The Most Explosive Novel Since Fifty Shades of Grey

by BY LENA   Jan 17, 2023

In the heart-pounding paranormal romance novel, “Trapping Quincy” by NicoleRidd3y, Quincy, a human outcast amidst a despising werewolf pack, escapes her turbulent past in search of a normal life among humans. However, her world takes an unexpected turn when she encounters Prince Caspian—an enigmatic being who defies categorization.

EPISODE 1 My Golden God

Quincy St. Martin

I am an expert at picking locks.

When you’ve been getting locked in a room every week since you turned nine, you have no choice but to master the skill set.

Yet today’s lock is giving me grief. Or maybe it’s just the unbearable stuffiness in the attic.

I wipe the sweat from my brow, frustrated at its stubbornness.

When was the last time I ate?

Dropping my makeshift tools I give up, slipping into a haze of exhaustion. Submitting to it, I drift into the darkness.

I’m running.

As fast as my legs will carry me. I can’t catch my breath under the hot California sun.

All I have to do is make it around this next corner and…

I skid to a halt. A fence looms in front of me. I’m trapped.

I turn around and see him~. ~

He has his thumbs hooked into the front pockets of his dark designer jeans. His blue-gray Henley stretches across his broad shoulders and chest.

His golden hair glints in the sun. My golden god. Oh, no, no, no… He’s not mine.

He lifts his chin up finally as if challenging me.

This close, he looks even more breathtakingly beautiful.

His skin is flawless. Every feature is sharp like it’s carved from granite. The tips of his thick golden eyelashes glint in the sun.

His eyes are bright, vivid green, like fresh grass in early spring.

Somebody’s pounding on my door.

No, let me sleep. I’ve never gotten this far before.

The air sizzles between us. There’s fierce possessiveness in the way he looks at me, and I can’t tear my eyes away even if my life depended on it.

The sound of our heavy breathing is all I can hear.

“Quincy, wake up!”

No, please, just five more minutes.

He leans in. His full red lips inches from mine.

Splash I’m ripped from sleep as somebody dumps icy water all over me.

I sit up, spluttering and look around to see who’s there.

My golden god is gone. I’m not standing in the sunlight of California.

Instead, I’m in damp old West Virginia, staring into the prissy face of my nemesis and torturer supreme herself: Joelle.

She’s smirking at me like tossing a bucket of water over my sleeping head is the highlight of her day.

“Why are you sleeping on the floor?” she asks in her usual snarky tone.

“I don’t know,” I snap back, rubbing my eyes. “Why don’t you find another hobby apart from terrorizing me? Maybe something you can put on a college application?”

This seems to strike a chord in Joelle, because her face hardens.

“You burned the eggs yesterday, St. Martin. And now it’s time to pay the piper,” she cackles excitedly.

It takes me a second to remember what she’s raving about this time.

Oh right, I burned the eggs last night.

That’s why I am locked in the attic and now sopping wet on the floor.

So, I can’t cook. Sue me. Ever since I moved into the pack house, the whole pack has wanted me to be one of the cooks.

I told them that’s a recipe for disaster, no pun intended. Every time I set foot in a kitchen, somebody ends up on fire or in tears. And it’s usually me.

But I’m a human living among werewolves so I pretty much have to do whatever they say.

I groan and get up, ignoring Joelle the shrew as best I can.

She flounces out of the room with her pigtails bobbing stupidly.

Yeah, she literally has pigtails. Could she be more of a stereotype?

Making my way downstairs, I find Jorden, my cousin, already in the kitchen.

“Why are you wet?” he asks.

“I have this fun new alarm clock,” I explain. “It’s called Joelle.”

“Oh yeah,” he says, “she’s in an extra terrible mood today.”

“Why?”

“Haven’t you heard?”

***

The importance of today’s date had completely slipped my mind.

I suppressed it, worried about the rejection.

College acceptances arrive today. Or rather, they had arrived earlier this morning, while I sat in the attic picking a stupid lock.

Joelle wanted nothing more than to go to school in sunny California. Apparently, that dream was thwarted by a slew of rejection letters. Maybe the admission boards sensed her awful personality.

I had also secretly applied to schools in California, never once mentioning it to anyone, especially not Joelle.

I would have to sneak off to the mailbox after I did my chores out in the yard.

I pull a wheelbarrow full of mulch through the muggy backyard, helping the gardeners plant next year’s harvest. I miss the sunlight of my dream.

And staring into the eyes of my beautiful golden god.

Stupid Quincy.

I shake my head to clear it of those unhelpful thoughts.

I wish I had werewolf strength. That would make lugging this wheelbarrow all over the pack lands much faster. But alas, I’m only a human.

How does a human like me get to live in a pack house with a bunch of werewolves you ask?

Well, it’s a long story, but the short version is, my mom is a werewolf.

She had a drunken night in town in her rebellion days. Had too much fun with a human. Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo! Nine months later. Voil! Me!!!

So how come I’m a human, you ask? Doesn’t that make me half werewolf?

Well, technically, yes, but I smell like a human, and I don’t have that inner wolf in me to change into one.

Unlike others, I didn’t get the name of my werewolf whispered to me in a dream, signaling my change was about to happen in a few days’ time when I was thirteen or fifteen.

So I’m considered a human.

Who wants to be a werewolf anyway?

Who wants to change into an ugly, furry…but somewhat cute, yet fierce-looking animal and run free…and have parents who are proud of them and get treated so much better?

Well, not me. Obviously!

I guess that means I won’t be sensing my mate when I turn eighteen in a few days’ time.

Well, good! Who wants a mate who will be so possessive and restrictive…yet so protective and loving, no matter what?

I don’t need a mate! Nope. Don’t want it. Don’t need it.

My mom met her mate a month or so after she had me. She left me with her mom, my Nana, who was living on her own after her mate died not too long before that.

So, my Nana raised me. She was the only one who loved me. I lived with her until three months ago, when she passed away.

I feel my eyes stinging with unwanted tears and grit my teeth until they go away.

My Nana was everything to me. I would have done anything for her.

I’m even considering staying on the East Coast to go to West Virginia University because her last wish was for me to stay near my ‘family.’

“Human, pick up the pace!” shouts the meanest of the gardeners as I lag behind.

***

The TV is on in the family room when I finally get done with my hours of work.

My mom is sitting in the middle of the sofa. Jon has his arm around her. My half sister, Caitlin Rose, is sitting on the other side with her head on Mom’s shoulder.

Mom’s finger is playing gently with her soft brown hair. They’re a picture of a perfect family. Three sets of eyes land on me simultaneously as I cross the family room from behind the sofa.

That darn werewolf hearing!

Did you enjoy sitting on your asses all day while you made the weak human work? Like always?

I stare at them, and they stare right back. I shuffle my feet a bit, shifting my weight from one foot to another.

“I’m uh…gonna get some eggs for lunch,” I mutter. Nobody says anything.

“Well, okay,” I add, then awkwardly make my way out the door with three sets of eyes still staring at me.

Sometimes I wonder what it’s like to really feel you belong somewhere, you know. To feel like you’re really wanted, not just tolerated.

To be like Caitlin Rose.

Still, I won’t dwell on that. I have a pretty okay life. Real lucky if you ask me.

I make it into the kitchen without encountering anybody. I look around and find a big plastic container of burned eggs on the floor near the sink.

I groan. They have the money to buy a hundred cartons of eggs, yet they’re making me eat the ones I accidentally burned. Nice.

I lift the container up onto the kitchen counter and take the lid off. The awful smell wafts out into the air. I stare dispassionately at the black matter in the container. My stomach rumbles, but eating this is akin to eating soot.

“Oh, look! She’s going to eat those eggs!” Joelle exclaims from the doorway.

“We should take pictures of this,” her bitch clone, sorry, I mean her best friend, Kelly, joins in.

“No, take a video!” exclaims another girl.

A group of eight or so teenagers is standing behind them. All of their faces are excited. They are eager to watch me eat the blackened, burned eggs. All except Jorden and his best friend, Trey.

“Come on, hoover it!” yells Joelle. Her iPhone is at the ready.

“Awesome! We can post the picture so everyone can see it,” says Dan, another moron in the group.

I glance at Jorden and Trey. Jorden has his jaw clenched and his lips pressed together, while Trey avoids looking at me altogether.

I scoop the blackened mash of destroyed eggs, and they get even louder. I see their eyes bright with excitement. Stupid werewolves! Not enough entertainment in the pack house, it seems. They should get Netflix for this place. My Nana did.

I keep my focus on Joelle’s big forehead, and my lips stretch out into a grin.

Thwack! Bull’s-eye!!! The room falls silent.

Joelle has a big glob of egg pulp in the middle of her forehead. The black goo with a little bit of gray and yellowish mush is now dripping down her face slowly.

Then it falls onto the floor with another sput, splashing black goo. Her friends jump back.

“How dare you, stupid human wh*re!!!! I am so going to make you pay for this!” yells Joelle.

She suddenly advances. Her hands are tightly balled into fists at her sides. Her hazel eyes flash and darken.

“Hey! What are you kids doing here?” snaps old Mr. Maddox, our former alpha.

They stop in their tracks and quickly lower their heads in submission. Even though old Mr. Maddox is no longer our alpha, he still emanates alpha power.

“What’s going on here?” he asks again. Maddox is really old, though he is still tough looking.

“Get out of here. Leave the poor girl alone,” he shouts, his words echoing around the walls.

Something in the way that Joelle glares at me before she scuttles away with her friends warns me that this isn’t over.

Jorden flashes me a worried look before he disappears through the doorway.

“Are you okay, Quincy my dear?” asks Mr. Maddox, turning to look at me with concern.

“Uh…yeah. I’m fine…thanks,” I notice he’s moved in much closer to me now. Much too close. Before I can take a step away, he places his hand on my back.

There is something in his eyes and the way he looks at me that creeps me out.

“You poor girl.” His hand starts rubbing up and down my back. My skin crawls.

“I’m okay. Really, I’m fine.” I move forward, trying to get away from his seeking hand, but he steps in to press his body to mine. Oh, f***! I mean, fiddlesticks!

I pull away while forcefully pushing him back. Suddenly I don’t care if I will get punished for being disrespectful to a high-ranking werewolf.

“I should really get going,” I excuse myself, relieved to get away. “I have so many errands to run.”

Luckily, he lets me go.

My life is just great. I’m like Harry F***ing Potter. Treated like dirt by the Muggles until his golden god comes to save him.

That’s what happens in Harry Potter, right?

***

Just as I expected, there is a letter addressed to me in the mailbox.

Without even looking at it, I tuck the envelope under my shirt and rush to my bedroom, careful to close the door behind me.

Noticing the sender begins with ‘University of—’ my heart sinks, I walk over to the trash can to throw it away. Like I said, Nana wanted me to go to WVU, and I can’t go back on fulfilling her dying wish. Can I?

When I reach the trash can, something stops me from throwing out the letter.

I turn it over, and that’s when the return address catches my attention. It’s in California.

My heartrate quickening, I pull open the letter and read it hungrily.

Dear Ms. St Martin,

We are happy to inform you that you have been accepted into the fall class.

We can’t wait to see you here in sunny California…

The paper trembles in my hands as I look down at the printed words.

So many different emotions flood my body all at once.

The last school. The one I’d argued and argued with my Nana to let me apply to.

I had to apply in secret, all because something was telling me I belonged in California.

And I got in. I stumble back to my bed, fingers trembling.

I can’t go to California, right?

The laughing, carefree face of my golden god bursts into my mind. He probably doesn’t even exist. He’s just a figment of my sad, lonely imagination.

But still, can I really pass up the opportunity to see if he’s real?

Was my dream a premonition? Did that make me psychic?

EPISODE 2 The Dartboard

Prince Caspian Romanov

She stares at me, a mixture of fear and desire on her face.

I take a step closer. I can feel her heartbeat, hammering away in her chest.

A smirk plays across my face as the California sun beats down.

The girl in bed next to me rolls over and I wake with a start to find myself in my cold, hospitable guest bedroom.

Damn, it was just a dream. But not any dream: that dream.

A frown up at the canopy of my luxurious bed.

She isn’t real, I tell myself for the hundredth time.

***

BANEHALLOW PALACE, RUSSIA

My trusted assistant, François, is holding up my robe as I slip out of the rumpled bed. Long legs, tangled, and hands with perfectly manicured nails are sticking out from under the sheet.

“Wake her up and get Beckett to drive her home,” I tell him as I shrug my robe on, my mind still on the dream I’d just awoken from. It was the most vivid one yet.

“Your Highness… Where do you think you’re going?” says a velvety seductive voice from the bed.

A second later, a sleepy face with disarrayed ringlets of brown hair emerges from underneath the blanket.

“I’m going to bed. You need to get home,” I say curtly, ready to leave.

“But, Prince Caspian, we are in bed. I mean you were…”

She slinks out of bed in nothing at all and attaches herself to my back. Her hands start to roam my chest and my lower region. 

François doesn’t bat an eyelid. He has seen it all before.

“Come back to bed and I’ll make Your Highness very, very happy.” Her hands grow bolder. 

I pry her fingers off me and re-tie my robe. I don’t usually need to tell people twice what to do.

 “Why can’t we spend the whole night together?” I can sense her pouting behind me. She’s getting clingy. I don’t do clingy. “Why can’t I sleep in your bed?”

Nope, she’s going nowhere near my private quarters.

“Last night was magnifique, my prince.”

Of course, she would think so. I’ve been with her twice, and I’m already bored. She’s beautiful, most of the lycan women are, but this is the last time she’s setting foot in here. 

“What time is it, François?” I ask my assistant as I slip on my slippers before I exit the room.

“It’s almost four in the morning, Your Highness,” he answers after flicking his eyes at his pocket watch.

“Prince Caspian! Please…” I hear her whiny voice behind us.

“Make sure she’s dressed. Then escort her out,” I tell him, even though I know he needs no such instruction.

“I’ll make sure she’s out before anybody sees her or the queen hears about her,” he replies. 

I nod my head even though I couldn’t care less if Mother sees my latest conquest. Actually, it’s better if she does. I stop walking. “François?” 

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“Make sure to escort her out through the main entrance,” I tell him. My smile is widening. Mother will hear about this.

***

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” says my cousin, Constantine. He has no doubt heard the tail end of my instructions to François. 

“Oh, he knows,” mutters Lazarus.

My shoulders relax, and my mood improves drastically as I find myself among my trusted friends. I’ve reached the east wing of the palace where I can be myself. Where my pack members are. My family.

As the crown prince, I learned very early on, and the hard way, that not everybody can be trusted. Everyone wants something from me. Those trusted few friends that I have, I keep.

Lazarus is my guardian as well as my head of security. He also happens to be Constantine’s cousin from his mother’s side. 

We’ve been together for centuries. We are all the same height, around six feet five, but Lazarus, being one of our best warriors, is bulkier.

“What are you two doing out of bed at this hour? Don’t you have mates to please?” I say.

Both of them found their mates or rather, erasthai for us lycans. Lucky bastards. Their mates are also now part of our small pack. Lazarus found Serena, his erasthai over sixty years ago.

Constantine claimed Genesis three years ago. Both Serena and Genesis are like sisters to me.

“Genesis is accompanying Penny to the airport as we speak,” answers Constantine.

“What? Now?” I ask him. “My Beany didn’t even wait to say goodbye? She didn’t say anything about leaving last night.”

Penny, or Beany as I call her, is Genesis’s best friend. We’ve discovered that she’s the erasthai of Commander Darius Rykov, one of our close friends.

We’ve come to accept her as one of us, even though he hasn’t claimed her yet, much to our frustration.

She’s trustworthy, loyal, and strong…although very short tempered. I enjoy riling her up. 

“Something must’ve happened last night to cause her to leave. She wouldn’t say what it was, but she looked pretty upset,” explains Constantine.

“Darius did mention he wanted to mark someone else,” retorts Lazarus.

“Then he’s a fool!” I growl. I can’t believe he could even think of marking someone else when he’s found his erasthai.

“Don’t get involved,” warns Lazarus. I’m making no such promises. 

“Yeah, you’re in a lot of trouble yourself, Caspian,” agrees Constantine.

“There’s going to be hell to pay when the queen hears about your latest indiscretion. Leaving through the main entrance no less.”

He shakes his head at my newest stunt. “Hell’s going to explode.”

Oh, I’m counting on it.

 I grin and pull the door open as we reach my bedchamber. I give them a quick salute before I disappear inside. I’m waiting for hell to explode.

 

***

There’s always tension between Mother and me. As the crown prince, I have a responsibility to mate and take over the throne from my father.

My mother, Queen Sophia, has made her choice clear in the form of Lady Celeste, the daughter of one of her closest friends. 

Forget the idea of finding my erasthai. Mark Lady Celeste and be crowned king.

As a lycan, we are born to recognize the one. Our erasthai. Our life force.

The one who calls for our soul. The one who would mold to fit us even more so physically, mentally, and spiritually once we mark and claim her as ours.

I may be a player, but when you’ve lived for hundreds of years, searching, loneliness creeps in.

I know that no amount of meaningless hookups can make me feel whole.

All the women I hook up with know the score. They’re mostly sophisticated socialites. Definitely no blushing virgins. They know what they’re in for. Just some fun.

Still, some grow clingy. Most of them hope to be the next queen.

I refuse to mark just anyone. Marking anyone else will never satisfy my soul. Definitely not Lady Celeste. I will find my erasthai one day. I need to find her.

As expected, hell did explode. My mother and I had a huge argument that very morning. 

The argument had me destroy some parts of the palace, including my own bedchamber.

The fight also had the expected result: my father, King Alexandros, encouraged me to take a break. That meant I was free to stay away from Banehallow Palace and Russia for a few years. I have a plan. 

***

 “Come on, Red, throw the dart already,” I urge Genesis after my last dart lands somewhere in the middle of Lake Huron.

Yeah, that’s right. My grand plan is throwing a dart on the map to figure out where we’re going to spend the next few years.

“This is stupid, Caspian. Throwing the dart? Really? Why can’t we just pick a good college that offers a good program that we like, apply to like normal people do, and just go?”

Boring.

“That’s a stupid way to do it. Besides, this is more fun,” I say. “Look, the last time I did it, you ended up meeting Constantine. You still think it’s stupid?”

At least I plan on going to college instead of a high school like the last time. These people should be thankful. Where’s the gratitude. 

“Fine!!!! Give me that thing!” she exclaims in annoyance.

I swear by the look in her eyes that she would rather stick that dart on my forehead instead. Oh, Red.

I know it annoys her when I call her Red, but with her distinctive red hair and craziness, it fits. 

“Did you tell everyone else that this is how you decide they’re spending the next few years of their lives? By throwing a dart at the map?”

She closes her eyes and prepares to aim.

“Nope! You’re the only one I let in on the secret. You should feel honored, Red.”

The dart whizzes through the air and lands right on the edge of the USA. Near the ocean.

“Where’s that?” asks Red, peering at the dart. It lands right on the border between two states.

“I think it’s Oregon,” says Constantine, who just walked in. 

Genesis peers at the dart. “No, it looks more like California to me.” 

Constantine gets up in a huff and comes over, pointing at the dart.

“That’s clearly Oregon. You’re very blind for a wolf.”

They both turn to me to break the tie. The dart looks like it’s in Oregon to me.

I open my mouth to say as much, but then think better of it. For some reason, the idea of going to California is growing on me.

I can’t put my finger on it, but it feels like that’s where I’m supposed to be.

“The dart has spoken. Pack your bags. We’re going to California.”

EPISODE 3 Slippery Eyeballs

Quincy St. Martin

I miss my Nana. I miss my Nana’s old house. I miss my Nana’s cooking.

Coming home from school, there was always the smell of food cooking on the stove or fresh bread baking in the oven as soon as I opened the front door.

I’ve lost quite a lot of weight since I moved to the pack house. I’m constantly hungry. My cousin Jorden did say I’m such a pig when it comes to food. Well, at least I get to go on a diet here, though not voluntarily.

I’ve been in trouble so many times since I’ve been here I’ve lost count.

I’m not very good at being sweet all the time and not fighting back when pushed into a corner, and they can’t seem to leave me alone.

Fighting back is what lands me in trouble all the time, not to mention being hungry.

The image of the roast beef with gravy, mashed potatoes, and Yorkshire puddings that I know they had for dinner tonight keeps floating into my mind.

I smelled it all when they were having dinner. Now I could almost taste it in my mouth.

To stop myself from thinking about food, I pull out the letter of acceptance from West Virginia University from under my pillow.

Last night, after agonized hours tossing and turning in my bed, I finally made my decision. I have to fulfill my Nana’s dying wish. West Virginia, it is.

But I couldn’t throw away the acceptance letter from California.

I hid it somewhere very secure, where only I’d be able to find it. Now it’s time to focus on WVU. And more importantly, how I’m going to pay for it. Nana had been saving money for my education since I was very little.

 

I used to work in the evenings after school and full-time in the summer to add some money to the fund. It wasn’t much, but with the savings and the financial aid I’ll be getting, and me working part-time, I think I’ll get by.

My stomach makes a loud growling sound again. Oh, fight me! You’re not the boss of me!

This is what I am reduced to…fighting with my own stomach. It’s sorta hard to fall asleep when you’re fighting with your stomach.

***

It’s ten in the morning, and I’ve already cleaned three washrooms. I’m feeling very accomplished.

Some people might argue that I’m very slow since I still have eight more washrooms and twenty-five bathrooms to go but…whatever. There are eleven washrooms and twenty-five bathrooms in this pack house that I’m supposed to clean twice a week.

That has been my job from the very first day I was moved here. I also do the laundry.

They wanted to add the cooking. Well, we all know how that went.

Come to think of it; I’m pretty crappy at cleaning the washrooms and doing the laundry too.

Last week, a whole load of laundry turned purple. It’s all rather a pretty shade of lavender if you ask me.

I don’t know what the fuss is all about. Manly warriors turning up for practice in lovely lavender shirts? I dig that. If I have to be honest though, I admit that I’m not good at much around here.

I make the worst unpaid maid ever. Pretty close to being useless.

I groan and shudder involuntarily when I open the men’s washroom on the main floor. Men here are such pigs. Why can’t they aim properly? It’s not like they don’t have the chance to practice shooting the target every day!

 

Ughh. I hate cleaning their washroom. I’m not a fan of chores, but I understand that I have to pull my weight since I’m staying here for free.

My biggest nightmare is that I will be stuck as an unpaid maid in the pack house forever.

An unpaid maid. I decided to go with that word because it sounds prettier than the word slave.

“There you are,” says Joelle.

There’s a satisfied smirk on her face as she stands by the door, watching me on my knees, scrubbing the toilet bowl.

“My father wants to see you.”

Ahhh. the beta, my uncle, or Beta St. Martin as I’m supposed to call him.

The last time I was officially summoned to his office was when he delivered the news that they were selling Nana’s house and moving me here, into the pack house.

The hateful glare that Joelle gives me tells me that she hasn’t forgotten last night’s incident.

The gleeful glint in her eyes warns me that she will enjoy what happens in the next few moments of my life.

I throw the rubber gloves I’ve been using onto the floor and curb the urge to show her my middle finger as I walk past her. I know Joelle has never scrubbed a toilet once in her life.

No daughters or sons of high-ranking werewolves, meaning the alphas or the betas, are required to do such chores.

Those are reserved for the lowly omegas, or a human like me. Joelle follows me inside and closes the door behind us as soon as I step inside Beta St. Martin’s office.

“Finally, you found her, princess,” says the beta to his daughter.

Yeah, she deserves a trophy for finding me. A big accomplishment there!

I feel all eyes are on me. What? Did I just say that out loud?

Maria, Beta St. Martin’s mate, lifts her eyebrows in disdain. Her lips turn down at the corners disapprovingly as she surveys my appearance. So I’m not in designer jeans or an expensive top like Joelle. All my outfits came from Target or Walmart, but at least I’m not naked. Ha!

The room is just as I remember it. It’s a good-sized office but bland, in my opinion. The walls are beige, and the furniture is mainly oversized dark leather.

No paintings or anything on the wall, except for a few pictures of his family and a large map of their pack’s territory, the Loup Noir Pack, behind his desk.

The beta himself is sitting in his office chair behind a smooth oak table. My mom and Caitlin Rose are sharing a love seat.

Beta St. Martin’s mate is sitting on a big leather sofa. Joelle walks over and sits beside her mom. I glance at Jorden, who is sitting in a chair by the corner, a bit farther away from everybody. It seems like he’s trying to distance himself from everybody else.

As soon as my eyes meet his, Jorden shifts his eyes to stare broodingly at the tip of his black boots. That right there is already a sign that I’m not going to like what’s going to happen next.

“Grab yourself a seat, Quincy,” says Beta St. Martin.

I don’t want to be here, but I square my shoulders and reluctantly take my seat in the only available chair directly facing the beta. He skims through the files he has in front of him and pulls out a few documents.

“We’re dividing my mother’s assets among us, and I’m acting as the executor of the will. Since my mother didn’t leave a will, it’s up to me to execute it accordingly.”

So they’re dividing my Nana’s worldly belongings among themselves? I thought my Nana had left a will, but I might be mistaken.

“Since you weren’t anywhere to be found, Quincy, we’ve discussed that all the assets, including the sale of her property, will be divided between my sister and me,” he says.

Okay, I had expected that most of the money and possessions would go to him and my mother.

“Now, my mother also had some savings in a couple of accounts. There is one account under her name, which doesn’t have much.”

He’s decided that all the money should go to all her four grandkids—Jorden, Joelle, Caitlin Rose, and me. Each of us will get three hundred dollars.

“Another account is a joint account between Mother and Quincy,” he continues.

“Quincy, since you’re still underage, living here, and you’re under our guardianship, you won’t be needing it. The money will go toward your accommodation, food, and other expenses here.”

Wait! What? “Wait a minute! That money is for my education!” I spring up from my chair. “And I don’t want to live here!”

I worked hard for half of that money! Babysitting since I was twelve, snow shoveling in the winter, and mowing lawns in the summer for humans. I worked at the stores in town, basically doing anything I could to earn money. All year round.

“I need that money for college,” I say.

“College?” He lifts an eyebrow. Then he laughs. He laughs!

His wife and Joelle join him laughing.

“You mean this one?” He picks up a familiar-looking envelope from the table.

My WVU acceptance letter and the whole package that came with it. It was in my room. How did he get it? I turn to look at Caitlin Rose, who just smirks at me and then at my mom, who won’t even look at me in the eyes. She never really looks at me in the eyes.

“Oh, Quincy. Whoever filled your head with such nonsense?” says Maria, still laughing.

“You’re not going to make it out there. You’ve never been anywhere but here. It’s a dangerous and scary world outside. You don’t know what it’s like,” adds Beta St. Martin. “Be thankful that we’re kind enough to shelter you and keep you safe here.”

Just for a second, I waver. I know I’ve never been anywhere outside of the Loup Noir Pack territory. Is it really scary out there?

If it’s that dangerous, why did Nana encourage me to go? Nana believed I could do it. These people don’t know me.

“I still want to go,” I tell him. My voice surprisingly sounds confident and strong.

He narrows his eyes into calculative slits before he tears the envelope, along with its contents, into two and drops it into a trashcan beside his table.

Noooo!!!!

“I told you, you’re not going anywhere, and that’s that,” he says, using his commanding voice on me.

I feel the blood rushing to my head and hear my own pulse beating in my ear. I feel my hatred level for him rising.

“You are not to leave this place,” he adds more forcefully. Does he not know that his beta mojo or voodoo power or whatever doesn’t work on me?

“You’re Beta Asshole!” I blurt out.

I hear gasps from the people in the room. I’m about to open my mouth again when his big hand clamps around my neck. The intense, painful pressure on my windpipe stops the oxygen that I try to draw in. My heartbeat skyrockets. In a panic, I start to claw at his hand.

It stops as fast as it begins. The next instant, I’m free again, staggering on the floor.

I drag in a gasp of air with a wheezing sound and touch my throat, feeling lightheaded.

“You almost killed her!” growls Jorden. I look up to see Jorden standing with his feet braced apart, facing his father. His hands are gripping his father’s arm.

Beta St. Martin shakes Jorden’s hands off and snarls down at me. His eyes flash dangerously, reminding me what they are. Werewolves.

I don’t trust him at all. I don’t trust any of them. Not for a minute.

“Somebody should teach her a lesson. She should have been taught her place! My mother seemed to have done a very poor job of it.” He moves away from Jorden.

My eyes follow his every movement, just in case he’s coming to finish what he started.

He rounds his table and takes his seat, his mouth stretching out into a cold, sinister, and calculative smile. He picks up the check from the table and casually tears it into two.

“Three hundred dollars is too generous for you,” he says.

I clamp my mouth shut and ball my fists tightly until I feel the sharp pain on the skin of my palms.

“You may go now. We’ve nothing else to discuss,” he says, dismissing me.

***

I’ve locked myself in the darkness and the stuffiness of my room since this morning. I can still feel his hand on my throat. There’s an angry red mark around my neck. It hurts to swallow.

For the first time in my life, I feel truly hopeless and helpless. Not even after Nana’s passing did I feel this helpless. True, I was devastated for losing the only person who loved me, but I was more determined than ever to leave this place.

Now I don’t own enough to even make it out of here.

Well, it isn’t so bad living in the pack house forever when…

Who needs to go to college when, when… Well, at least I’m alive. Maybe I’ll come up with a better positive reason tomorrow.

When a situation or people fail me, I make up excuses all the time. Sometimes I believe my own lies, sometimes I don’t. It doesn’t matter.

This time I feel my shoulders slump in defeat. I didn’t see my mom coming to my rescue when her brother had his hands around my neck. This time I can’t find the right excuses for the stranger I call Mom.

These people… No, these werewolves really want to break me. Every day I keep my head up and find a reason to smile. Today, I really feel defeated. I feel the walls closing in.

I miss my Nana more than ever. I hug Oliver, my tattered teddy bear, close to my heart.

I’m not feeling sorry for myself. I’m not feeling sorry for myself. I’m not feeling sorry for myself.

My Nana didn’t raise a weakling or a whiner. Still, tears leak from my eyes.

Nana said tears are not a sign of weakness. She said sometimes you need to cry to wash away the dirt from your eyes so you can see better.

Just don’t do it too often. Otherwise, your eyeballs get too slippery and they fall out of your eye sockets. I don’t cry very often, so my eyeballs aren’t that slippery.

So I let my tears flow freely tonight.

Immerse Yourself In

READ NOW