C6 Charlie

It wasn’t fair. Any of it.

Someone knocked on the door. I didn’t move or respond, and they knocked louder.

“What?” I snapped.

The door opened, and I caught a sideways view of light-brown hair and large chestnut eyes that reminded me of my own before recognition speared through me. I shot upright as Regan stepped inside.

We stared at each other for a long, silent moment. I hadn’t gotten a chance to take a good look at her in the basement, but now I studied closely the shape of her face, her stiff shoulders, and the way she seemed capable of commanding invisible armies with that death glare of hers. She had short brown hair and a too-serious expression, like she was already a leader, even though she couldn’t have been much older than me.

My sister.

I wish I’d known I had one before today. It might’ve given me a leg up on what the heck to say. I felt uneasy under her gaze, like a bug on a microscope’s slide. Something about it pinched a nerve and my frustration spilled over.

“What do you want?” I asked.

Instead of getting angry, she dropped her eyes and paced around the room. “This is nice. Dad gave you the big room. You should be happy.”

“Happy?” I barked out a bitter laugh. “I should be happy that I was kidnapped?”

Regan stopped in front of a big panoramic painting on the wall. I hadn’t noticed it was there until she gave it that same long, hard stare she had been giving me. It was a picture of open grassland, and wolves—normal or otherwise, I couldn’t tell—were chasing down a mountain lion. It was bleeding from bite wounds on its flanks and rump. It didn’t look like it had long to survive.

She turned, arms folded behind her back. There was something distinctly formal about the way she stood. “Our father is taking care of you.”

“He’s done a real good job taking care of me for the last seventeen years,” I said. Part of me felt bad for pushing her but she was so … blank. I couldn’t help but poke at her.

“What was it like?” she asked, surprising me into confused silence with the question. “The outside world, growing up out there, I mean,” she said, turning back to me with open curiosity.

“It was … normal,” I said with a small shrug. Then my brows furrowed at how vague I sounded. And before I could stop it, the honesty came spilling out. “I mean, it kind of sucked sometimes. My mom always made us move around so I never stayed anywhere long enough to make close friends. Now I know why,” I muttered. “And I didn’t have a dad or … friends,” I finished. I’d almost said siblings but caught myself. She didn’t need to know I’d always wondered what a brother or sister would be like.

“Sounds lonely,” she said.

“Sometimes,” I admitted, more grateful than I was willing to let on that she actually understood me so easily. “But sometimes it was great not worrying about compromise or pleasing everyone else’s agenda. And when I need time alone to think, I got plenty of it.”

Regan sighed heavily enough that I looked up. She wore a wistful expression and said, “Now that sounds nice.”

Silence fell between us and while the unspoken friendship bloomed, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this might be the nicest moment we’d ever have. Especially if this contest thing was for real.

“We’re enemies, aren’t we?” I asked finally.

“What?” Regan’s brows lifted and she blinked, but not before I saw the truth in her eyes.

“Enemies,” I repeated. “I mean, this is nice and all, you coming to my room and making friendly conversation. But in the end, if our father was telling the truth, we’re competitors. Not a great way to start off a solid sibling relationship.”

“Dad wasn’t lying,” she said, almost defeated. “We’ll have to compete for alpha.”

“But can’t we come up with some sort of compromise. I mean, if you and I both agree to refuse—”

“You can’t refuse, Charlie. It’s pack law,” she said in a lecturing tone that grated on me.

“Pack law,” I said, nodding. “Of course. And I know so much about it that I totally get why that’s such a big deal.”

Regan sighed, which pissed me off even more.

“Look, I don’t know anything about this world. Not your pack, not your laws, and not you,” I said, my voice rising. “You might share my DNA but you don’t know me so you can’t possibly be my family. You’re just a girl who is standing in the way of me getting what I want.”

“And what is that?” Regan asked, her voice dangerously soft.

“To go home. To pretend I never met a single one of you. Not even my father. If this is the world he lives in, I’ll take my boring normal instead. And until someone recognizes that and sends me home, I’ll be here. In this room. I won’t compete. I won’t play your little game. And you can’t make me.” It felt as if the day’s events all seemed to pile on at once and the more I talked, the more certain I felt that I meant every word.

“You have to compete, Charlie,” Regan said and it was all I could do to keep from attacking her. It was the only thing she could’ve said that would make this worse. “If you refuse, you’ll forfeit.”

“So what if I forfeit?” I demanded. “You can have it. Take the alpha spot. You seem much more prepared for it than I am.”

“That may be,” she said. “But this is it. There are no do-overs, no second chances. If you forfeit the competition, you forfeit the only chance you’ve ever had at belonging somewhere. More than that, at staying in the same place long enough to belong.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but she cut me off. As heated as I’d been a moment ago, Regan was just as intent. “Don’t try to deny you want that. I saw it on your face clear as day. You want to matter to people. You want roots. We are the only group that could ever possibly give that to you. And say what you want about Dad or me, but you care. I know you do. For better or worse, we’re the only family you’re going to get. Are you really prepared to forfeit that? To give it all up without a fight?”

I stared back at her until hot tears blurred her face. “I think fighting for it could be what costs me everything,” I said quietly.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

I laughed, but it came out more like a cough. “Something tells me you aren’t accustomed to second place.”

My implication hung between us. As did her unspoken answer: she hadn’t for a second considered I might beat her. I’d never felt less like a threat.