything I had, but Derek's soft command—"Keep digging"—was louder. A worker held up Mom's urn, asking, "Derek, what about this?"

"No!" I shook, breaking free with strength I didn't know I had. I snatched the urn, clutching it tight. "Derek, have you forgotten how Mom treated you? Who took you to the healer at midnight when you were burning up? Who learned to cook your favorite meals? Who covered for you when you got in trouble at school?"

I couldn't forget. Mom always said we had to know our place, living under their roof. So I gave Derek everything—my dreams, my grades, all to please him and Brittany. Mom bent over backward, hoping love would soften his hate. But she died waiting for a scrap of his mercy.

For a moment, Derek's eyes softened, like he might wipe my tears like he used to. But Brittany grabbed his hand, pouting. "Derek, you said you'd make this right for me."

His face hardened. He kicked me square in the chest, knocking me down. "What are you waiting for? Scatter that filthy she-wolf's ashes!"

My fingers were pried open. I scrambled up, lunging for the urn, but Derek shoved me aside. I watched, helpless, as they dumped Mom's ashes into a filthy river.

My heart stopped beating.