Chapter 1

After my birth, Mother miscarried eleven female babes—each time, Father cursed me like a rabid wolf, blaming my very existence for the "bad luck." "This girl-child brought a hex on our bloodline! No sons, only weak cubs to die in the womb!" Grandmother would mutter prayers over empty cradles. Then came the Wizard, stepping from the mist like a wolf emerging from its den. Her robes were stitched with silver wolf's-head sigils, and her staff ended in a polished wolf skull. "I bring a gift," she crooned, placing a statue before us—supposedly the Goddess of Fertility, but its ceramic face held a subtle wolfish grin. "Place this in your shrine," she said. "It will sire a son strong enough to break the curse." Father nearly howled with joy, mounting the statue on the altar. Grandmother lit candles shaped like wolf bones. And soon enough, Mother's belly swelled again—this time, they swore, it would be a boy. But I saw the truth in the statue's cracked glaze. When the moon rose full, its hidden half would emerge: not a goddess, but a demon-wolf with glowing yellow eyes. I'd caught glimpses of it at night, when Mother slept fitfully, her hands twitching like a demon and her breath smelling of raw meat. They called it a blessing from Fertility Goddess, but I knew better. It was a wolf's curse, in blood and born of sacrifice—babes slain. Father loomed in the doorway, his shoulders hunched. His growl echoed through the hallway: “Another wasted litter.” Grandmother's nails—already sharpened to —dug into his arm. “The moon will turn again. Our true cub will come.” Inside, Healer's voice sliced through the air like a silver blade. “Hot water! Now!” Father's boot connected with my ribs. “Useless whelp!” he snarled. “Fetch it !” I scrambled up, clutching my side. Healer wasn't just a midmate—she was a lycanthropic hunter, her hands marked with wolf bite scars that never healed. With a single touch, she could smell the gender of a pup in the womb. Wealthy families lined up, offering blood sacrifices for her “gift”—and in return, she deliveBlack male heirs while burying female cubs in unmarked wolf families. Our family had paid eleven times. Eleventh times Mother's belly had swelled, only for Healer to declare, “Not a true heir.” Each time, the old crone's Black cloth emerged—emboridered with howling wolves—to wrap the tiny, discarded forms. Now, as I entered the room, steam curled around Healer like wolf's breath. Mother thrashed on the bed, her nightgown soaked in blood. Dark fur prickled on her arms, and her moans ended in animalistic whimpers. Healer bent over a bundle, she tucked it into the cloth. “Took longer to dislodge this one,” she hissed. I dropped the basin. Water spilled, mixing with the blood. Without waiting for her snarl, I fled. The air outside the room hung heavy. Every now and then, distant howls echoed through the night. Grandma and Father wore scowls that could freeze a river. The news of Mother's new baby girl had set them ablaze with anger. I did my best to stay out of their line of sight. But I dared not stray too far, for I knew that if I did, and something went wrong, I'd bear the brunt of Father's rage. Just then, a haggard old woman shuffled into the courtyard. Her tattered clothes fluttered in the wind, and her wild, unkempt hair seemed to dance with an otherworldly energy. There was a strange glint in her eyes. Father took one look at her and wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Go beg from someone else," he snarled, waving his hand dismissively. "We don't want your kind here, bringing bad luck with you." But the old woman didn't flinch. Instead, she smiled. "You've been yearning for a son, haven't you? Yet, every time, it's a daughter," she said, her voice low and gravelly. Grandma's eyes widened in surprise, and she stepped forward. "How did you know?"