The Worthless Omega's Rise

CHAPTER 7: Do not judge me.

Harlow

“Even If she's Alpha Devon's mate, I can't stand her becoming Luna. I mean, she's just a branded slave, but she's parading the whole pack like she owns it.”

“I just hate the fact that a silver haired b***h is going to claim someone I've longed for all my life.”

“Everyone has longed for Lycan king Devon. He's just too perfect to be resisted—like a temptation.”

With my fingers around the doorknob, I swallowed hard and took a few steps backwards. Even without seeing them, I could already guess who they were. Maids of the Blackwoods pack. I'd stepped down from my room to have a glass of water after breakfast, but I overheard the maids gossiping about me. I'd always been used to mockery, spite, humiliation, but why couldn't I handle the words this time? Why was I so concerned with being the perfect image for Devon?

Leaning my back on a white wall, my gaze lingered on the chandelier which illuminated the whole hallway. I clutched my dress hard, trying so hard to get their spiteful words from my head, but I couldn't.

What if they were right?

What if Devon never paid attention to me because I didn't fit his perfect image of a lady? what if he saw me as a weak and pathetic slave who couldn't defend herself or her mother?

Becoming a slave wasn't my choice, and even when my father was still the Beta of the silvermoon pack, I made sure my slaves weren't bullied or branded. I gave them the chance to live their own lives. Right from a tender age, I was against the idea of having a slave, but my father had made it compulsory. He'd said, “royals can't be weak. They're slaves, you must treat them as one.”

After his death, my whole life became miserable.

I was stripped of my title, dragged away and branded with the mark of a slave. Pulling the long sleeves of my flower pattern dress, my eyes lingered on the mark just below my shoulder. Each time I stared at the mark, my dark past which I'd tried so hard to forget replayed before me like a vivid movie. Before going to bed, my screams still echoed in my ears. The pack warriors had torn my dress, tortured me, and now that the mark was permanent, I knew the memories buried in my heart were permanent as well.

The maids continued whispering among themselves, but I was in no mood to listen to more of their gossip. I walked down the hallway, staring at the sophisticated pillars and the delicate interior design. With each step that I took, I kept finding paintings and pictures—each with their story to tell. I'd found each of them quite normal, average, but I stumbled upon a particular painting that made my skin tingle with warmth.

Standing before the painting, I traced the golden frame with the tip of my fingers. While the remaining paintings had a small trail of dust on them, this particular one was spotless—like it was cleaned on a daily basis. “Rosie Adeline Blackwoods.” I whispered, captivated by her bewitching beauty. Her smile was wide, bright, heart warming, unlike the fake ones I was starting to get accustomed to. Her hair was up in a messy bun, but she still looked clean and warm, like the cozy feeling of home. The more I stared at her, the more I realized she was similar to Devon. From her high cheekbones, to her pointed nose and the shape of her eyes.

Rosie must be his mother.

I stepped away and continued strolling down the hallway, staring at the paintings like a vivid story that was being conveyed to me. As the Lycan king, Devon, had been extremely busy. I'd seen him during breakfast and we only engaged In a small conversation. We'd called each other mates, the attraction was intense, but it still felt like there was a huge gap between us. He seemed distant, far away, only near enough to care. It'd been three days since he left my room, three days since he walked into my room to check up on me, and three days since he last asked the question about Kelvin.

Sighing out loud, I continued going lower, not in the mood to return back to my suffocating room. Since I'd gotten to the very end—a dead end—I turned away, sighing at my fruitless effort to discover something. But suddenly, a sharp scream pierced the air.

A wave of shivers ran down my spine as some sweat trickled down my neck. It was only a scream, but it was filled with so much agony, it made my heart clench. I swallowed hard and turned around, allowing my feet to take me wherever they wanted to. I stopped before a small door and shakily wrapped my fingers around the door knob.

What if I was doing something wrong?

What if it was only a hallucination?

I tightened my fingers around the doorknob, but the cold touch of the metal did nothing to relax my pent-up muscles. I inhaled a shaky breath and wondered if I should turn back. During breakfast, Devon had asked me not to lurk around, but here I was, following someone's agonizing scream. I battled with my thoughts for a few more minutes, but after much contemplation, I turned away, feeling the sickening urge to return back to my room. But I heard it again.

It was much louder.

Filled with more agony.

Like someone who's heart was being ripped out of her chest.

I swallowed hard, turned again and ran towards the door. Without thinking, my first instinct was to ask the pack warriors to stop torturing the lady, but as soon as I opened the door, I was shocked out of my wits. The smell of blood lingered in the air, kissing my senses as I stumbled backwards. The room—lit by a torch—was without a single window. The sight of lethal weapons arranged delicately on the wall sucked all breath from me. I swallowed hard, struggling to form up some words, but I couldn't.

My gaze drifted towards the woman brutally tied to a chair. The flickering flames danced in her dark orbs, and the more I stared, the more I was sucked into the dark abyss. My gaze trailed lower, landing on her elongated nails and her yellow dress drenched with blood. Her dark hair clung to her neck, scattered all over her face as some red liquid—blood— dripped from a deep wound on her forehead.

Her skin—rough and burnt—was something I couldn't describe. It was something I'd never experienced, something I couldn't comprehend, but only one creature could assume this form.

A witch.

The witch held pain in her eyes as a tear slipped down her cheeks. She trembled, shaking her head profusely as another pack warrior raised a bloodied dagger. Terrified, I yelled, “stop!”

“Harlow, I told you not to lurk around.” A familiar deep baritone voice settled in my ears. My eyes wavered, following the sound of his voice, and my gaze landed on a dark figure right at the very end of the room, seated majestically on a high chair with his long legs crossed. He was gorgeous, tempting, cold. I felt my heart slam hard against my ribcage as his presence completely blowed my. breath away.

My mate. Mine.

Devon had a bored look in his eyes, like he hadn't been satisfied enough with the torture. He pulled the stick of cigarette from his lips and lit another, his eyes never wavering from mine, “you're not as obedient as I imagined.”

He'd been here all along? Witnessing the scene of his men torturing a woman? My legs felt rooted to a point. I couldn't move, couldn't look away. “She's j..ust a young woman.”

“Don't judge me, Harlow.” Was his simple response with no sign of remorse, “she's done way worse.”

“But this isn't right.”

Devon dropped his cigarette to the ground, crushed it with his shoes and took slow, dignified strides towards me. He stood before me, towering over me with his large frame, “then what is? Setting her ablaze or driving a dagger dipped in holy water to her chest.”

“Neither.” I whispered, turning to stare at the witch, “you should hear her out.”

Her eyes were wide, her gaze fixed on my silver hair like she'd just seen something she shouldn't have. Her mouth fell open, her eyes glowing with recognition. She whimpered, trembling uncontrollably, “you…your silver hair! you must be the coven leader. You finally heard my cries!"