Kira felt her soul being dragged through a narrow tunnel of time, the wind howling in her ears until, suddenly, everything went still.

One second she was standing in Flora’s sunlit cottage, the next, she was no longer twenty.

She was younger again, barely twelve, lying in her old bed back at Moonfang. Outside, a monster of a storm was devouring the sky. Rain hammered the roof like angry fists and lashed against the windowpanes like fingernails trying to get in. Thunder shook the very foundations of the pack house.

She was reliving one of her nightmares that has haunted her for years, whenever there was a storm. In her dreams, she always saw a man with his back turned to her, while she was tied up and fire almost consuming her. She had never gotten to see the face of that man, no matter how many times she’d had that nightmare.

She tried to turn over in her sleep, but she couldn’t. Her limbs felt heavy, pinned down by a weight that shouldn’t be there. 𝑓𝘳𝘦𝑒𝑤𝑒𝘣𝘯ℴ𝘷𝘦𝓁.𝑐𝑜𝑚

Her eyes snapped open. The room was dark, illuminated only by the flashes of lightning that turned the walls a ghostly white. A shadow loomed over her. A tall, broad figure stood at the foot of her bed, moving with a quiet purpose.

"Daddy?" she whispered, her voice small and trembling.

The figure didn’t stop. Kira felt a rough cord biting into her ankles, binding them together. He was tying her ankles. She tried to lift her hands to rub her eyes, only to realise they were already lashed to the headboard. The coarse rope chafed against her wrists, almost drawing blood.

"What are you doing? It hurts," she whimpered, her lip beginning to wobble.

The lightning struck again, and for a second, Rolf Thornclaw’s face was revealed. It wasn’t the face of a father. It was the face of a predator who had finally cornered its prey. He leaned over her, his eyes cold and hollow, and flashed a wicked smile that made Kira’s stomach curl.

"I am doing what should have been done the moment you drew your first breath," Rolf said. His voice was calm, which made it a thousand times more terrifying than if he had been shouting. "I am getting rid of you for good, little curse."

A cold, paralysing dread washed over her. She yanked at the ropes, but they only dug deeper. Tears sprang to her eyes, hot and immediate. "Untie me, please. You’re scaring me."

Nothing.

"Daddy, please... untie me. I’ll be good. I promise!" She began to sob, her small chest heaving as she thrashed against the restraints.

Rolf didn’t answer. He reached down and lifted the plastic gallon at his feet. The sloshing sound it made was sickening. He twisted the cap off, and the sharp pungent stench of kerosene filled the room.

He tipped it slowly, pouring the liquid in long streams around her nightstand, over the headboard, down the wooden floorboards. It soaked into the rug she had begged him for last winter. It splashed across her closet, cold and stinging against her bare legs.

Glug. Glug. Glug.

Kira watched in horror as the glistening liquid soaked everywhere. She began to sob in earnest. "Please stop. I’ll not make you angry anymore. I promise I’ll be good."

"The whole pack will believe you were clumsy," he murmured, almost conversational as he set the empty gallon aside. "A silly little girl who knocked over her own candle during the storm." He reached for a candle on the nightstand and lit it, the small flame dancing in his dark eyes. "Tragic, but hardly surprising."

"Why?" Kira shrieked, her voice breaking. "Why do you hate me so much? I’m your daughter!"

Rolf stopped and leaned down until his face was inches from hers. For a moment he looked almost sorry, but the expression vanished as quickly as it had come. The heat from the candle was already stinging her cheeks.

"You look exactly like her," he said. His voice was low, venomous. "Same face. Same hair. Same eyes. That rotten, defiant attitude that drove me mad every single day I had to stare at your mother, Claire. Every time I see you, it’s like she’s still here, laughing at me from the grave. I want every trace of her gone. And you... you’re the last piece."

"I’ll leave!" Kira pleaded, her tears mixing with the kerosene on her cheeks. Her chest ached so fiercely she thought it might split open. "When I’m eighteen I’ll leave the pack forever. You’ll never have to see me again. Please, Daddy, don’t leave me here. Please let me live!"

For a heartbeat, she thought she saw a flicker of hesitation. But then, Rolf’s expression hardened into stone. He straightened up and walked backward towards the door.

Silent sobs wracked Kira’s body as she watched him go. Then, he struck a match. The small flame flared bright between his fingers. For one terrible heartbeat Kira thought he might change his mind. Then he dropped it.

The match hit the kerosene trail with a soft whoosh. Fire raced across the floor like a living thing, greedy and fast. Heat bloomed instantly. Smoke curled up in thick black ribbons, stinging her eyes and throat.

Kira screamed.

"No one will hear you," Rolf told her, already at the threshold. "The storm is too loud. By the time they realise anything is wrong, you’ll be nothing but ash."

She thrashed against the ropes, terror giving her strength she had never known she possessed. The fire didn’t roar at first. It hissed. It followed the trail of kerosene across the floor like a glowing orange snake, winding its way toward the bed.

"Daddy!" she shrieked. "Daddy, come back! Please!"

He turned his back and walked out of the door, not even glancing over his shoulder. The door clicked shut behind him with terrible finality.

Kira screamed until her throat felt like it was lined with glass. She thrashed with a manic strength, trying to snap the ropes, but they only dug deeper into her skin. The heat began to rise. The smell of burning fabric and wood filled her lungs, making her cough. The fire caught the foot of the bed, the flames licking hungrily at the wood.

Black smoke began to coil toward the ceiling, thickening until the room was a hazy, orange nightmare. Kira’s vision began to blur. Her lungs burned with every breath. She felt the first sting of the fire touching her feet, and she let out a broken, dying whimper.

I’m going to die.

Her head lolled to the side. She was drifting into a dark, smokey unconsciousness when the door suddenly burst open.

Through the thick, grey haze, she saw a figure. It was blurred, distorted by the shimmering heat and staggered through the flames.

She heard muffled shouts from the hallway—the sounds of people finally realising the wing was on fire. Footsteps thudded on the floorboards, and the sound of water splashing against the door echoed through the roar of the flames.

Soft arms wrapped the thick wool around her, smothering the small flames that had begun to catch on her nightdress. The ropes were sliced away with a knife. She was lifted, cradled against a warm chest.

"You’re going to live," a woman’s voice whispered fiercely into her hair. "You’re going to live, Kira."

The voice was familiar. A voice she heard almost everyday. Her head lolled. Through the haze of smoke and pain she caught a glimpse of the woman’s face as lightning flashed once more.

It wasn’t a stranger. It wasn’t a warrior. It was Lydia.