I dream of freedom.
I dream of being as far away from males as possible.
Stepping out of my room, I join the stream of hopefuls, my heart thudding—not from nerves, but from the anticipation of finally leaving this prison.
The Institute has been both shelter and cage, but cages aren’t meant to be lived in; they’re meant to be broken.
I’ve tried to escape once.
Okay, maybe more than once. More times than I can count.
But they always caught me.
Every. Single. Time.
But that won’t stop me. I’ll keep fighting. Their rules won’t define me. I’ll choose my path, and tomorrow, my freedom starts.
I’ll be me.
Unapologetically.
You see, the Institute is my legal guardian. And unfortunately for me, I won’t be free of the Institute until my 21st birthday.
Apparently, female shifters are just too fragile to handle the real world before then.
They should hide cameras in these halls.
They’d be shocked to find some of their precious protégées are demons in disguise. There’s nothing more terrifying than a young female shifter willing to do anything to get a male’s attention, especially if there’s an alpha in attendance.
The environment isn’t conducive to camaraderie when we’re all pining for a handful of males.
Some females can be downright cruel.
Take this morning, for example. I was minding my own business in the kitchen, working part-time to help pay for my room and board. Marcy, a rich and entitled shifter who has been at the institute for over a month and feels the pressure of finding a mate, decides to make a scene.
I was serving her food when she flung the plate full of chili back in my face.
“This smells terrible, reject. I’m not eating this crap. It’s as disgusting as your scars. Make me something else.”
“I don’t make the menu, Marcy,” I grit through my teeth, cleaning the chili off my face and carefully avoiding staining my favorite tee.
“I don’t care, you crippled freak,” she yells.
“It’s either chili or water,” I tell her evenly.
“Maybe you’re the one who should be on a water diet. Looks like you might have a muffin top there, freak. Another reason you’re alone,” she spits.
“Thanks for the tip,” I shoot back, eyeing her up and down. “But I’d rather be alone than… desperate.”
Her shriek is so loud that even the headmistress heard her from the other side of the institute, and I was reprimanded for being abrasive.
Apparently, a large bank account gives you bullying rights.
“Good luck, Luna,” a passing female whispers with a nervous smile, pulling me back to the present. She means well; she’s one of the nicer ones.
“Thanks, you too,” I say.
Luck isn’t what I need.
