Chapter 5 - Framed!

🦋ALTHEA

My world screeched a stop. "No," I whispered, shaking my head. 

"You murdered an innocent life," she breathed, her voice dropping to something deadly. "You stabbed your sister in the belly and killed the heir."

The room spun.

"I would never—"

"LIAR!" She lunged.

I barely dodged, stumbling backward as her claws raked the air where my throat had been.

"Mother, please—"

"Don't call me that!" She whirled on me, eyes wild. "You are not my daughter. You stopped being my daughter the moment you drove that blade into her womb."

"I wasn't there!" My voice cracked. "I didn't—"

"Then where WERE you?" she demanded.

Silence.

I couldn't answer. I would damn myself in another way. 

"You have no answer," she said, her smile sharp and cruel. "Because you were there. In her chambers. Alone with her."

I shook my head frantically.

"Your scent is all over the room," she continued. "On her body. On the blade."

My stomach dropped.

"That's not possible—"

"Your cloak is filthy," she observed, reaching out to finger the dark fabric still wrapped around my shoulders. She slid her finger over the surface and came up with— "Fresh blood," My mother sneered. "The luna's blood, her baby's blood."

The stomach dropped as they dragged me to Circe's room.

—

 It was painted red.

There was not a single surface spared from the carnage.

Blood streaked the walls in violent arcs, as though someone had swung a blade through the air and let it spray. The floor was slick with it, pooling in the grooves between the stones. The bedding was soaked through, dark and heavy with the stench of copper and death.

And in the center of it all, on the bed, lay Circe.

The Deltas swarmed around her like vultures over a carcass, their hands glowing faintly as they worked to knit her torn flesh back together. Her skin was ice-pale, bloodless, her lips chapped and cracked like she was one breath away from slipping into the void.

But she was breathing.

Her chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged gasps, each one sounding like it might be her last.

I couldn't move.

My mother's hand clamped down on the back of my neck, her claws pricking my skin as she forced me forward, closer to the bed, closer to the horror I couldn't look away from.

"Look at her," she hissed in my ear, her voice venomous and cold. "Look at what you did."

"I didn't—" The words caught in my throat, choking me.

Circe's stomach.

Oh gods, her stomach.

It was slashed open, a gaping wound that the Deltas were desperately trying to close. Blood still seeped from the edges, thick and dark, and I could see—

No.

No, no, no.

I turned away, stumbling, bile rising hot and fast in my throat.

I vomited hard. My knees hit the floor as I heaved, my body convulsing as everything I'd eaten came back up in a violent rush. I couldn't breathe past the horror clawing its way up my chest.

"Pathetic," my mother spat, releasing me. I collapsed fully, my hands braced against the cold, blood-slick floor.

Someone grabbed my arm, hauling me upright.

I blinked through the tears, through the haze, and saw Yana.

She stood in front of me, flanked by two gammas, her face carefully blank. But her eyes were wide with panic and…regret.

"Tell them," one of the gammas ordered, his voice flat and unforgiving.

Yana swallowed, her throat working. She wouldn't meet my gaze. 

"I went to Mistress Althea's room this morning," she said quietly, her voice trembling. "She was not there."

My stomach dropped, my eyes went to her arm. It had been twisted. Backwards. 

Her shoulder jutted out painfully at an unnatural angle. 

What had they done to her?! 

"When I returned later, I found her asleep in her bed. Still wearing her cloak." She paused, her hands twisting together. "It was... dirty. Stained."

"And?" my mother pressed, stepping closer.

Yana's voice cracked. "I caught her scent. Outside the Luna's quarters. During the night."

Ice filled my veins. "That's not—" I choked out, shaking my head frantically. "I wasn't—"

"Liar," my mother snarled.

"I went for a walk!" The words burst out of me, desperate and frantic. "I couldn't sleep, I needed air, I just—"

My mother laughed.

It was a sharp, cruel sound, like glass shattering.

"A walk," she repeated, her voice dripping with mockery. She stepped closer, towering over me, her eyes blazing with contempt. "You expect us to believe that you—a weak, wolfless cunt—went out for a walk? In the middle of the night? During a curfew that was set because of the Silvermoth's attack?"

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

"And you just happened to come back covered in dirt and blood?" She grabbed my cloak, yanking it forward so hard I stumbled. "This blood, Althea. Whose is it?"

"I don't know—I fell—"

"You fell," she repeated flatly. "Into what? A pool of your sister's blood?"

"No!" My voice cracked. "I didn't—I wasn't here—"

"Then where were you?" she roared, her face inches from mine.

Silence.

I couldn't answer without revealing what I really was.

"Exactly," she breathed, her smile sharp and vicious. "You have no answer. Because you were here.

She shoved me backward, and I hit the wall hard, my head cracking against the stone.

She struck me.

Her clawed hand connected with my face, and pain exploded across my cheek. I tasted blood, my skin split into gashes. White hot searing pain speared me and I could not even cradle my cheek for any reprieve. 

I fell to my knees, my vision swimming.

"You will pay for this," she said coldly, looming over me. "You will pay for every drop of blood you spilled. Every breath you stole from her."

I looked up at her, trembling, broken.

"Take her to the cells," she ordered the gammas. "And send word to Draven. Tell him his whore tried to murder his Luna."

They hauled me to my feet, their grips bruising.

"Mother, please—" I choked out, desperate. "I'm pregnant—"

She laughed again, that same cruel, hollow sound.

"Then you'd better hope your bastard survives what's coming."

And as they dragged me away, I saw Yana standing there, silent and still, her face streaked with tears.

And I realized, with a cold, sinking certainty, that I was completely alone.