Her skin starts to ripple.
I stand there, unable to move, watching as the wolf attacks her. She tries to fight back, turning wild herself. She claws the wolf’s flesh, sending blood splattering over the carpet. The fight doesn’t last long. She’s only human, and he is an animal.
I try to rip the wolf away from her, but I can’t.
Mom doesn’t stop fighting. She tears at him with her claws, each as long as her fingers, and shreds his back open, exposing muscle and bone. Crashes and bangs fill my ears as the sounds devolve into two primal animals fighting for survival, all snarls and growls and snapping teeth—
Mom goes still.
Silent.
There’s a small, tiny creak, quiet as a mouse.
Panic shines in the wolf’s eyes, his fur matted with blood, as he turns toward the door.
We both do.
Through the sliver of an opening, a little girl peeks in. Her gray eyes shoot wide.
And then she startsscreaming.
Wincing, I throw my hands over my ears.
I’m not the only one. The wolf tries to cover his too, staggering toward the door.
As she screams, his fur slowly recedes. The sound is powerful. Primal. It reminds me how I felt screaming before the crater in the wilderness.
The wolf turns into a man again, covered in deep, desperate scratches. He doesn’t make it far before he collapses to the ground, his hands over his bleeding ears.
Neither of my parents moves again.
I collapse, falling to all fours. Mom did try to leave. Dad just wouldn’t let her. My palms press into the carpet, wet and sticky with blood. Mom finally fought back. She had claws—I know I saw them. Her claws were the same as mine: long and light colored and strong.
Mom was a berserkr too.
One who never fully transformed either.
Helga’s words come back to me.Most berserkir remain latent their whole lives—especially women, given that society is always teaching us to suppress our anger instead of expressing it.Tears fall, splattering my clenched fists. Mom always tried to smile, to hide her pain, to act like everything was okay. That’s what kept her from fighting back for so long, isn’t it? Maybe angerisa weapon. It can be used to hurt others, but it can also protect you. If Mom had acknowledged and listened to her anger sooner… she might have left earlier.
She might have saved herself.
The door opens wider. Light from the hallway floods over me, shining on my face. I look up to see the little girl standing there, silhouetted by the light. She whimpers, rubbing her eyes roughly with her pajamas.Fat tears stream down her cheeks as she stands there, scared and alone.
My heart misses a beat. I almost didn’t recognize myself.
I crawl toward the crying little girl.
She’s always been here. Inside me. I’ve been ignoring her for too long, turning her away. I wrap my arms around myself. I don’t want to pretend things are okay even when they aren’t. By doing that, I’ve only been hurtingmyselfmore than anyone else.
Enough pretending.
CHAPTER FORTYAMUND
I don’t let go of Edith’s hand until we’re outside a moment later.
Edith stops. She looks up at me through long lashes. My heart aches at the sight of her tearstained cheeks. Without thinking, I pull her against me, crushing her to my chest. She clings to me like she’s desperate for something to hold on to.
I’ll gladly be that for her.
