Rogue’s Redemption

Wren’s POV I’m scrubbing the lodge’s hardwood floor, my broom scraping like it’s got a personal grudge against dirt. My new scarf, a lumpy thing I wove last night, drapes over my head, hiding my face from the world. It’s my shield, keeping me invisible in this Bloodhowl pack hellhole. Tonight’s a big deal, the alpha’s son is back from some bloody pack wars, hunting for his fated mate and the lodge is a circus. Maids hustle, cooks yell, and guards prowl, making my usual quiet shift feel like a war zone. I’m just Wren, the runt, the nobody who gets stuck with the worst jobs, so I keep my head down, praying I blend into the woodwork. “Ugh, no way I’m touching those toilets!” a girl whines nearby, her voice like nails on a chalkboard. I grip my broom tighter, hoping they don’t notice me. “Let Wren handle it, she’s got a thing for filth!” another maid cackles, and my stomach twists. So much for staying invisible. My name’s a curse around here, spat out like it’s poison. “WREN!” one of them barks, and I flinch, nearly dropping the broom. They’re right in front of me now, two teenage maids with sneers sharp enough to cut. I peek up from under my scarf, meeting the ringleader’s icy blue stare. “Y-Yeah?” I mumble, my voice barely a whisper. “Clean the bathrooms. I’ll take your sweeping.” She commands, it wasn't a plea. There's no use in debating; I’m the park's target for hits. I agree, passing the broom, but the girl jerks it forcefully, dragging me along. I trip and fall to my knees on the icy ground, experiencing pain radiating in my legs. Laughter bursts forth, sharp and harsh, as I climb up, face flushed. I bolt for the door, their giggles chasing me like wolves. The hallway’s a relief, the noise fading as I put distance between me and the kitchen. I head for the west wing bathrooms, far from the bustle, figuring I’ll work my way back when the others are done. Solitude’s my only friend in this pack alone, I’m safe, or as safe as a runt gets. I stop at a supply closet, grabbing bleach and rags, my hands moving on autopilot. Tonight’s the alpha’s son’s mate ceremony, a big pack tradition, and even a nobody like me has to show up. If it wasn’t mandatory, they’d probably lock me in my tiny attic room, out of sight, out of mind. Most of the Bloodhowl pack can’t stand me too weak, too small, too wrong. I push into the first bathroom, a fancy one used only for events like this. It’s not too gross, just dusty tiles and a faint mildew whiff. I scrub hard, losing myself in the rhythm, the bleach smell burning my nose. It’s not fair, getting stuck with extra work because the others are lazy, but I’ll take the quiet over their taunts any day. I’m done in record time, the tiles gleaming, the air crisp. One down, a dozen to go. Not the worst night, I tell myself, hauling my bucket to the next room. The hallways of the lodge feel eerie at night, filled with faint lantern light and squeaky floorboards. The wheels of my bucket creak, the sole noise apart from my unsteady breaths. I pause at a window, catching a glimpse of the forest outside. Trucks rumble in, unloading warriors, their sleek SUVs and custom bikes glinting under the moon. The alpha’s son must be back, fresh from battle, ready to claim his mate. I stare at the vehicles, so shiny they feel like a fairy tale stuff I’ll never touch, not in this life. “What the heck?” A thick voice yells, too near to my ear that it makes me freak out of my skin. My heart thundered in my chest, I tried to stand but staggered back, the scarf on my head falling. A guy’s standing there, tall and built like a brick wall, his presence sucking the air from the hall. I keep my eyes on the floor, instinct kicking in never look a male wolf in the eye, not a runt like me. “You can’t be!” he snarls, and a fist slams the wall, the c***k echoing like a gunshot. My pulse races, but I don’t dare peek. Is he mad at me? Something else? I’m frozen, my scarf a flimsy shield. “LOOK AT ME, RUNT!” His voice is a thunderclap, shaking my bones. I force my eyes up, and it’s like staring into a storm. Cold, gray eyes, hard as flint, bore into me. It’s him Ryde Hawthorn, the alpha’s son, his face all sharp angles and barely leashed rage. His dark hair’s messy, his leather jacket streaked with dirt, like he just rode in from war. “Ahhh.. Alpha.” I stammered, my voice was weak and low, trying to sound obedient and mannered. But his stares make me uncomfortable as if I am his enemy. He walked towards me, his boots hitting the hard floor, in a split of seconds, his firm grip grabbing my throat. My skin flares at his contact, a fierce, electric warmth coursing through me, as if fire and moonlight intertwined. My hands shake, grabbing his wrist, but my stomach’s flipping, butterflies going nuts despite the chokehold. It’s wrong, terrifying, but alive. "NAME!" he shouts, his face just inches from mine, those lifeless eyes glaring. I inhale sharply, his hold relaxing just enough to allow air in. “W-Wren,” I choke out, mortified. “Just Wren, sir.” “Wren?” He laughs dismissively, as if it's a joke, yet the warmth remains, buzzing where his hand grips me. “No surname?” he snarls, and I chew my lip, embarrassment engulfing me. “No… no parents,” I whisper, barely audible. Orphan, runt, nothing, that’s me. He drops me, and I collapse, gasping, my insides twisting like someone’s clawing them out. Pain blooms, sharp and deep, and I don’t know why. Then he speaks, and my world shatters. “I, Ryde Hawthorn, heir to the Bloodhowl pack, reject you, Wren, runt of the Bloodhowl pack, as my mate. I sever all ties with you, now and forever!” His voice is a blade, slicing my soul. The mate bond holy crap, I’m his mate snaps, a ripping agony that doubles me over, tears streaming. He’s casting me out, seconds after finding me. “And I banish you, Wren, from the Bloodhowl pack!” he roars. “You’ve got one hour to leave our lands, or we’ll hunt you as a rogue. Get out, you worthless mutt!” The words burn, each one a kick to my gut. “Moon Goddess, you mock me!” he spits, pacing. “I fight wars, and you give me this as a mate? A weakling?” His boot slams into my side, and I skid across the floor, coughing, pain exploding. My ribs scream, but it’s my heart that’s breaking. “GET OUT!” he bellows, his face red, fists clenched. I look up, one last time, at the alpha who was supposed to be mine. He’s a tower of fury, and I’m nothing to him. The pack’s bond frays, unraveling like a cut thread, and I know what’s coming. If I don’t run, my scent’ll shift, marking me rogue, fair game for a hunt. Tears blur my vision, but I’m done begging. I stagger up, my side throbbing, and sprint down the hall, the lodge a blur. His words echo, a cruel chant worthless, mutt, banished. My legs burn, the wind biting my face, but I can’t stop. The pack’s ties snap, one by one, leaving me hollow. I’m no one now, a rogue, an outcast, with nowhere to go and death on my tail. The forest looms, dark and hungry, and I’m running straight into it, alone.