"You look perfect already. Stop fidgeting, Patrick," Cynthia scolded the doctor after he looked into the mirror for the nth time.
Patrick sighed. "It’s just the scar. It still..." He trailed off, gesturing vaguely at his face, the words refusing to come.
His family probably knew the story behind that scar, and would no doubt sneer at him for letting a werewolf get the best of him.
But Cynthia pressed a hand against his chest and said, "You should wear that scar as a badge of honor. You survived a werewolf attack. Not just any werewolf, but a cardinal alpha. How many people can say the same? Your family especially?"
Then, rising on her tiptoes, she kissed him briefly. "The world is yours tonight, my love. Own it."
A slow smile crossed Patrick’s face. He reached out, offering his hand, and Cynthia placed hers over it with a faint blush.
"Well, thank you," she said softly.
Hand in hand, he led her to the living room where his family waited.
"Well, look who finally decided to show up? Our own baby brother, Patrick Vale." Vera Turner clapped slowly, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Although, does your Alpha king know your true identity? Or the fact your name is fake, Elias?" Her voice shifted, eyes darkening with twisted glee.
"That is not the way to speak to your brother, Vera," Moria Turner chided from the side.
Vera rolled her eyes.
"Oh well," said a man at the corner, drink in hand, "I guess your favorite son is here."
That was Joseph Turner, the eldest son of the Turner family who were werewolf hunters, descendants of Gerald, the general who fueled the war between humans and wolves.
"Come here, my baby," Moria said to Patrick, arms stretched wide.
He walked over and embraced her. They held each other for a long minute until she pulled back and pressed a full kiss to his lips. "I’ve missed you, my baby boy."
From the sidelines, Cynthia kept her face neutral, though a frown tugged at her brow.
"Who is she?" Vera asked suddenly from behind, startling her.
Cynthia nearly jumped.
Vera smirked, that glint in her eyes sharp. "Is she yours, brother?"
"She’s not bad," Joseph chimed in, his voice too close.
Cynthia yelped again. These people really loved sneaking up on others.
He looked her over without shame. "Not bad at all." Then he tilted his head toward Patrick. "Can I have her for the night, Elias? I promise I’ll bring her back in one piece." The smirk on his face didn’t match the promise in his words.
Cynthia felt her stomach turn. Patrick had warned her that his family wasn’t normal. Coming from a dysfunctional home herself, she thought she could handle anything. But now, she wasn’t so sure.
"You will not lay a hand on her," Patrick warned him.
"Ooh, our baby brother’s finally grown a spine," Vera teased. She reached out and brought a strand of Cynthia’s hair to her nose, inhaling deeply. "She smells good too," she moaned. "I’d love to keep her when you’re done."
"Excuse me?" Cynthia stepped back, glaring hard.
Joseph chuckled. "That’s if there’s anything left to keep after we’re done."
"So I should take my piece now?" Vera purred. "Maybe just a lock of her hair. A keepsake."
"You will keep your hands off me!" Cynthia snapped, pulling a gun from her pocket and pointing it between them.
"Ooh, she’s feisty. I like that." Joseph’s tone was amused, unfazed by the weapon pointed at him.
"Cynthia, put down the gun," Patrick said firmly.
But how could she? The room felt like it was filled with hyenas, and she couldn’t tell which one was more dangerous.
Vera’s lips curved. "Or perhaps, I could help her do so." The words barely left her mouth before she moved fast.
Cynthia didn’t even realize the gun had been taken until it was gone, her hand empty and twisted behind her. The next thing she felt was cold metal against her throat and Vera pressed in from behind, her grip unshakable.
"Joseph likes guns," Vera murmured in a singsong voice, her breath hot against Cynthia’s ear, "but I like knives. I mean, I love the way they cleanly slice through the skin." To prove her point, she nicked the blade gently across Cynthia’s skin.
A sharp gasp escaped Cynthia’s lips as a thin line of pain bloomed across her neck.
Vera smiled. "See?"
Before anyone could blink, Patrick was already beside Vera, a needle pressed against her throat.
"Let go of Cynthia now, you crazy bitch," he said with a cold voice. "Or you’ll find out exactly what’s inside this syringe, and trust me, you won’t like it."
But Vera only chuckled, tightening her grip on Cynthia. "You see?" she said, eyes gleaming with an unhinged emotion. "Joseph likes his guns. I like my knives. And Elias likes his strings. But you don’t want to find out what mummy dearest likes."
"Vera." Patrick’s voice sharpened, and he pushed the needle in deeper till a small drop of blood rose on her skin. He wasn’t bluffing.
Still, Vera didn’t waver. "She knows about our family," she said with a light but deadly tone. "She needs to die."
Joseph sighed. "Says the one who told all of her boyfriends about us."
"And that’s why none of them can be found on the surface of the earth again." Vera burst into laughter, wild and wrong.
Patrick didn’t flinch. "Cynthia is the only reason all of you are here tonight. Otherwise, I’d rather burn in hell than summon any of you. So let her go."
"Vera, let go of the girl," Moria’s voice finally cut through the tension, tired and stern. "Patrick has come home. Don’t ruin that."
"Fine," Vera muttered. She shoved Cynthia forward with a scowl.
Patrick caught her and pulled her to his side without hesitation, shielding her. This was a mistake. He should never have brought her here.
But before he could think further, Moira stepped forward with a smile too wide. "Come, daughter," she said sweetly to Cynthia. "Tell me all about this drug Elias claims can kill werewolves."