Yelena Auclair lived in Portland since she was 9 years old. Moving from Canada was the only good choice that her father has ever made.
As anyone can imagine, growing up with an alcoholic father isn't the best childhood. But for her coming home to a...
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I hadn't slept. Not really. I couldn't close my eyes without feeling them—his hands—tightening again around my throat, the smell of whiskey sinking into my skin, the weight of his body pressing into the mattress as I kicked and clawed and—
I pressed the mug tighter to my chest. The tea had gone cold hours ago, but the weight of it gave me something to hold onto. Something real. I kept my eyes on the corner of the room, refusing to blink too long, refusing to let myself drift. Sleep was dangerous. Sleep meant vulnerability.
Every sound made me jump. The creak of the hallway floorboards. The tick of the kitchen clock. The soft hum of wind brushing against the windowpane. My body was caught in an invisible vice, braced for a blow that wasn't coming.
Not here. Not in Samara's house.
Florence was humming downstairs—something old and lilting.vA witch's lullaby. Samara had lit warding candles hours ago without saying a word. She didn't ask questions—not yet—but I saw the storm of them in her eyes.
I didn't deserve her. I didn't deserve this kind of safety.
"Do you want something to eat?" she asked softly from the doorway. Her voice was cautious, like she was trying not to scare me off.
I shook my head. Even that small movement made my neck ache.
A floorboard groaned downstairs. My heart leapt into my throat. My hands clenched the mug so tight I thought it might crack.
Samara was at my side in an instant, kneeling in front of me. "It's just Grams. You're safe here. No one's going to hurt you."
Safe.
How long had it been since that word meant anything?
I opened my mouth. Closed it. I didn't want to speak it out loud. Because once I said it, it would be real. And if it was real... then what did that make me?
Broken?
"Lena..." Samara's voice trembled slightly. She reached for me, paused, then just let her hand rest nearby, close enough to feel. "You don't have to tell me everything. But I need to know something. Please."
My lips felt numb. But the words... they'd been clawing their way up all night.
"He tried to kill me."
Sam didn't move. Didn't speak. Just listened.
"My father. Last night." My throat tightened again, but I forced the words out like knives. "I woke up... and he was on top of me. His hands were around my neck. I couldn't scream. I couldn't even breathe. He was going to kill me, Sam."
Tears slipped down my cheeks. I didn't even try to stop them.
"I didn't have any magic left. I couldn't fight. But I had the necklace—Flo's charm. You remember? She said it was warded, that it held a little protection spell."
