The Worthless Omega's Rise

Chapter 4: Branded slave

Harlow’s POV

Since the ointments for cleansing wounds were present in the room, I took care of my wounds and waited patiently for Devon, but he never came. Of course he wouldn't. He was betrothed to a lady, someone of high and valuable status, unlike a branded slave like me. Throughout the night, I kept hearing my mother's voice, her cries, her parting words. I kept waking up after every hour, terrified, but there was no one to confide in.

“The Lycan king wants you down for breakfast.” A soft knock on the door awoke me and I sighed, staring at the same room I'd slept in last night. My wounds seemed to be healing well, but I had nothing to wear for breakfast. As slaves, we were only privileged to wear dresses made of sacks. The last time I wore a dress of cotton was several years ago—before my dad's death. I was branded, made a slave forever and now even in the midst of high people, I would always be lower than them.

“Can't you hear me? The Lycan king wants you down for breakfast.”

“I need to have a shower.” I whispered, taking slow strides towards the door. Opening it slightly, I came in contact with a young girl dressed in a uniform. With her outfit, I could tell she was a pack maid. Her hair was styled in a high ponytail, clean and crisp with no strand in sight. Her black dress clung to her body like a second skin, showing her curves and tiny waist, “Aren't you a slave? Just because the Lycan king saved you last night, don't think you're going to be treated differently.”

She reached for my hands, pulled me outside and slammed the door, “If he wants you down for breakfast, then he means he wants you down immediately.” Her words stunned me, but I wasn't even given a chance to react. I was dragged down the stairs in my stained sack dress, but as soon as we reached the foot of the stairs, she bowed, “people are waiting.”

I nodded, taking slow strides towards the dining table. Different delicacies—pork ribs, bacon, toast, egg, fries, steaks, they were all perfectly decorated on the table. My mouth watered, my stomach grumbling, as I pulled out a chair to sit. A soft chuckle pierced my ears, “what are you just trying to do?” It was a feminine voice, one soft enough to enchant a man to bed, “your seat is on the ground.”

When I raised my head, I realized Devon wasn't in the seat. A red haired lady sat elegantly, her legs crossed with a small smirk on her lips. She looked beautiful, elegant, pretty enough to enchant any man, but her next words rendered me completely speechless, “You're sitting on the ground, you slave. Your plate of toast is there.”

My throat tightened, my gaze landing on the tiny toast on the ground. I needed no soothsayer to tell me she was my mate’s betrothed. The thought of that made my heart ache. I inhaled a slow, steady breath, “I’ve worked as a slave, but I'm not your slave. I'm Devon's visitor.”

Her eyes lit up in amusement, “did you just call him by his name?” She snickered, her eyes brushing over my dress, “A slave is always a slave regardless of your master. You're branded, don't you think you're obligated to obey someone higher than you?”

I swallowed hard, lowering my gaze, “I'm Devon's mate.”

“I'm his betrothed, his chosen mate.” She then slammed her fists on the table, “I'm going to be his Luna. Do you think your presence is going to change anything?”

“I…” my mouth was slightly parted, my gaze lingering on my bruised feets, but nothing came out of them. I tightened my hold on the chair, my lips trembling as her soft laughter echoed through the space, “Your meal is down there. Enjoy it, will you?”

“I'd rather not have breakfast.” I released the chair, taking a few steps backwards, but her next words made me halt, “You must think you have the right to walk out on me. Do you want to be whipped? Do you think I have no authority here?!”

“I only answer to Devon.”

“If you only answer to him, then you must obey me as well!” She snapped, “I'm his woman!”

“And who gave you that title?” My tense muscles relaxed, relief settling in my heart, as Devon's voice lingered in the air. He took slow strides towards me, pulling out a chair, “Stephanie, you’re not allowed to talk to my guest that way.” He sighed, pointing at the chair, “Have a seat.”

I bit my lips, nodding shakily as I sat down calmly.

“A guest? She's a slave. A branded one.” Stephanie snickered.

“But she's my guest, my mate. You should give her some respect.”

“We both know you're going to reject her.” She added, leaning closer, with her hands above Devon's, “Our mating ceremony is only a few moons away. Why would someone like her ruin our plans?”

Devon turned to stare at me, placing some pork ribs on my plate, “eat.”

“You're going to reject her.”

“I'm not going to reject my mate!” He snapped, his eyes a flame burning every doubt in my heart. My hands trembled, as I clumsily placed some food in my mouth. The sweet taste melted on my tongue and my eyes watered. When was the last time I tasted something so healthy? So heavenly?

Stephanie pushed her chair, the loud screech making me tremble, “Whatever you say, Devon. All I know is that you're mine. She can't separate us.”