Claimed by the Lycan Triplets

Thorns

Chapter 2



Annalise

It had been two weeks since I stumbled across the truth—or at least what I thought was the truth.

The library at Thalvion was a labyrinth of knowledge, and I had spent hours buried in its shelves, combing through ancient texts on witches and their spells. That’s when I found it: a passage about a rare breed of witches. Evil ones, leeches of their kind. The text described their telltale sign—a birthmark on the nape of their necks. Most had been hunted and burned, but the few who survived went into hiding, masking their true nature.

It all clicked into place.

Petunia wasn’t human. She was one of them. I had seen the mark on her nape before—an odd, twisted shape I had dismissed as a scar or blemish. But now, I know better. The pieces fit too perfectly to be a coincidence. She wasn’t just an evil stepmother in the figurative sense. She was an actual evil witch, manipulating my father and slowly taking over our lives.

Willow, on the other hand, didn’t bear the mark. I checked a dozen times when she wasn’t looking, hoping for confirmation that she was merely her mother’s pawn, not something more sinister.

I needed answers, a way to break the curse. But the more I read, the grimmer it became. These witches didn’t record their spells in books; they burned them, keeping their knowledge to themselves. Their magic was unique, impossible to trace.

Still, I knew Petunia was responsible. The more I observed her, the more certain I became—until the mark disappeared.

One day it was there, faint but undeniable. Two days later, it was gone. Then it reappeared, only to vanish again.

Was I hallucinating? Making all this up to cope with the cruelty I endured?

I didn’t know what to believe anymore.

But one thing was clear: Petunia was a witch. Evil. Manipulative. Dangerous. And I had to prove it—not just to save myself but to free my father from her grasp.

I just had to find a way to expose her before it was too late.

Petunia had been relentless in her attempts to get Willow into Thalvion Academy, but no matter how many times she hexed my father or charmed the officials, she failed. And for once, I felt relief. Thalvion was my sanctuary, the one place I didn’t have to endure their constant torment.

Still, doubts crept into my mind sometimes. What if Willow wasn’t a werewolf at all? What if she was just as much an evil witch as her mother? She must’ve inherited something from Petunia’s side, but I’d never seen the mark on her.

Maybe it was hidden. It had taken me four years to catch glimpses of Petunia’s mark. What if Willow was simply better at hiding hers?

Either way, I wanted them gone—both of them.

But my escape wasn’t as simple as running away. I needed my wolf first. I needed to break the curse that had kept me from it and find the strength to leave. Or, if that failed, I needed to win the annual Thalvion competition. The prize was the granting of a single wish, no matter how impossible.

For years, I’d been training, pouring every ounce of my frustration and hope into preparing for the competition. My first wish was obvious: to bring my mother back. She had been the light in my life before Petunia dimmed it. If I could revive her, I was certain she would fix everything—break the curse, free my father, and banish the witches.

But there was another, darker thought I couldn’t shake.

What if Petunia had killed my mother?

If that was the case, would bringing her back even be possible? And if I had only one wish, should I risk it on the unknown? Or should I use it to destroy Petunia and Willow for good, securing my father’s freedom and my own?

The weight of the decision bore down on me every day, and I still didn’t have an answer.

Making false accusations in Lunaris was a crime punishable by death. If I couldn’t prove that Petunia was an evil witch, my father—still trapped under her spell—would burn me alive to protect her honor. And the kingdom would applaud him for it.

I was trapped.

After finishing Willow’s room, I ironed her clothes and then mine. There wasn’t much to press—just the same few worn-out dresses I rotated between. But each crease I smoothed felt like another layer of resolve. I needed to escape this house. I needed my wolf, my strength, my freedom.

And I needed to decide—revenge or resurrection. Which would truly save me?

.

.

.

At dinner, the tension in the air was thick, like the weight of an incoming storm. My father, with a proud gleam in his eye, leaned back in his chair and broke the news.

“I’ve managed to get Willow into Thalvion,” he said, his voice warm with excitement. “She’ll be attending the academy and will graduate as a student, just like you. And after she’s fully trained, she’ll even be able to enter the competition. It’s a chance to revive her full potential.”

Willow’s eyes lit up, her lips curling into that smug little smile I loathed. She leaned across the table and kissed my father on the cheek. “Thank you, Daddy,” she cooed, the sweetness of her voice making my stomach turn.

Petunia, sitting next to her, hugged my father tightly, a smirk playing on her lips as she cast a pointed look at me. “I’m so happy for you, darling,” she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. Then, turning her gaze toward me, she added, “It’s such a wonderful opportunity for Willow. I’m sure she’ll thrive in the academy, just like you did... or at least, try.”

My throat tightened as the words I wanted to scream—this is my place, not hers—pressed painfully against my lips. But I said nothing. I couldn’t. I swallowed my fury and the bitter taste of defeat that clogged my throat.

“Congratulations, Willow,” I said, my voice flat and devoid of any warmth. My hands clenched tightly under the table, my nails digging into my palms as I tried to hold myself together.

Willow, ever so smug, gave me a passing glance, as though she knew exactly what she was doing to me. “Thanks, Annalise.”

Petunia smiled too, but her eyes were cold. “It’s wonderful that we’re all getting what we want,” she said sweetly, but there was no warmth in her tone. She knew exactly how much this hurt me, and she loved it.

My father didn’t seem to notice the weight of my silence or the look of despair that must have been so evident on my face. He was too caught up in the excitement of Willow’s success. “You’ll see, Annalise,” he said, turning to me with a hopeful smile, “I’m sure she’ll do great things there.”

.

.

.

The next morning, the tension between Willow and me was palpable. We both stood in front of the mirror, getting ready for another day at school, but the difference between us was impossible to ignore.

Willow was dressed in her pristine new uniform, the crisp white shirt tucked neatly into her perfectly pressed skirt. Her uniform, custom-made, was elegant and well-fitted, a sharp contrast to my own old, worn-out version. She had the luxury of expensive perfumes, the scent of them filling the room, bought by our father, who seemed so eager to spoil her. Meanwhile, my own uniform had seen better days—faded, frayed at the edges, and no longer the vibrant shade it once was. But even with the ragged state of my clothes, I couldn’t help but feel grateful that I had the chance to go to Thalvion at all.

Thalvion Academy, the prestigious institution that stood at the heart of the kingdom, was a school for those with powers, talent, and potential. It wasn’t just a school—it was a sanctuary for the gifted. There, students from all walks of life were trained to hone their abilities. But there was one major exception: humans weren’t allowed. The school’s royal lineage had made sure of that. Only those with blood connections to royalty or those who served in the royal court could gain admission. And even then, it wasn’t easy.

The current ruler of Lucarius, King Wolfric Grandeur, is a wolf, and as the head of the kingdom, his kind ruled over all others. According to the law, wolves were considered the highest in the hierarchy. Beneath them were vampires, sirens, mermaids, fae, and other creatures that thrived in the kingdom. All had their place, each with their unique abilities. But humans? They were at the bottom of the chain, considered to have only one power—their brains. It was the reason they had no place at Thalvion. Only those gifted with powers had a place in the academy, and Willow, with her not sharing blood with my father, would never be able to attend, no matter how much she wanted it, or at least that’s what I thought. . .

As I gazed into the mirror, I couldn’t help but study my reflection. My brown hair, streaked with two stark white lines on either side, had always been a unique feature, one I’d come to appreciate. The streaks had always reminded me of my mother, of the bond I still held with her, despite her being gone. It made me feel closer to her in some way. But it was my eyes that drew the most attention. They were a striking golden color, not quite amber, but deep, like the rarest shade of sunlight at dusk. They glowed in a way that seemed unnatural, unlike anything I had seen in the kingdom. They were unique—at least, I had never met anyone else who had eyes like mine. And everyone who looked into them always asked the same question. “What’s with your eyes?” It was as if they couldn’t help themselves, drawn to them in a way that made me feel exposed.

Willow, on the other hand, had short, jet-black hair that framed her face in a sleek, polished style. Her skin was olive-toned, smooth, and perfect—her mother’s gift, no doubt. Her eyes, a sharp hazel, were far more ordinary than mine. But her beauty wasn’t just in her looks—it was in her attitude, her demeanor. If only her personality matched her exterior, maybe I could find it in me to like her. But I didn’t.

“Ready?” Willow asked, her voice dripping with sweet sarcasm. She eyed me with a glance that was meant to remind me of my place, but I didn’t give her the satisfaction of responding.

“Always,” I said, forcing a smile, my fingers tightening on the edge of the mirror.