FIFTY FIVE

FIFTY FIVE
EWAN’S POV
My screams echoed against stone walls. Darkness pressed in from all sides, broken only by the faint glow of candlelight that cast Mother's face in sinister shadows. Her hands, usually so gentle when guests were present, gripped my jaw with bruising force.
"Open," she commanded, her voice cold as winter steel.
I clamped my mouth shut, tears streaming down my face. The bitter scent of the herbs made my stomach heave.
"You want to be strong, don't you?" Her fingers dug deeper. "You want to make your father and me proud?"
Behind her, Ronan stood with wide eyes, his own lips stained green from the concoction she'd already forced down his throat. His hand trembled at his side, fingers opening and closing as if he wanted to reach for me.
"Look at your brother," Mother hissed. "Be brave like him."
When I still refused, she pinched my nose shut. I fought, thrashing against her hold until my lungs burned for air. The moment my mouth opened in a desperate gasp, she poured the foul liquid down my throat.
Fire spread through my veins. My bones cracked and shifted beneath my skin. Wrong, all wrong. The wolf inside me howled in agony as something foreign invaded our bond, twisting it into something unrecognizable.
Mother's face blurred through my tears, her smile satisfied as I convulsed on the cold stone floor.
"My perfect boys," she whispered. "My Alpha sons."
I woke with a gasp, sheets tangled around my legs, sweat-soaked and trembling. The memory-dream faded slowly, leaving behind the familiar ache in my chest where my wolf connection should have been whole.
I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes, willing the images away. Ten years had passed since those dark nights in Mother's special room. Ten years, and still the nightmares came, fresh as yesterday.
My stomach growled, reminding me I'd skipped dinner the night before. I dragged myself out of bed and headed to breakfast, hoping food might chase away the shadows that clung to me.
I shuffled into the breakfast room and paused when I noticed only Ronan at the table. He looked up from his plate, chewing with practiced precision. Mother's seat remained empty, her absence like a void in the room.
"Where's Mother?" I asked, sliding into my usual chair. The cook had already set out my favorite—eggs with pepper and sausage. At least someone in this pack paid attention to what I liked.
Ronan shrugged and stabbed another piece of sausage. "No idea."
"You haven't seen her?"
"No." He took a sip of his juice, eyes fixed on some middle distance. "But I can't concern myself with that right now."
I raised an eyebrow. "Something more important than Mother going missing?"
"She's not missing," Ronan said with a sigh. "And yes, I have the academy to focus on. I need to make sure I position myself correctly to ensnare Ciara."
My stomach turned. I pushed my eggs around my plate, appetite fading. "How's that going? Has Saraphina given you any updates?"
His jaw tightened. "She hasn't been picking up my calls."
"Trouble in paradise?" I couldn't keep the edge from my voice.
"Mind your own business, Ewan."
I stabbed a sausage with more force than necessary. We ate in silence for several minutes, the clink of silverware almost too loud in the quiet room.
I put my fork down and pushed my plate away. "I try to get it, you know."
Ronan looked up. "Get what?"
"This whole plan. Mother's obsession. Your obsession." I gestured around us. "I really do try. But I just can't."
"What's not to get?" Ronan's voice hardened. "When Father passes, we lose everything if we don't secure our position."
I let out a sharp laugh. "How has Mother convinced you we lose when Father passes? Luna Marion might hate us, but all we're going to lose is political power. Our honorary title remains. We still get to stay in Silvercrest."
"With the crumbs of Luna Marion's children," Ronan snapped. "Is that what you want? To live off her charity? To bow and scrape while her bloodline takes what should be ours?"
"Do you even hear yourself?" I leaned forward. "Do you not want more in life, brother? Here we are plotting the ruin of some girl's life. How is that 'more'?"
Ronan's eyes flashed—a brief glow of amber that reminded me his wolf still lived close to the surface. Unlike mine.
"Do you have any idea how many Omegas have died to keep our secret a secret?" His voice dropped low. "Your empathy should not have tiers, Ewan."
"I don't have empathy for her." I stood up, my chair scraping against the floor. "You're becoming borderline obsessed with Ciara. It's easy to misinterpret that as something else."
I turned to leave, but Ronan's hand shot out, gripping my wrist. His fingers pressed into my skin, not enough to hurt but enough to hold me in place. His thumb moved in slow circles against my inner wrist.
"Is that jealousy I smell, brother?" His smile didn't reach his eyes.
I yanked my arm free. "You're choosing Mother over me. How can you do that after what she's done to us?"
The memory hit me like a physical blow—hot and sharp. Being locked in that dark room. The strange herbs forced down my throat. Mother's face, determined and cold, while I cried for help that never came.
"Have you forgotten, Ronan?" My voice cracked.
"She did that for our sakes," he said, but his eyes dropped from mine.
"You can't believe that to be true." I pressed my palms flat on the table, leaning in. "We both know she wanted to solidify her place with Father as his fated mate. She clung to that hope that we would be born Alphas. And when that didn't happen, she tried to force it."
My hands trembled. I looked down at them, hating their weakness. "It's still humiliating to shift, you know that? I have no connection to my wolf, and my wolf form is speckled. All because of her."
Ronan remained silent, his face a careful mask. But I saw the flicker of doubt in his eyes. A crack in his perfect composure.
"Sometimes I think you can still choose her side because your wolf still breathes inside you," I continued, my voice softer now. "Because your fur is uniform and not a splash of horrendous colors like mine."
His eyes darkened as they swept over me, cataloging my pain with a strange fascination. "Your suffering has always been... particular," he murmured, the observation feeling invasive.
I pulled away from him, straightening my back. "I hope you can see, even now, she's still using us. And we don't deserve that."
I walked out, not waiting for his response. My heart hammered in my chest, each beat a silent accusation against our mother. Against him.
The hall stretched before me, its grandeur a mockery of the rottenness beneath our family's surface. I needed air. Space to breathe without the weight of their schemes pressing down on me.
I found myself in the gardens, pacing the stone pathways between pruned hedges and blooming flowers. Their sweet scent did nothing to ease the bitterness coating my tongue.
My wolf stirred within me—a distant, muted presence. Unlike other werewolves who spoke of their wolves as partners, mine felt more like a prisoner. Trapped. Damaged. I couldn't even recall the last time I'd shifted willingly. The shame was too great.
"Ewan."
I turned to find Ronan standing at the garden entrance. His face seemed softer in the morning light, more like the brother I remembered from childhood.
"What do you want?" I didn't try to hide my weariness.
He stepped closer. "You're right about Mother."
I blinked, sure I'd misheard him. "What?"
"You're right about what she did to us." He ran a hand through his hair, messing up its perfect styling. "I haven't forgotten that room. Those herbs. The way you and I screamed and suffered."
The raw honesty in his voice caught me off guard. Ronan never admitted weakness, never acknowledged pain—not even his own.
"Then why?" I asked. "Why follow her plans?"
"Because I don't see another way." He lowered himself onto a stone bench, shoulders slumped. "When Father dies, Luna Marion will take everything. She'll strip us of whatever dignity we have left. I am doing this for me and for you."
"So we cling to Mother's schemes instead? Target innocent people?"
"Ciara isn't innocent," Ronan said, but the conviction in his voice wavered. "Her family has everything we should have had. Everything that would have been ours if Father had mated Mother properly."
I sat beside him, leaving space between us. "That's not Ciara's fault."
"I know." He sighed. "But it's easier to hate her than to admit we're powerless."
The truth of his words settled between us like a physical thing.
"We're not powerless," I said finally. "We just need to stop letting Mother pull our strings."
Ronan laughed—a hollow sound. "And do what instead?"
"I don't know." I looked out across the garden. "But there must be something better than this. Something that doesn't require us to become monsters."
"Maybe." He stood up, straightening his clothes with practiced motions. The brief moment of vulnerability was already fading from his eyes. "But right now, this is the path I'm on. I need you with me, Ewan. I can't do this alone."
The plea in his voice tugged at something deep inside me. Despite everything, he was still my brother. Still the boy who had held my hand through our worst nights. The boy I loved to death.
"I can't help you hurt her," I said quietly.
"I'm not asking you to hurt her." He extended his hand to me. "I'm asking you to help me secure our future. Whatever form that takes."
I stared at his outstretched hand, torn between the pull of our brotherhood and the knowledge that his path led nowhere good.
"I need time to think," I said.
He nodded, letting his hand fall back to his side. "Fair enough."
We walked back to the estate in silence, the gulf between us wider than the physical space we kept. But something had shifted—a tiny crack in the wall he'd built around himself.
As we reached the entrance, Ronan paused. "I should check on Mother," he said, his tone suddenly cool. "Her absence is... unusual. Even for her."
Something in his voice sent a chill down my spine. "Do you think something's wrong?"
His smile was thin, unsettling. "I suppose I'll find out."