Page 68 of Ruined Wolfsbane

“You can either drink the wolfsbane, or I can keep shooting you until you agree. Maybe you need a matching hole on your other side.”

“I’ll drink it,” I say quickly, not wanting to go through the agony of another shot. The wolfsbane will probably kill me. If Patrick gets lucky and hits an artery or my heart, I will die. Likely death is better than certain death.

Patrick flashes me a wide, smug grin that I want to punch off his stupid face. He shoves the wolfsbane brew into my good hand. Lifting it up to my mouth, I nearly gag at the putrid odor coming from the bowl.

This is going to taste like ass, isn’t it?

I throw back the glowing concoction and gulp it down as fast as I can. Yep, it is indeed reminiscent of ass. I cough from the rotten flavor. I haven’t had roadkill before, but I imagine this is what it’s like.

Handing back the bowl to Patrick, I ask, “Now what?”

“Now we wait.”

“For what?”

“For you either to die or turn into a wolf,” Patrick says casually while turning back to a rusty old metal table.

I choke on my spit, caught off guard by the second option.

Oh, I understand now.

Patrick is fucking batshit insane.

I’ve been kidnaped by a lunatic who wants me to become a woodland creature from drinking a toxic plant brew. What could possibly go wrong for me? A trickle of fear worms its way into my chest at the realization that Patrick’s gone off the deep end.

He laughs uproariously at my confusion, doubling over he’s laughing so hard.

Rude.

“Poor little Briar,” he taunts. “Did the Wyldharts not tell you what they are? I guess they don’t love you like you thought they did.”

I just blink at him in confusion. Whatever he’s smoking, I want some of it. It might make this whole “getting murdered by a madman” thing better.

I’m not sure where he’s sourcing his info from, but I never thought the Wyldharts loved me. Or even cared about me that much. My heart isn’t broken by them having their secrets. Although I highly doubt they’re in on this same delusion as Patrick.

When I don’t scream or cry or protest that they really do love me, Patrick glares at me. He lets out an inhuman growl that causes the hair on the back of my neck to stand up. I take an involuntary step back.

Patrick grins at my slight retreat. He starts unbuttoning his dark red button-down. He whips off his undershirt and unbuttons his black slacks.

Gross.

I so don’t want to see my stepfather naked. Even seeing his bare chest makes me feel like I need brain bleach.

I turn away and swallow hard. I’m not liking the direction things are headed. I surreptitiously scan the barren basement for some sort of weapon. Because if he thinks I’m going to lie back and let him do whatever to me, he’s got another thing coming.

“Oh, relax. You’re not to my tastes,” Patrick tells me in exasperation as he finishes undressing. That’s the most backhanded reassurance I’ve ever heard. I’m somehow both immensely relieved and mildly insulted at the same time. “I can tell you don’t believe me about wolf shifting. What better way to make you believe than to show you? I am surprised your mother didn’t tell you what you are. Maybe she didn’t love you.”

“Don’t you fucking talk about her,” I hiss. He better leave my mom out of this. If he’s attempting to hurt me, he needs to try a little harder. I know my mom loved me and Ava more than anything. If she kept information from me, it was only to keep me safe. But, again, I don’t buy into Patrick’s craziness that people can turn into animals.

“Touchy, touchy. Without you as a backup, your mother would still be alive. It’s your fault, after all, that she’s dead,” Patrick says with a wide smile, knowing his barbs will land this time.

And land they do.

I stagger back like he physically hit me. “You’re lying,” I croak, voice scratchy with disbelief and grief.

My mom died of heart failure. There’s no way I caused that.

But did she? an insidious voice whispers in my mind.

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