“For the last time, Daddy, I’m telling the truth. The partial Shift is real.

Abby saw it. Hel , Marc saw it. You know that.”

He shook his head, pacing back and forth in front of the fallen chair.

“Abby doesn’t know what she saw. It was dark, and she was upset and confused. She said the shadows scared her, for crying out loud.”

My palms began to sweat as I realized what an unreliable witness my cousin was. The council didn’t really disbelieve her. They believed she thought she saw my partial shift. But they also thought I was responsible for planting that belief in a traumatized, impressionable young mind.

My head spun like a Tilt-a-Whirl, possibilities flying past too fast for me to catch. “What about Marc?” I asked at last, clinging to the only other witness I had. “He’s seen it. Ask him.” Surely the Alpha wouldn’t doubt his own right-hand man.

My father paused in his pacing to stare at me in surprise. “Marc would say anything to protect you,” he said, as if I should have already known that. “He was humoring you before because you were devastated by Sara’s death, and this time he’d lie to save your life. Not that I blame him, but the council wil never believe him. He’s a stray. Half of them think his word is worthless, anyway. If you ask him to back up a story like this, his credibility will be shot for good. As will yours. This Pride can’t afford to lose your credibility any more than it can afford to lose you.”

No. I shook my head, denying that the council would discredit Marc. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. And even if it was, so long as my father—my Alpha—believed me, the council would have to. Wouldn’t they?

And that’s when I realized it didn’t matter. None of it mattered, because he didn’t believe me.

My head fell in defeat. If my own father didn’t believe me, who would? “What do you want from me?” I asked, staring at my hands, where they lay limp in my lap. “You want me to lie?”

My father was in front of me before I could blink. He bent over, his nose inches from mine. His forehead was red and wrinkled, his brows dark and furrowed in fury.

I tried to pull away. He grabbed my chin, squeezing it between his thumb and forefinger. Pain shot through my jaw. Tears formed instantly, blurring my vision. His eyes swam before me, pools of green even brighter than my own, magnified by the lenses of his glasses. I whimpered, too terrified to be embarrassed by the sound of my own weakness.

“Dad—” Michael began.

“I want proof!” my father roared. He actual y roared at me. From inches away. My sensitive ears rang from the abuse. My hands shook uncontrollably. I blinked as his Scotch-breath puffed in my face. I’d never seen him so mad. So scared. So terrifying.

I couldn’t do it on demand. I’d tried—over and over again—but it never worked when I was relaxed and calm, so what were the chances that I could do it now, when I was half-hysterical and scared shitless?

“Do it,” my father ordered, giving me a sharp shake with the grip he had on my chin.

My brain rattled in my skull. I blinked, and tears fell from my eyes.

“Show me,” he hissed. “Or I swear I’ll have you declawed myself to save the council the trouble.”

My chin still pinched in his grasp, I closed my eyes. Tears spilled over again, running down my cheeks. He couldn’t be serious. He wouldn’t have his own daughter declawed. Or maybe he would, especial y if he thought that would satisfy the council and keep them off my back.

But I couldn’t lose my claws. Without them, I couldn’t defend myself.

I’d be dependant on my father and his enforcers for the rest of what passed for my life. And I certainly couldn’t go back to school with my deformed, nail-less human fingers.

Panic clawed at the inside of my throat, trapping my breath. My heart raced, and more hateful tears ran down my face to drip on my father’s hand. I couldn’t live with that kind of damage. I wouldn’t live with it.

I squeezed my eyes shut as the first lick of new pain shot through my jaw. I recognized what was happening immediately; evidently the list of emotions that could trigger a partial Shift included mind-numbing panic.

Popping sounds filled my ears, my bones crackling like pop rocks. My father gasped, and his hand fell away from my face. I opened my eyes to see him backing away from me, still on his knees. His eyes were wide, his brows arched high in surprise. And in shock.

My gums began to throb and burn. My tongue started to itch. I clamped one hand over my mouth to muffle a moan as the pain intensified. The roof of my mouth seemed to buckle, and I tried to grit my teeth against the agony. But my teeth no longer fit together right.

Michael leaned across the love seat and turned on a table lamp, to see me better. And final y the pain began to ebb, fading from deeply penetrating bolts of agony into a dull ache, with the occasional twinge.

When it was over, my partial Shift complete, I let my hands fall away from my face.

I didn’t need to see my reflection to know I was monstrous. My father’s sharp inhalation said more about my appearance than words could ever have managed, and for a single, completely uncharacteristic instant, his unguarded expression left nothing to my imagination.

Michael’s choking sound only underlined the point.

Then my father’s horror was simply gone, replaced by a professionally empty look, which was especially irritating in that moment, when I would have appreciated a little wonder and amazement in reward for my efforts. Or at least some professional curiosity.