Chapter 2 House Arrest (Rowan POV)
The holding room in the administrative building was designed to contain werewolves, which meant it was probably overkill for containing me. Reinforced walls, a door that could withstand a battering ram, and a small window with bars that looked like they could stop a tank. The only furniture was a metal cot bolted to the floor and a steel toilet in the corner that had clearly seen better days.
I sat on the cot, trying not to think about how many accused werewolves had sat in this exact spot before me. Trying not to think about what had happened to most of them.
The silver marks on my arms had stopped glowing, but they were still there, still warm to the touch. I traced one with my finger, following its path up my forearm. The pattern almost looked deliberate, like it meant something, but I couldn't decipher it.
A Turning sigil. Someone had tried to Turn me.
The idea was insane. I was nobody, just a human scholarship student who'd learned to keep her head down and her mouth shut. I had no enemies, no involvement in pack politics beyond proximity. Why would anyone risk execution to Turn me?
And why couldn't I remember anything from last night?
I'd had alcohol before. I knew what being drunk felt like, and this wasn't that. This was a complete absence of memory, a black hole where eight hours should have been. That didn't happen naturally. Someone had done something to me.
The door clanked open, and Professor Winters stepped inside. He was carrying a tablet and wearing the expression of someone about to deliver bad news.
"Rowan," he said, sitting down on the opposite end of the cot. "I need to ask you some questions."
"I already told you, I don't remember anything from last night."
"I know. But let's start with what you do remember." He pulled up something on the tablet. "You attended the Harvest Moon party in the commons. What time did you arrive?"
"Around eight. Sage dragged me there."
"Sage Kimura, your roommate. Silvercrest pack." He made a note. "Did you notice anything unusual at the party?"
I almost laughed. "It was a party with three rival werewolf packs forced to socialize. Everything was unusual."
His mouth twitched in what might have been sympathy. "Fair point. Did you consume any food or drinks?"
"Sage gave me something. Red cup, tasted like cranberries." I paused. "I only had a few sips. I wasn't trying to get drunk."
"And after that?"
"I remember seeing people dancing. There was an argument between some Nightshade and Ironwood students over territory boundaries—typical pack drama. I remember thinking I should leave." I closed my eyes, trying to pull more details from the fog. "Declan was there. He was watching me."
"Declan Hale specifically watched you?"
"He always watches me. Usually so he can find new ways to make my life miserable." The bitterness in my voice surprised even me. "He hates me. Has since freshman year, and I've never figured out why."
Professor Winters was quiet for a moment. "What's the next thing you remember?"
"Waking up in the East Wing guest room. Wearing his jersey. With these." I held up my arms.
He leaned forward, examining the marks more closely. His expression darkened. "May I?"
At my nod, he pulled a small device from his pocket, something that looked like a cross between a thermometer and a UV light. He held it near my arm, and the marks flared bright silver, pulsing with that strange warmth.
"Advanced stage one Turning," he muttered. "The sigil is incomplete, but it's active. Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing." He put the device away and met my eyes. "Rowan, do you know what happens if a Turning isn't completed?"
I shook my head.
"The body tries to transform but can't. The magic has nowhere to go, so it starts consuming you from the inside. Without intervention, you have maybe seventy-two hours before your organs begin to fail."
The air left my lungs. "Seventy-two hours?"
"The next full moon is in three days. If the Turning completes then, you'll survive—as a werewolf. If it doesn't..." He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.
"Can't you just I don't know, remove it? Stop the process?"
"There's no known way to reverse a Turning once it's started. The magic is already in your system, already changing you at a cellular level." He stood up, pacing to the window. "I've sent word to the pack healers from all three territories. Maybe one of them knows something I don't."
"You believe me," I said suddenly. "You don't think I killed that boy."
Professor Winters turned back to me, and his expression was complicated. "I've known you for three years, Rowan. You're many things but you're not a killer." He paused. "However, what I believe doesn't matter. The evidence matters. And the evidence is damning."
"What evidence? Some hair that looks like mine?"
"Not just hair. We found your DNA at the scene. Blood, saliva, skin cells. The body shows claw marks consistent with a partial transformation—someone caught between forms." He pulled up images on the tablet, crime scene photos that made my stomach turn. "And we have three witnesses who saw someone matching your description running through the woods last night during the full moon, moving with enhanced speed."
"That's impossible. I can't—I'm human…"
"You were human. Past tense." His voice was gentle but firm. "The Turning has already begun changing you, Rowan. Enhanced strength, speed, senses—those come first, even before you can shift. You may not remember what you did last night, but your body was already something other than human."
I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the stuffy room. "Who was he? The boy who died."
"Tyler Morrison. Ironwood pack, sophomore. Good student, no enemies that we know of." Professor Winters sat back down. "His pack is demanding justice. They want you tried under pack law."
Pack law. Which meant a trial in the Eclipse Chamber, judged by the three Alphas, with only two possible verdicts: innocent or execution. No prison, no appeals, no mercy.
"I'm not pack," I said desperately. "You can't try me under pack law."
"You're not human anymore either. And you're accused of killing a pack member. They have jurisdiction." He put a hand on my shoulder. "I'm going to do everything I can to help you, Rowan. But you need to understand how serious this is."
The door opened again, and this time it was Headmaster Vance, a tall woman with silver-streaked hair and the bearing of someone who'd been breaking up supernatural fights for three decades. Behind her was someone I didn't expect to see: Declan Hale.