Rescuing my Human Lover: She is a Fighter

LYRA It was my eighteenth birthday today, but who cared? I only kept track of the years because I liked to know how long I had been stuck in this miserable cycle. A weak human slave like me was not allowed to celebrate birthdays. I only had one job: work, work, and then work some more. That was the only thing I was good for in this werewolf territory. I crouched in the corner of the pantry with my heart hammering against my ribs as I stuffed the small piece of meat into my mouth. I had not eaten any good meals in two days, and my stomach twisted with hunger pains that kept me awake at night. I knew stealing food was dangerous, but hunger overrode caution. I did not hear the snickering teenage werewolves approach until it was too late. They blocked the only exit, looking down at me with cruel anticipation. "Look what we caught," the tallest boy, Marcus, with eyes the color of cold mud, sneered. "The human filth is stealing again." I swallowed the entire lump of meat, and it almost got stuck in my throat. The evidence was gone, but it did not matter. They did not need proof to punish me. "I did not steal anything," I lied, backing away until my spine pressed against the wall. "Liar!" A female werewolf with braided hair came forward, grabbing my arm with force. "We saw you, worthless human." They dragged me out of the pantry and into the packhouse foyer. I did not fight back. Fighting only made the punishment worse. Five teenage werewolves surrounded me, their faces twisted with disgust and excitement. Bullying me was entertainment for them. The first kick landed on my ribs, sending sharp pain through my chest. I doubled over, gasping for breath, but another shove sent me sprawling onto the hard floor. "Filthy thief!" one shouted, landing another kick to my side. "Are you going to tell the truth or keep lying?" "I… I took it," I confessed in a whimper, hoping this would make them stop, even though I knew it would not. "You think you can steal our food?" another jeered, yanking my hair to pull my head back. "Humans like you should starve," the female werewolf spat as her boot pressed down on my hand until I bit my lip to keep from screaming. They took turns, kicking, shoving, and taunting me. I curled into a ball, protecting my head and stomach as best I could. "Worthless human." "Disgusting slave." "I am sick of seeing a weak human." Their words hurt less than their fists. After twelve years in this hell, words had lost their power to wound me deeply. "What is happening here?" A deep, authoritative voice rang out. The teenagers immediately stepped back with their heads bowed in submission. Alpha Lucian stood in the entrance to the foyer with an unreadable expression. "Alpha," Marcus said, "we caught the human stealing meat from the pantry." Alpha Lucian's eyes shifted to me, lying on the floor with blood trickling from my split lip. His gaze held no compassion or concern, only cold indifference. "That is enough," he said. "I will not have such disorder in my packhouse." He did not care about my suffering. He only cared about maintaining order. I had learned that lesson years ago. "Get up," he commanded me, not offering a hand or any assistance. I struggled to my feet, wincing as pain shot through my ribs. Probably broken again. I kept my eyes down, not daring to meet his gaze. "Return to your duties," Alpha Lucian said. "The guest Alpha from Silverfang will arrive tonight, and everything must be perfect. You will prepare his room and attend to his needs." "Yes, Alpha," I whispered. He turned to leave, then paused. "If you steal again, the punishment will come from me directly. Is that understood?" I nodded, my throat too dry to speak. "Go now." I limped away. The teenagers smirked as I passed, knowing they would face no consequences for what they had done. One of them stuck out a foot to trip me, but I expected it and managed to step around it. As night fell, I cleaned the guest Alpha's room. I could already hear the sound of the party. Thinking about it almost made me scoff. Werewolves loved parties so much. But I could not even blame them. They were always at war, so I guessed these celebrations helped ground them a little. I was finishing preparations in the guest Alpha's room when I heard the bedroom door open and close. I did not need to turn around to know who had entered. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and a familiar dread pooled in my stomach. "There you are, little pet." The voice of Nathan, the Alpha’s son, sent shivers down my spine. "Working hard, I see." I kept my head down and continued straightening the pillows. "I am almost finished, sir." His footsteps approached from behind, and then his hands were on my waist, sliding up to cup my breasts. "Do you know what day it is today?" he whispered in my ear. My entire body became tense. "No, sir." "It is your birthday," he said, his breath hot against my neck. "Eighteen years old today. Do you know what that means?" I did not answer. I knew what he meant and what he wanted. "It means," he continued, pressing himself against me, "that I cannot wait to taste you any longer." His hands grew bolder. One slipped beneath my threadbare dress, rough fingers digging into my thigh. I hated this douche wolf so much that I wanted to strangle him with my bare hands. But I was too weak to fight a powerful wolf like him. I reached slowly and carefully into the hidden pocket I had sewn into my dress months ago after his first harassment. My fingers closed around the small knife I had stolen from the kitchen. "No," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. Nathan laughed humorlessly. "You do not get to say no, human. You are property." I pulled the knife out and swung it backward, aiming for any part of him I could reach. I felt the blade connect, heard his surprised curse, but then his werewolf reflexes took over. His hand clamped around my wrist with force, twisting until my fingers opened involuntarily, dropping the knife. He spun me around, his face contorted with rage, a thin line of blood on his arm where I had managed to nick him. "You dare?" he growled, throwing me against the wall. My head bumped against the hard surface and stars burst behind my eyes. "You ungrateful little bïtçh. I was going to be gentle, but now..." He tore at my dress, ripping the fabric with ease. I fought back, clawing and kicking, but he was too strong. His werewolf strength made my resistance futile. "Stop fighting," he snarled. "You know you cannot win." In the struggle, I spotted the knife on the floor near my foot. I lunged for it, grabbed it, and pressed the blade against my own throat hard enough to draw blood. "If you continue," I said in a trembling but determined voice, "you will only get a dead body." Nathan paused, his eyes narrowing as he assessed whether I was bluffing. Blood began to trickle down my neck from where the blade bit into my skin. "You would not dare," he said, but uncertainty had crept into his voice. "Try me." I pressed the knife harder, feeling more warm blood seep out. "I have nothing to lose." We stared at each other, locked in a silent battle of wills. Finally, Nathan took a step back, and his lip curled in disgust. "Fine. Have it your way for now." He straightened his clothes, composing himself. "Father is hosting a party for the Silverfang Alpha tonight. Making a scene would only earn me punishment." His eyes hardened. "But I will be back later, and we will finish this." He strode to the door, pausing with his hand on the handle. "Enjoy your reprieve, little pet. It will not last." The door slammed behind him, and my legs gave out. I slid down the wall, the knife still clutched in my shaking hand. Blood continued to trickle from the cut on my neck, but I did not have the strength to tend to it. I simply sat there, waiting for the bleeding to stop on its own, knowing no one would come to help me. I had grown accustomed to tending my own wounds. No one in this pack cared if a human slave suffered. I pressed my torn dress against my neck, applying pressure until the bleeding slowed. Twelve years of this hell had taught me to be my own healer. When I finally felt steady enough to stand, I straightened my torn dress as best I could and prepared to return to my duties. A deep, commanding voice growled from behind me, startling me so badly that the knife slipped from my hand and clattered to the floor. My heart leapt to my throat as I spun around, wide-eyed, to face the owner of that voice.