Celina's POV
The shouting from downstairs pierced through my bedroom walls like shattered glass. I pressed my back against the door, straining to catch every word of the heated argument below. My father's slurred voice mixed with another man's angry tone, someone I'd never heard before but who sounded ready to tear the house apart.
Two years had passed since I discovered the truth about my father. He wasn't just an alcoholic who could barely keep a job. He was a hunter, tracking down werewolves in the shadows of our small town. The revelation had come at the worst possible moment, when he'd dragged me from my bed one night and sold me to a cultist for five thousand dollars, claiming I was a werewolf myself.
That night still haunted my dreams. The way he'd looked at me with cold calculation instead of paternal love. The realization that his own daughter meant nothing more to him than quick cash for his next bottle.
