Chapter Two

I don't live in a cave…exactly.

Although my home is in the mountains, literally. Long, long ago, the original shifters built their homes here, and the pass that must be traversed to get here is rumored to be treacherous. Supposedly some of those who found the location originally are still among the living but if so, I've never seen them.

Only Father, the original as he claimed, and the servants who dwell in our home come into contact with me, and I cannot mingle with my lessers. As Father assures me any shifters in the outer world are. Less than him. Less than us.

I roamed the marble hallways in my ridiculous gowns and delicate slippers, nothing like the clothing worn by those in the films I saw on the small player Angie had brought me. It was easy to hide, but didn't have the advantages of one of the computers she told me about. I could see the people moving around and living lives I had no experience with. Groups of men and women and young people speaking with one another as equals and going all kinds of places.

While it was warm enough inside our home, carved out of the mountain, outside was permanently frozen, and the only living plants were those in the greenhouse. We did not grow our own food or anything like that. It was all brought in to us. What filled the glass-walled structure with its skylight and mirrors to enhance sunlight were exotic and beautiful blooming plant and flowers, their scents heady when I entered. Which I often did. It, besides Angie, would be the only thing I would miss when I left.

But perhaps not? There were many trees and blossoms in the TV shows and movies, and I wasn't quite clear, or clear at all, on what things would be like in my new environment. And I would be excited about all of that once I made it past the challenge facing me in the morning.

I didn't even bother to get into bed and try to sleep, just sat in a chair and watched the clock hands move. Father would be here early, and I needed to be ready to act as if nothing was wrong or changed. Fortunately, he would expect me to be up and dressed at that time, so I didn't need to put on my nightgown and pretend to be asleep.

Everything I'd learned from the DNA testing people was shocking, and I'd had a very hard time not confronting Father with it. He'd been a busy bee at some point, creating at least three sisters for me, but since he hadn't troubled himself to rear them or, if I understood correctly, even visit or contribute to their support, I guess it wasn't a big deal.

To him.

To me, however, this knowledge was huge and overwhelming. He'd never flat out said I had no siblings, only that my mother had died giving birth to me. Somehow, my romantic little soul decided that the loss had caused him to be as cold and unfeeling as he was. To perhaps be unable to love me for robbing him of the love of his life.

But learning he had these other daughters with who knew what mothers, cast doubt upon that and allayed a lot of my guilt for contributing to his loss by being born. They were all younger than me, although my age was cast in question, but from appearance, I had to guess I wasn't much older.

Which was particularly interesting because if he had so adored my mother, why was the whore dog spilling seed to the four corners of the Earth while she was in his life? Which Angie assured me she had been.

A daughter should love and respect her father, but he had always treated me more as a possession than a loved child. And how could I respect someone who denied me others of my own blood. Who else did I have out there? Other siblings? Nieces and nephews? Father was ancient, and he apparently could not keep it in his pants.

As the hours wound by, my fear turned to rage, and by the time the door opened to admit the shifter who fathered me, I was no longer concerned about giving myself away. He did not expect me to greet him with pleasure or anything. But even courtesy was a challenge. Hopefully this would be the last time I ever saw him, and how difficult was it to hold in everything I wanted to say.

But I had to, or he'd lock me in this chamber until he returned, with even Angie only allowed to attend me while guards stood at the door.

Father stood in my doorway, dressed for travel. When he shifted to whatever form he took, his clothing would be carried in the saddlebags worn by his wolf attendant. "I leave today for my annual journey, Daughter."

I rose from my chair, respectfully nodding. "Safe travels, Father."

He did not hug me, nor did I expect it. I'd learned as a toddler not to fling myself on him in search of affection. "Behave yourself while I am gone and do not shame me."

Like…how? One of the hardest things to do was continue to speak in the stilted way I'd grown up. The people in the movies and shows had a casual way of communicating I preferred but could never use around my sire. He'd know I had been exposed to the modern world. "Of course, Father. You may rely on me."

He turned and left. And I made a gesture popular in a movie about teenage delinquents behind his back. It felt good. Then I returned to my chair and waited for Angie to tell me the coast was clear.

Two hours later, I raced down the mountain path, the few belongings I was taking with me in the sack fastened around me. Two changes of clothing and a hairbrush…not much more. The folder, of course. Angie had told me how to go where I needed to get transportation to the Werewolf Academy. My sisters were there. My future, but as I raced over the rocky trail, I couldn't get over the feeling that Father was behind me. Watching, following.

It couldn't be this easy.