Tyranni
Tyranni
It started the same way as always; I was running barefoot through the woods, the smell of damp earth enveloping me like a cool cloak. I shifted the moment I smelled it, rich and warm and musky. Burnt amber and something richer, darker.
Instinctively, I followed the scent, weaving through the trees, panting as I forced myself to move faster. With each step, every twig that cracked beneath my feet, the smell grew stronger, calling to me like a siren's song on the wind.
I saw it through the mist, the large shadow lingering between the trees in the distance. That smell, so intoxicating, grew stronger, mixing with the earth and setting my body on fire. I was close enough to catch two pairs of silver eyes before the screaming started...
Sharp and shrill, making my head ache, the screams echoed around me. I slapped my hands over my ears, falling to my knees as the sound pierced through me like a blade.
"Not me! Save the baby!"
I woke with a start, dripping sweat and panting. It was the same dream I'd been having for weeks, and yet, it still rocked me to my core. The cool spring breeze drifted through the window, making the curtains sway in the light of the morning. My legs trembled as I hauled myself from bed, wobbling all the way to the bathroom, where I splashed my burning skin with cold water.
As stupid as it seemed, the dream felt like more, like some kind of premonition. I knew that wasn't possible. Seers didn't exist. The old magick had long since disappeared from the world, all traces had vanished. Even vampires and witches had faded into nothing but legend. We were one of the only things that remained from the old world, shifters, we had once been called. Now the humans called us "werewolves" and shunned us from society.
Not that we needed them. Every pack owned some kind of resource that the humans gladly gave their money for. They needed us more than we needed them.
"Tyr? You alright, sweetheart?"
"I'm fine, nana!" I called out, dabbing my face with a towel. Aeria Woodrow was the best grandmother anyone could ever have, or maybe I was just biased. Since my mother had died giving birth to me, nana had been the one to see to my upbringing. Nana was warm, always smelling of dried herbs or baking spices.
"Out, girl!" My father demanded, his voice thick and gruff with sleep. "You have training and I have work."
I slipped out of the bathroom, instinctively cringing away from him as he passed me. Daddy was a good man—mostly—but he'd never been very kind to me. He wasn't abusive, he was just—distant—I suppose would be the proper description. I knew why... He blamed me for killing my mother. I had only been a baby, but he blamed me, all the same.
I padded across the floor and back to my room, closing the door behind me. Stripping down, I stared at myself in the mirror, picking apart my reflection. When I was little, I thought I was beautiful. I'd spent hours sitting at my vanity, brushing my fingers through my long hair. Chameleon hair, nana called it. Shiny and silver, changing colors depending on the lighting.
As I grew, I realized the rest of my pack did not share the same sentiments. They called me odd; they called me a freak. They teased me for having strange hair, until I'd finally started wearing hats and scarves to keep it hidden.
I glanced at the picture on my desk, the only one I had of my mother. Sighing, I ran my fingers over the tiny image of her face. I looked like her, aside from my strange hair. She'd been so young when she'd passed away; only twenty-two years old. She'd been dead almost as many years now...
I dressed quickly, donning my padded athletic wear. My hair took longer than anything else, fastened back in a low bun with a dozen pins. For a while, I had worn it in a long braid, but Violet Hartthorn had a strange fascination with yanking on it during a training sessions, so, I'd begun securing it tightly during exercises.
"Tyr, come eat something!" Nana called out from the kitchen, her voice muffled by the closed door of my bedroom.
I was in the middle of breakfast when daddy appeared behind me. "Ready for your medication?" he asked gruffly. I stiffened, the hairs on my body rising, but nodded.
Every week, for nearly a decade, daddy had been injecting me. Two shots in the neck, two in each wrist. I knew that one of the injections was a scent blocker, the other one was a mystery. He'd always told me it was to prevent growing frail like my mother had been. I watched as nana's eyes narrowed, but she remained silent as daddy opened his kit. "Remember, don't tense..." he commanded.
I breathed out as he pinched the back of my neck and inserted the needle. While I'd grown accustomed to the process, it didn't change the fact that it hurt like hell. By the time he was finished, my limbs were trembling and I'd broken out in a sweat. "Good girl." Daddy murmured approvingly, patting me briefly on the head to signal we were finished.
Then he was gone, disappearing back up the stairs like smoke on the wind. "Will I ever be healthy enough to stop taking the medicine?" I asked nana, picking at what remained of my fruit and oatmeal.
"Your father is just protecting you..." I snorted derisively and shook my head. I knew what the truth was; why he used the scent blockers. I'd deprived him of his mate, and he wanted me to be alone for the rest of my life, like he was...
"You're going to be late if you sit there much longer." Nana warned. I was up out of my seat, running out the door before she could utter another word.