Chapter 25 Breaking Free (Vivienne POV)
The walk to Father's hotel room at 7:58 PM feels like walking to an execution.
My own, possibly. Or his. I haven't decided which yet.
Sophie tried to stop me at the door. "Vivienne, are you sure about this? You could just... not go. Stay here where it's safe."
"Nowhere is safe anymore." I pulled on my coat, checking that my gloves were secure. "But thank you. For everything."
"That sounded like goodbye."
"Maybe it is."
Now I'm standing outside room 237, hand raised to knock, heart hammering so hard I'm surprised the entire floor can't hear it. Through the door, I can hear Father moving around—pacing, probably. He's been calling every fifteen minutes since six o'clock, increasingly agitated messages demanding I show up on time.
Well. Here I am.
I knock.
The door opens immediately. Father stands there, still dressed in tactical clothing from whatever he was doing today. His face is drawn, older somehow. Tired in a way that goes beyond physical exhaustion.
"You're early," he says, checking his watch. "By two minutes."
"Didn't want to give you another reason to be angry."
Something flickers across his expression…hurt, maybe, or guilt. But it's gone before I can identify it properly. "Come in. We need to talk."
The hotel room is exactly what I expected: neat, organized, covered in research. Maps on the walls marked with red circles and X's. Photographs spread across the desk…Declan, his teammates, various shots of the woods surrounding campus. A laptop displaying what looks like surveillance footage.
And in the corner, partially hidden by his coat: silver weapons. Knives, bullets, something that might be a crossbow.
"You've been busy," I observe, not bothering to hide the bitterness in my voice.
"I've been thorough." He closes the door behind me, locks it. The click makes my pulse spike. "Sit. Please."
I remain standing. "I'd rather not."
"Vivienne…"
"Was my mother a werewolf?"
The question lands like a bomb in the quiet room. Father freezes, his hand still on the door handle.
"What?"
"You heard me. Was. My mother. A werewolf." I enunciate each word carefully, watching his face. "Simple question. Yes or no answer."
"Where is this coming from?"
"Does it matter? Just answer the question."
"It matters because someone has been filling your head with dangerous ideas." His voice hardens. "Was it him? Did Declan Hartley tell you this?"
"No. I figured it out myself. Through research. Through observation. Through seventeen years of lies that are finally starting to make sense." I take off one glove. "So I'll ask again: was my mother a werewolf?"
He stares at my hand…at the nails that are too long, too sharp, almost clawed even in their retracted state.
"Vivienne, put that back on…"
"Answer the question."
"This is exactly what I was afraid of. You're listening to supernatural nonsense, believing in myths…"
"Stop deflecting!" My voice rises. "Stop lying! Stop treating me like I'm too stupid or too fragile to handle the truth!" I pull off the other glove, showing him both hands. "Look at me, Father. Really look. Do these hands look human to you?"
His face has gone pale. "What did you do?"
"Nothing. This is what I am. What I've always been. What you've been suppressing since I was born." I flex my fingers, and the nails extend slightly…not fully into claws, but enough to prove my point. "So stop lying and tell me the truth. Was. Mother. A. Werewolf."
The silence stretches between us like broken glass.
"Yes."
The word is so quiet I almost miss it.
"What?"
"Yes." Louder now. "Your mother was a werewolf. From the Silvermane bloodline. One of the oldest, most powerful families in Britain." He turns away, walking to the window. "There. Are you happy? Is that what you wanted to hear?"
I should feel vindicated. Should feel satisfaction at finally extracting the truth. Instead, I just feel cold.
"How long have you known?"
"I didn't know when I married her. She hid it well. We had two years of normal marriage before..." He stops. "Before you were born."
"What happened when I was born?"
"The labor was complicated. She was in pain, terrified, and she... lost control. Transformed. Right there in the delivery room." His voice is flat, emotionless, like he's reciting facts from a textbook. "The midwife ran. Your brother…Gabriel, he was four…he saw everything. And I..."
"You what?"
"I panicked. I thought she was attacking you. Thought she'd gone feral and was going to hurt the baby. So I..." He trails off.
"So you killed her." The words taste like ash. "You murdered your own wife."
"I saved you!" He whirls around, and for the first time, I see real emotion on his face. Anguish. Grief. Guilt. "She was transforming while holding you! Her claws were out, her teeth were…I thought she was going to kill you! I had to choose, and I chose my daughter!"
"Did she ask for your help? Did she say 'please kill me, I'm attacking our baby'?" I'm shaking now, rage and betrayal warring inside me. "Or did you just assume? Did you see her wolf form and decide she was a monster?"
"She was a monster! Is a monster! That's what werewolves are…predators who wear human faces until they don't!"
"She was your wife!"
"She was a lie!" His voice cracks. "Everything about our marriage was a lie! She never told me what she was! Never gave me a choice about whether I wanted to marry a…a creature! She trapped me!"
"So you killed her. And then what? Spent seventeen years making sure I didn't become what she was?"
He doesn't answer, but his expression says everything.
"The isolation," I continue, pieces falling into place. "The private tutoring. The obsessive control over what I ate, where I went, who I saw. The way you always checked on me during full moons. It wasn't protection, was it? It was suppression."
"I was protecting you…"
"From what? From myself? From my own nature?" I laugh, and the sound is bitter. "You weren't protecting me, Father. You were protecting yourself. From having to face what you'd done. From having to see Mother in my face every time I smiled. From having to admit you murdered your mate in cold blood."
"I saved you!" He crosses the room, grabbing my shoulders. "Don't you understand? If I hadn't stopped her, if I'd let the transformation complete, you would have died! She was unstable, dangerous…"
"She was in labor! She was scared! She needed help and you killed her for it!" I shove him away. "And then you spent seventeen years trying to kill that part of me too. What did you do, Father? How did you suppress my abilities?"
"It doesn't matter…"
"Tell me!"
"Magic!" The word bursts out of him. "I hired a witch. A powerful one. She created suppression spells woven into your food, your clothes, your room. Little injections when you were too young to remember. All of it designed to keep your wolf sleeping. To keep you human."
The injections. I remember them vaguely…Father saying they were vitamins, that I needed them to stay healthy. I believed him because I was three years old and he was my father and fathers don't lie to their children.
Except mine did.
"For seventeen years," I say quietly. "You've been poisoning me for seventeen years."
"I was saving you…"
"Stop saying that!" I'm screaming now, months of suppressed anger finally breaking free. "You weren't saving me! You were controlling me! Molding me into what you wanted instead of accepting what I am!"
"Because what you are is dangerous!"
"To who? To you? Because I might remind you of her? Because I might force you to face what you did?"
"To yourself!" He's crying now, tears streaming down his face. "Vivienne, you don't understand. The first transformation…it can kill you. Some people's hearts just stop from the trauma. I couldn't lose you like that. Couldn't watch you die the way your mother did. So yes, I suppressed your nature. Yes, I controlled your life. Yes, I lied to you every single day. Because losing you would destroy me, and I'd rather have you hate me than be dead!"
The confession hangs between us, raw and desperate.
Part of me wants to comfort him. Wants to be the dutiful daughter who understands Father's pain and forgives him for everything.
But a larger part…the part that's been waking up, getting stronger, demanding recognition…is furious.
"You didn't have the right to make that choice," I say, my voice cold. "My life. My body. My nature. You don't get to decide what I become."
"I'm your father…"
"You're a murderer who's been systematically abusing his daughter for seventeen years under the guise of protection." I pull my gloves back on, covering the evidence of what I'm becoming. "And I'm done."
"Done with what?"
"With you. With your control. With your lies." I head toward the door. "I'm leaving."
"No you're not." He moves to block my path. "We're not finished talking."
"Yes, we are. Move."
"Vivienne, please. Just listen…"
"I've listened for seventeen years. Your turn is over." I try to step around him, but he grabs my arm.
"I can't let you leave. Not like this. Not when you're so close to transforming."
"Let go of me."
"You don't understand what you're walking into. The transformation will…"
"I said let go!" I wrench my arm free, and in the process, my glove comes off.
We both stare at my hand.
The nails have extended fully now…sharp, curved claws that gleam in the hotel room's fluorescent lighting. My fingers are longer too, stronger, with fine silver hairs beginning to sprout along the knuckles.
"Oh God," Father breathes. "It's starting. The suppression is failing completely."
"Good. I'm done fighting it."
"Vivienne, no. We can fix this. I can call the witch, have her strengthen the spells…"
"I don't want it fixed! This is who I am! This is what I was always meant to be!" I hold up my clawed hand. "Look at this and tell me it's wrong. Tell me this part of me deserves to be suppressed and controlled and destroyed."
He can't. He just stares at my transformed hand with horror and grief.
"That's what I thought." I retrieve my glove, struggling to pull it over claws that don't want to retract. "You look at me and see her. See Mother. See the woman you killed because you couldn't handle what she was."
"That's not…"
"It is true. And you're terrified it's going to happen again. That I'll transform and you'll have to choose between accepting me as a werewolf or killing me to keep me 'human.'" I finally get the glove on. "But here's the thing, Father: I'm choosing for you. I choose transformation. I choose my wolf. I choose Mother's legacy over your control."
"You're choosing wrong!"
"No. I'm choosing myself. Finally." I unlock the door. "Goodbye, Father."
"Vivienne, wait!"
But I'm already leaving, walking down the hotel corridor toward the stairs. Behind me, I hear him emerge from his room.
"If you leave now, I can't protect you! The transformation will kill you!"
I don't stop.
"Vivienne! Please! Don't do this!"
His voice follows me down the stairwell, getting fainter with each floor.
"I love you! Everything I've done, I did because I love you!"
The words echo off concrete walls, and for a moment…just a moment…I consider going back. Consider trying to make him understand that love shouldn't feel like chains.
But then I remember the photographs. The weapons. The hunters gathering outside.
Father doesn't just want to suppress my nature. He wants to eliminate Declan. Destroy the pack. Make sure I never have a choice about what I become.
That's not love.
That's control disguised as concern.
I push through the hotel's front entrance into cold evening air. My breath fogs, and I realize I'm shaking…from cold, from adrenaline, from the weight of what just happened.
I confronted Father. Demanded truth. Chose myself over his approval.
And now I have nowhere to go.
Can't return to Thornfield House…Father will look there first. Can't go to Declan—he's too weak from the heat cycle to help, and I won't put him at more risk. Can't involve Sophie or Freya without making them targets.
So I do the only thing that makes sense: I run.
Not back toward campus. Toward the moors. Toward open space and cold wind and freedom.
My feet hit muddy ground, and I run faster. Gloves come off because I can't run properly with claws trying to extend through fabric. Coat gets abandoned when it tangles around my legs. Shoes discarded when they slow me down.
Just running. In stockings and shirt and the cold October night.
Running like I've been wanting to run since the dreams started.
Running like the wolf I'm becoming.
The moors stretch endlessly ahead…rough grass and heather, scattered rocks and the occasional twisted tree. No paths. No lights. Just wilderness under a waxing moon that's three days from full.
My lungs burn, but I don't stop. My muscles scream, but I push harder. My claws dig into the earth with each stride, and it feels right. Natural. Like this is what my body was designed for all along.
I run until the hotel is just lights in the distance behind me.
Run until my legs finally give out and I collapse onto heather-covered ground, gasping for air.
Above me, stars wheel across a clear sky. The moon hangs low on the horizon, not quite full but close. So close.
Three more days until the transformation.
Three more days until I become what Father spent seventeen years preventing.
Three more days until I'm free.
I lie there in the cold, my clawed hands digging into earth, my breath forming clouds in the night air. And for the first time in weeks…maybe in my entire life…I feel something close to peace.
This is who I am.
Vivienne Silvermane.
Daughter of Lyanna. Sister to Gabriel. Mate to Declan.
And werewolf.
Father can't change that. Can't suppress it anymore. Can't make me choose his comfort over my truth.
I chose.
And I chose myself.
The wind picks up, carrying scents I'm only beginning to understand…heather and earth and something animal that my wolf recognizes as prey. My stomach growls. When did I last eat? Yesterday? The day before?
Doesn't matter. I'm not going back.
Not to Father. Not to his lies. Not to his control.
I'll face the transformation alone if I have to. Face whatever comes after alone. Face the rest of my life alone if that's what it takes to be free.
Behind me, far in the distance, I hear voices. Father, probably, organizing a search. Coming after his runaway daughter.
Let him come.
Let him search the whole moor.
He won't find me. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.
Because the girl he's looking for…obedient Vivienne who trusted his judgment and believed his lies…she doesn't exist anymore.
She ran into the moors and didn't look back.