I look up at Cindel, thrown by her sudden question. Her nose is crinkled as she looks around my home with judgmental eyes. I don’t even want them in here. It feels like an invasion.
“I figured I’d just wear jeans and a jumper. There’s no reason for me to dress up.”
“Good.”
I look down at my foot and break into a cold sweat. Instead of panicking, I focus on breathing slowly, controlling my heart rate and pushing the fear down so they don’t smell anything.
Ever so slowly, I slide my foot across so it covers the three long red hairs.
“Right. Have you got our tithe yet?”
My head pops up. “Tithe? What tithe?”
“You live on our land, so you owe us a tithe.”
“This land does not belong to the pack-”
Another blow rocks me back against the couch. My head spins wildly, and it takes me a moment to be able to hear over the ringing in my ears.
“I was gifted this land from-”
He raises his fist again. I glare at him, furious and defiant.
“I was given this plot. It’s not part of the town; it's not part of the pack; it belongs to the witches that lived here long before the packs did.”
“You are not a witch.”
“I was gifted it.”
“And you are my daughter, and what’s yours is mine. So, you will pay the tithe or I will send people up here to take you back down to where you belong, and you can watch me burn this place to the ground.”
“No!”
“Then do what I want.”
“What do you want as a tithe?” I ask reluctantly.
“Three quarters of the vegetables, canned preserves, and all the meat you have stocked.”
I bite my lip on the protest. There is no arguing with him, if I even try, I know it will just end up worse.
But it’s everything I need for the winter.
You won’t be here in the winter; you’ll be tied to Jonas’ bed.
No, I won’t.
They stand and walk towards the door. Cindel turns back, peering hard at the floor. I break into a sweat again, waiting for her to say something that will probably get me killed.
“Didn’t you used to have a carpet?”
I don’t let them see how much her question relieves me.
“Yes, I got sick of it.”
She sniffs, and they walk out. I follow them onto the porch, silently begging the pack to stay away.
My father lingers, looking around, glaring as if searching for something he can use against me. When he finds nothing, he growls, low and threatening, before he climbs in to his truck and yanks the door shut. Cindel gets in like she’s relieved to be leaving.
