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Chapter 2

Wolfless

Reika's POV

I stared at the little vial in my hand, my heart pounding with determination, and a hint of fear. Trying this for the third time this week, and I was praying, hoping this would finally work. The liquid inside shimmered, a strikingly captivating shade of purple that seemed to hypnotically swirled as I turned it over in my fingers.

I carefully uncorked the vial, the faint scent of wolfsbane curling up to my nose. My blues eyes widened, a mix of happiness and terror flooding me. I recognized it immediately—wolfsbane, a poison so dangerous that a single dose could bring down even the strongest werewolf. I had seen it work in my past life, and I knew how deadly it was.

My mind was clouded with desperation. This was my only option, wasn’t it?With a deep breath, I lifted the vial to my lips. My hand trembled slightly, but I ignored it, convinced that the only way out was through this. I gulped it down steadily, feeling the liquid burning down my throat, its taste sweet, almost tempting, but with a sting so sharp.

I closed my eyes, waiting for the inevitable-Death.Two hours later, I was lying on the cold floor-alive and well, staring hopelessly at the empty vial beside me. Clenching my hands in frustration, I thought. Had I been tricked? Or maybe I stolen the wrong one?

A voice in my head mocked me. You stole a fake.

"No," I muttered through clenched teeth. "I’m sure it was the right one." The vial in my hand, the scent, the color—it all matched. In my past life, it had killed my most trusted maid. Her cute face still etched on my mind, I could still hear her laughter. I wiped a tear that slid down my face. It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

I sat up with a groan, intense ache surging through me and I stared at the vial again. It has to work. I forced myself to my feet, my resolve hardening.

I crept into the smoky kitchen, my movements deliberate as I filled the vial with a bit of water from the vat. I poured the mixture into a wooden cup, watching as the purple liquid vanished completely into the water.

Taking one last breath, I drank it down in a single gulp.

At first, there was nothing—just the taste of the water. But soon, my vision blurred, and the cup slipped from my hand. I collapsed onto the floor, unconscious, the world fading away.

The next two days went by in a blink of the eye.

I pushed myself up from my worn-out bed, the weight of dread sinking deep into my chest. My feet hit the cold floor, and I shuffled over to the chipped mirror hanging crookedly on the wall. It barely reflected my figure, but I could still see enough. I stared at my face, searching for any trace of the werewolf traits I was supposed to have. There was nothing. No sharpness to my features, no hint of the wolf inside me. My heart ached, and I felt the familiar despair wash down on me.

It felt like my fate was stamped, that this life would follow the same painful path as my last. The same hopelessness. The beginning of my misery had always been the same: my wolflessness. I wasn’t like the other werewolves. On my 18th birthday, when every other werewolf shifted into their true form, I had stood still, unchanged, and had been cast aside as a disappointment. My family had abandoned me then, and now, I feared that I would face the same fate again.

I forced a breath out, trying to steady my nerves. "I've still got some time," I muttered to myself, though the words barely comforted me. I moved away from the mirror and made my way back to the bed. I lay down, pulling the thin quilt over me.

There was no yelling from Mama Riftan today. No calls for me to come downstairs and start the chores. Maybe they thought I was shifting in my room. But deep down, I knew I wouldn’t. I couldn't.

I guess they'll be disappointed. Either way, for a fleeting moment, the silence was oddly comforting. I closed my eyes, trying to shut out the feeling of doubts and disappointment gnawing at me.

The next day, I descended downstairs, my heart heavy with the weight of what the future holds. I had already accepted my cruel fate.

Mama Riftan stood by the table, her eyes narrowing as she scanned me. I could feel her gaze crawl over my skin, looking for something—anything—that might show I had shifted.

She stalked toward me, her large hands reaching out to grasp mine. Her fingers were thick, fleshy, and they felt like a vise as they dug into my skin. "Don’t tell me you..." She trailed off, her voice chilly, her eyes piercing through me.I could feel the tears burning in my eyes, but I fought them back. "I'm sorry, Mama. I didn’t shift."

The words cut through me like a blade. I hadn’t shifted, and I knew exactly what would follow.

Mama Riftan's face twisted in anger. "You vile child! You’ve embarrassed this family!" she shrieked, slapping my face with a force that knocked me to the ground. Intense pain shot through my head as it hit the floor sharply, but I barely registered it. She didn’t care. She only cared about the disappointment in my failure.

Her heavy footsteps echoed as she moved toward me, her large foot lifting to press into my stomach. "I should’ve drowned you in the bathtub when you were still a baby," she spat, and then she stomped down, the weight of her foot causing a scream to tear from my throat.

My body trembled, but I couldn’t cry. Not anymore.

"Go. Pack your things and leave!" she screamed. "We’re not feeding a useless liability like you!"

I shut my eyes closed as she walked away, her words echoing in my ears. When she was no longer within sight, I opened them again, wiping my face. I could feel the cold rush of determination flooding me. Then I will leave this place, if I can't escape my fate. It all started here, and it's only fair that it ends here.

Two days later, I stood at the threshold of the house, holding a small cloth bag filled with my meager luggages. It wasn’t much—just a few small, valuable trinkets—but they were all I had.

The house loomed before me, gray smoke curling from the chimney, mocking me. In my past life, this was where I had been kept, where I had suffered. Now, I was leaving, leaving for good. No one was going to stop me.

I turned away, walking toward the large, rickety carriage waiting at the edge of the village. This time, I would be in control of my fate, changing it for my benefits.

As I climbed into the bus, an aged woman sitting beside me gave me a soft, concerned look. "Are you traveling alone, child?" she asked, her voice low and kind.

I turned to her, narrowing my eyes in hesitation. My past life had taught me several things, and one was—never trust anyone, no matter how kind they seemed.

"I don’t have any family," I replied flatly, offering her a tight smile. The words felt hollow, but they were all I had, and it was actually true.

She nodded sympathetically. "You poor thing," she said. "How did your parents die?" She pulled out a jar of peanuts and offering them to me.

"It’s... it’s a painful memory," I mumbled, my voice thick with the convincing lie, before shifting uncomfortably, the old bag in my lap growing heavier in my hands.

She nodded in understanding, her face clouded with pity. But I couldn’t help but feel uneasy. There was something about her that set me on edge, like she knew much more than she was letting on.

But for now, I was too hungry, too desperate to give a care. I accepted the peanuts with a grateful bow, and munch on them. It had been so long since I’d tasted something like this—something so comforting and so simple.

We stayed in silence for the rest of the trip, the old woman talking softly to herself, while I never let my guard down. The world outside the bus passed by, unnoticed. I was lost in my own thoughts, trying to make sense of everything happening.

When the bus finally stopped, I felt my stomach knitted. The market was bustling, full of people hawking goods, children running about. The smells hit me all at once—the sharp sting of sweat and the pungent mix of food that made me wrinkle my nose.

As we leave, the aged woman smiled at me. "My son runs the local bakery," she said. "But he’s probably busy now. You can come by later if you like."I nodded, but the words felt distant. Trust no one, I reminded myself. But before I could even bid goodbye, I staggered, something knocking me off balance. A thief had snatched the aged woman's bag.

"Thief!" someone shouted, and I looked down, realizing my own bag had been taken too.

"NO!" I gasped, but it was too late. The crowd was already dispersing, and the thief was long gone.

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