Chapter 23 House Arrest (Vivienne POV)
Father moves into the Hotel Ashcroft the next morning, room 237 with a direct view of Thornfield House.
I discover this when Sophie hands me coffee at breakfast and nods toward the window. "Your dad's been standing on that balcony for twenty minutes. Just... watching."
I don't look. Don't give him the satisfaction of knowing I'm aware of his surveillance. Instead, I focus on the toast I'm not eating, pushing it around my plate while my stomach churns.
"Are you okay?" Sophie asks quietly. "You came in really late last night. And you were crying."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You're the opposite of fine." She leans closer, lowering her voice. "What happened?"
Everything. Nothing I can explain. "Just family stuff."
"Family stuff that involves your dad camping out in a hotel to spy on you?"
"He's probably just worried." The lie tastes bitter. "I haven't been... I've been distracted lately. He wants to make sure I'm focusing on school."
Sophie doesn't look convinced, but she doesn't push. "Well, if you need to talk..."
"I know. Thanks."
My mobile buzzes. A text from an unknown number: Your father has requested daily check-ins at 8am, noon, 4pm, and 8pm. Please report to Hotel Ashcroft, Room 237. - Edmund Ashford
He's texting me from a new number. One I don't have saved. Like I might ignore messages from his regular mobile.
He's not wrong.
Another buzz: This is not optional, Vivienne.
I shove the phone into my pocket without responding.
"Everything okay?" Sophie asks.
"Perfect."
Father is waiting when I arrive at his hotel room at 8:15…fifteen minutes late on purpose.
"You're late," he says, not looking up from his laptop.
"I had to finish breakfast."
"You weren't eating. I watched you push food around your plate for twenty minutes."
Of course he did. "Then why does it matter if I'm late?"
He closes the laptop with more force than necessary. "It matters because I gave you a directive. When I say eight AM, I mean eight AM. Not eight-fifteen. Not when you feel like showing up. Eight. AM."
"Fine. I'll be on time tomorrow." I cross my arms. "Is that all? Can I go now?"
"No. Sit down."
I remain standing.
He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Vivienne, please. Just sit."
Something in his tone makes me comply. I take the chair across from his desk, noting the papers scattered across it…maps, photographs, documents with words like "territorial patterns" and "lunar correlation" visible in the margins.
Research. He's still hunting.
"I want to apologize for last night," he says, which surprises me. "I was harsh. Accusatory. I handled the situation poorly."
"You threatened to withdraw me from school."
"Because I was worried. Because finding you alone with a boy at midnight terrified me." He leans forward, hands clasped. "Vivienne, you have to understand…I've spent your entire life protecting you. Keeping you safe. And seeing you take risks, put yourself in danger... it makes me feel like I'm failing you."
The words sound sincere. Almost convincing. But I remember Declan's amber eyes, remember Father's silver blade, remember the cameras in the woods.
"I wasn't in danger," I say carefully. "Declan would never hurt me."
"How do you know that? You barely know him."
"I know enough."
"Do you?" He pulls out a folder, opens it. Inside are photographs…Declan and his teammates running through the woods, emerging from the forest at dawn, gathering in clearings under moonlight. "Because I know quite a bit about Declan Hartley. And what I know concerns me."
My stomach drops. "You've been following him?"
"Observing. There's a difference." He spreads the photos across the desk. "He and his friends exhibit unusual behavioral patterns. They operate as a unit, always together, always coordinated. They're strongest during certain lunar phases. And they spend an inordinate amount of time in the wilderness surrounding campus."
"So they're close friends who like hiking. That's not a crime."
"It's not natural either." He taps one photo…Declan mid-run, captured in a way that makes him look almost predatory. "I've studied behavioral psychology, Vivienne. I know what pack dynamics look like."
Pack. The word sends ice through my veins. Does he know? Has he figured out what they are?
What I'm becoming?
"What are you saying?" I ask, keeping my voice level.
"I'm saying I don't trust him. I'm saying there's something off about that entire group. And I'm saying I don't want you involved with any of them."
"You can't control who I'm friends with."
"I can when those friendships put you at risk."
"At risk of what exactly?"
He holds my gaze. "That's what I'm trying to determine."
The silence stretches between us. Outside, someone laughs…normal students having normal conversations. Meanwhile, I'm sitting in a hotel room being interrogated by my own father about the boy who's actually trying to help me understand what I am.
"I have homework," I say finally. "Can I go?"
"Actually, I have an assignment for you." He pulls out another folder, this one thicker. "Since you're so interested in British folklore and mythology…your history project theme…I thought you might find this research useful."
I open the folder cautiously. Inside are printed articles, academic papers, historical documents. All about werewolves.
"Werewolf hunting methods throughout history," Father explains. "I thought it would complement your project. Give you authentic historical context."
My hands shake slightly as I flip through pages. Silver bullets. UV exposure. Decapitation. Methods of identifying werewolves in human form. Ways to track territorial markers.
It's not research for a school project.
It's a manual for hunting Declan and his pack.
"This is..." I swallow hard. "This is very thorough."
"I want you to read all of it. Take notes. We'll discuss what you learn during your noon check-in." He smiles, and it doesn't reach his eyes. "Consider it supplementary education."
"You want me to study werewolf hunting."
"I want you to understand the historical context of the folklore you're researching. Is that a problem?"
Yes. Everything about this is a problem. "No. I'll read it."
"Good girl." He stands, signaling the meeting is over. "See you at noon. Don't be late."
I skip lunch entirely.
Not because I'm avoiding the noon check-in…though I am, earning myself three increasingly angry texts from Father…but because the dining hall is too much. Too many smells, too many sounds, too many people pressed together in one space.
Instead, I hide in the library's third floor, tucked into a corner desk where no one ventures. The werewolf hunting folder sits in front of me, unopened. I can't bring myself to read it. Can't force myself to learn methods for killing people like Declan.
People like me.
"You're avoiding your father." Freya appears beside my desk, materializing like smoke. "He's been calling the school office asking if anyone's seen you."
"Good. Let him worry."
"Vivienne..." She sits down across from me. "Edmund moved into that hotel specifically to monitor you. Skipping check-ins will just make him more controlling."
"He's already controlling. He gave me this." I shove the folder toward her. "Homework. On how to hunt and kill werewolves."
Freya opens it, flips through a few pages, then closes it with a sharp exhale. "He's testing you. Seeing if you'll comply with his agenda now that he knows you're awakening."
"How does he know? I haven't shifted. I haven't…"
"You don't have to shift for him to know. The changes are visible if someone knows what to look for. Your eyes, your posture, the way you move." She studies me carefully. "You're radiating supernatural energy constantly now. Four days until the full moon. You're running out of time to hide what you are."
Four days. The timeline feels both too long and not long enough.
"Sophie sent me to find you," Freya continues. "She has something from Declan. A message he couldn't risk texting."
My heart jumps. "Where is she?"
"Old chapel. Two o'clock. She'll wait fifteen minutes, then she has to leave for biology."
I check my watch: 1:47 PM. "I'll go now."
"Vivienne." Freya's voice stops me as I'm gathering my things. "Be careful. Edmund has eyes everywhere. If he catches you..."
"I know. I'll be careful."
Sophie is pacing when I arrive, her nervous energy filling the small chapel.
"Finally! I thought you weren't coming." She pulls out her mobile, opening a voice memo. "Declan stopped me after first period. Gave me this to pass along since your dad probably has your texts monitored."
She hits play.
Declan's voice fills the space: "Vivienne, I don't know if you'll get this, but I need you to hear me. Edmund knows. About me, about the pack, about everything. He confronted me last night after you left. His eyes... he knows what we are. And he's planning something. I can feel it. Please be careful. Don't meet him alone. Don't go anywhere isolated. And whatever he asks you to do, whatever he tells you to study or research…it's all manipulation. He's preparing you to accept what he's planning."
A pause, then softer: "I'm sorry. For lying, for keeping secrets, for putting you in this position. You deserve better. You deserve honesty. So here it is: I'm in love with you. Have been since the moment I caught your scent in the Great Hall. And I'll fight for you, for us, no matter what your father does. But you need to decide what you want. Choose for yourself, not because he's pushing you one direction or I'm pulling you another. Whatever you decide, I'll respect it. Even if it destroys me."
The recording ends.
Sophie is watching me with wide eyes. "So... that was intense. Also kind of romantic? But mostly intense. What is he talking about? What does your dad know?"
"It's complicated."
"Everything with you is complicated." She sits on one of the pews. "Look, I know something weird is going on. I've known for weeks. And I'm not asking you to explain because honestly? I'm not sure I want to know. But Vivienne, I'm worried. Your dad is acting like a warden. You're barely eating, barely sleeping. And now Declan is leaving cryptic messages about choosing and fighting and…" She stops. "Are you in trouble? Real trouble?"
"I don't know," I admit. "Maybe."
"Then let me help. However I can."
"You already are. By being my friend. By not asking questions I can't answer." I sit beside her. "That's enough."
"Is it though? Because from where I'm sitting, you need more than a friend. You need an escape route."
She's not wrong.
My mobile buzzes. Father: You missed noon check-in. You have ten minutes to report to my hotel room or I'm coming to campus. Your choice.
"I have to go," I tell Sophie. "But thank you. For the message, for everything."
"Be careful. Your dad seems... intense right now."
Intense. That's one word for it.
Father is furious when I arrive…twenty minutes late this time.
"Where were you?"
"Library. Studying your assignment."
"Don't lie to me. I called the library desk. They said you left over an hour ago."
Damn. "I went for a walk. To think about what I was reading."
"What you were supposed to be reading here, during our check-in, so we could discuss it together." He's pacing now, agitated. "This is exactly what I'm talking about, Vivienne. This defiance. This deliberate disobedience. It needs to stop."
"Or what? You'll lock me in my room? Put a tracking device on my mobile?" I throw my bag on his desk. "Oh wait, you probably already did that."
"I'm trying to protect you!"
"From what? From having a normal life? From making my own choices?"
"From making mistakes that could cost you everything!" He stops, breathing hard. "You think you understand what's happening. You think you're ready to face reality. But you're not. You're seventeen years old and you're playing with fire."
"At least I'm not playing with silver blades and surveillance equipment."
The words land like a slap. His expression shutters, goes cold.
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I? Because I've seen your research, Father. I've seen the maps and the photos and the weapons. I know what you're planning."
"You know nothing."
"Then tell me!" The words burst out of me, raw and desperate. "Tell me the truth! Tell me what you're hunting! Tell me what you're so afraid I'll become!"
Silence.
He stares at me, and I see it…the moment he considers being honest, considers finally breaking the seventeen-year silence. But then something shifts in his expression, and he looks away.
"I can't."
"Can't or won't?"
"Both." He sits heavily in his chair. "Vivienne, there are things you're better off not knowing. Things that would change how you see the world. How you see yourself."
"Maybe I want to change. Maybe I'm tired of the version of myself you've constructed."
"That version kept you alive. Kept you safe. Kept you human."
Human. The word echoes strangely.
"What if I don't want to be what you think I should be?" I ask quietly.
He looks at me then, really looks, and what I see in his eyes terrifies me more than anger ever could.
Grief. Like he's already lost me.
"Then I've failed," he says simply. "As a father. As a protector. As everything I've tried to be for you."
"Father…"
"Go. We'll talk tonight during your eight PM check-in. Don't be late."
I leave, but his words follow me like ghosts.
The nightmares start that night.
I'm running through forests that feel both familiar and foreign, my body moving faster than it should, stronger than it has any right to be. The silver-eyed woman is ahead of me, her dark hair streaming behind her as she runs.
"Hurry, little wolf," she calls over her shoulder. "The hunter is coming."
"Who?" I try to ask, but my voice comes out wrong…more growl than words.
"The one who wears love like a weapon. The one who calls murder protection." She stops suddenly, turning to face me. Her eyes are pure silver, glowing in the darkness. "He's set the trap, little one. And you're the bait he's using to catch them all."
"I don't understand…"
"You will. When the moon rises. When the change comes. When you have to choose between the father who destroyed you and the pack who will remake you." She reaches out, her hand becoming clawed even as I watch. "But will you choose in time? Or will his love cost you everything?"
"Mother…" The word escapes before I can stop it.
She smiles, sad and proud and terrified. "Yes. I'm your mother. And I'm so sorry, Vivienne. Sorry I left you with him. Sorry I couldn't prepare you. Sorry you have to learn the hard way what I already knew."
"What? What did you know?"
"That some men can't love what they can't control. That some fathers would rather see their daughters dead than different. That…"
She screams.
The sound tears through the dream, raw and agonizing. Behind her, a figure emerges from the shadows. Father, younger but recognizable, holding a silver blade dripping with blood.
"No," she gasps, falling to her knees. "Not the baby. Please. Don't hurt…"
He strikes again, and she collapses.
But before she goes still, she looks at me one last time.
"Run, little wolf. Run and don't stop. The hunter never stops. The trap is closing. Run run run…"
I wake up screaming.
Sophie is there immediately, shaking my shoulders. "Vivienne! Wake up! You're having a nightmare!"
But I can't respond. Can't speak. Because my hands…
My hands aren't human.
Claws. Long, curved, deadly. Extending from fingers that are too long, too strong, covered in fine silver fur that gleams in the moonlight streaming through our window.
"Oh my God," Sophie breathes, stepping back. "What…what are those…"
I stare at my hands in horror. This isn't just enhanced nails or sharper canines. This is a partial transformation. My hands are wolf hands, trapped halfway between human and something else.
"Don't look," I manage, trying to hide them under my blanket. But they won't go back. Won't shift back to normal.
"Vivienne, what's happening to you?"
"I don't know. I don't…" My voice breaks. "Sophie, please. Don't tell anyone. Don't…"
"I won't. I promise." But she's still backing toward her bed, eyes wide with fear. "But you need help. Real help. That's not... that's not normal."
"I know. I know it's not normal." I'm crying now, tears streaming down my face as I stare at my transformed hands. "Just give me a minute. They'll go back. They have to go back."
But they don't.
Minutes pass. Five. Ten. Twenty.
My hands remain clawed, remain shifted, remain evidence of what I'm becoming.
Finally, around 4 AM, they start to recede. The fur disappears first, then the claws retract slowly, leaving behind normal human fingernails that look absurdly delicate in comparison.
"Are they gone?" Sophie whispers from her bed.
"Yes. They're gone."
"What was that?"
"I don't know."
Another lie. Because I do know. The awakening is accelerating. In four days, the full moon will rise, and my body will complete what it started tonight.
The only question is whether I'll survive it.
And whether Father will let me live long enough to try.
I skip breakfast the next morning, hiding in my room while Sophie attends classes. My hands are back to normal…mostly…but I can't risk anyone seeing them. Can't risk Father noticing anything different.
I pull on gloves. Thin, black, the kind that won't look too strange if anyone asks. Then I check my mobile.
Seven missed calls from Father. Twelve texts ranging from concerned to furious.
And one new message, from Sophie's number but clearly not from her: Meet me in the woods behind the old chapel at 3 PM. Come alone. We need to talk about what happens in four days. - D
Four days until the full moon.
Four days until everything changes.
Four days until the trap closes.
I look at my gloved hands, remembering the claws, remembering my mother's screams in the nightmare.
The hunter never stops.
But neither does the wolf.