Six
972 Words
Marlise POV
I sat on a wooden stool in the corner of the kitchen, my hands folded in my lap.
Not because I was lazy.
Not because I didn’t want to work.
But because every time I tried to do something … someone stopped me.
The pack had made it clear. I didn’t belong.
Every bowl I reached for was pulled away. Every knife I touched was snatched from my hands. When I tried to knead dough, someone shoved me aside. When I offered to help stir soup, they laughed.
So I stopped.
I sat there quietly, staring at the fire, pretending I wasn’t shaking inside.
My stomach twisted with hunger. My pride hurt worse than my wrists had yesterday. I’d never felt so useless in my life…. and that hurt more than all the series of bad s**t that has ever happened to me.
I was already planning how I’d try again later when the room suddenly went quiet.
Dead quiet.
The kind of silence that crawls up your spine and makes your heart drop.
Heavy footsteps echoed across the stone floor.
I didn’t have to look to know who it was.
Riot.
The Alpha stood hooking the doorway, tall and terrifying, his dark coat dusted with snow. His eyes swept the kitchen once… then locked onto me.
Sitting.
Doing nothing.
His jaw tightened.
“What is this?” he barked.
I flinched.
The sound of his voice cracked through the room like a whip. Every wolf straightened. Every whisper died.
I swallowed and slowly stood, my legs weak. “I… hi … what a lovely day isn’t it?” I mumbled
“You were ordered to work,” he snapped. “And I find you sitting like a useless ornament.”
Wow what a bastard he sure did use the useless word on me.
My chest tightened.
“I tried,” I said softly. “Your pack won’t let me do anything.”
The words were barely out of my mouth when his eyes went ice‑cold.
He stepped toward me, each stride slow and deliberate, until he towered over me.
“That,” he said harshly, “is your excuse for being an incompetent fool?”
The room froze.
My breath stopped.
What… did he just call me?
Incompetent.
Fool.
The words hit harder than being callled useless.
I opened my mouth to defend myself… to explain, to protest, to yell if I had to… but he cut me off before I could say a single word.
“You will make me dinner tonight,” Riot said coldly.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“What?” I whispered.
“You heard me,” he said, eyes burning into mine. “A proper meal. Not scraps. Not excuses.”
He leaned closer, his voice dropping low and dangerous.
“And if it’s horrible… I will have your thumb.”
The kitchen gasped.
Someone laughed nervously.
I stared at him, my hands curling into fists. My thumb. My actual thumb. I wasn’t even sure if he was joking… but something told me he wasn’t.
“You… you can’t be serious,” I whispered.
His lips didn’t even twitch.
“I never tell a joke.”
Tears burned behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I would not cry in front of him. I would not give him that satisfaction.
“Fine,” I said, my voice shaking. “I’ll cook.”
He straightened and turned to the room.
“You,” he barked at the pack. “Stay out of her way.”
No one argued.
No one even breathed.
Riot turned back to me once more. His eyes lingered on my hands.
“Do not disappoint me,” he said.
Then he left.
The door slammed shut behind him.
I stood there frozen for a moment, my heart racing, my mind spinning.
Then the pack’s eyes were on me again.
Different now.
Sharper.
Some looked curious. Some annoyed. Some angry.
One woman scoffed. “Guess you got his attention.”
“Lucky you, you’re about to lose a thumb” someone muttered.
I ignored them.
I rolled up my sleeves.
Fine. He wanted dinner? He’d get dinner.
I moved slowly at first, my hands trembling as I gathered ingredients. My mind screamed don’t mess this up, don’t mess this up. I picked familiar things… flour, butter, herbs that smelled close enough to rosemary, meat that looked like venison.
I cooked like my life depended on it.
Because it did.
I chopped vegetables carefully, keeping my thumb far from the blade. I seasoned the meat, stirring slowly, breathing through the fear. The pack watched from a distance, whispering, judging.
But as time passed… the whispers faded.
The smell filled the room.
Rich. Warm. Comforting.
Bread baked in the oven, golden and soft. Stew simmered low and slow. Butter melted into everything, just like home.
My hands steadied.
This… this was something I could do.
When the meal was finished, I stepped back, exhausted, my heart pounding.
One of the pack sniffed the air.
“…That smells good,” he muttered.
Another rolled their eyes but said nothing.
The guards came to escort the food to the Alpha’s table.
As they lifted the trays, fear twisted my stomach again.
If he hated it…
If it wasn’t enough…
If my luck struck again…
I stared at my hands.
All ten fingers still there.
“Please,” I whispered under my breath. “Just this once… let something go right.”
I didn’t know if Riot would enjoy the meal.
I didn’t know if he’d spare my thumb.
But one thing was clear now.
I wasn’t just fighting bad luck anymore.
I was fighting an Alpha who hated me.
And somehow…
I prefer my bad luck to him..
.
- Writer
