Kneel, Alpha: She's Not Forgiving You Yet

WREN The day they released me from prison, it snowed so hard the roads almost disappeared. I stood outside the gates with a small black bag hanging from my shoulder and watched white flakes swallow the world little by little. Six years ago, I had walked through those gates screaming, fighting, begging them not to take everything from me. Now I walked out quietly, like someone who had already lost too much to care what remained. Nobody came to pick me up. I had known nobody would, but some pathetic part of me had still looked around anyway. The guard at the entrance handed me my release papers without looking me in the eye. To him, I was just another number finally leaving his watch. Another criminal sent back into the world to survive or fail on her own. I pulled my coat tighter around myself and started walking toward the bus station across the road. The cold was so much my teeth gritted. Although prison had taught me how to survive many things, somehow, winter still found ways to crawl into my bones. The border town outside Ironclaw territory looked worse than I remembered by the time I arrived that evening. Almost all the buildings were covered with heavy snow, while some had smoke curling its way to the sky. Most people only passed through towns like this on their way somewhere better. Meanwhile, people like me stayed because nowhere else wanted us. And finding a room took almost everything I had left. The old woman renting it out kept staring at my prison release papers longer than necessary before finally sliding the key across the counter. “You pay every Friday,” she warned. “No trouble. No men. And if the police show up here because of you, you’re out.” I nodded quietly and took the key. The room was just above a mechanic shop near the edge of town. There was a narrow bed against the wall, a tiny bathroom with cracked tiles, and a heater that groaned louder than it warmed. Snow leaked through the corner of the window frame and melted onto the floorboards. I once had a better life than this, working as a medical personnel. Unfortunately, my medical license had been stripped before my sentence was even halfway finished. The one thing I had ever truly been good at had been ripped away so cleanly it almost felt surgical. Sometimes I still caught myself reaching for knowledge I no longer had permission to use. Muscle memory, instinct, name them. In the end, the only job I could get was cleaning floors at a rundown roadside motel at the edge of town. The owner had hired me because nobody else wanted night shifts during winter, and because cleaning jobs didn’t require background checks if the employer was desperate enough. My supervisor’s name was Dale. I hated him almost immediately. “You’re late,” he snapped my second week there while tossing a bucket toward me. I caught it before it hit the floor. “My shift starts in five minutes.” “Then maybe get here ten minutes early instead.” His eyes dragged slowly over me before he smirked. “Wouldn’t want people thinking ex-cons are lazy too.” The others laughed quietly behind the desk. Not minding them, I lowered my eyes and walked away. That became my routine after prison. Keep quiet. Don’t react. Survive the day. The motel itself was disgusting. Cheap rooms were rented by drunk truckers and strangers who looked like they were hiding from something. The lights kept flickering constantly, and somebody was always vomiting somewhere. I cleaned all of it without complaining. Not like I had a choice, though. Some of the customers recognized me, I noticed that from the way they look at me. A female doctor sentenced to prison for medical negligence and manslaughter. “Hey,” one man slurred one evening while I mopped outside his room. “Aren’t you that doctor who killed somebody?” I kept mopping, ignoring him. He laughed when I didn’t answer. “Damn. They really let anyone out these days.” By the end of most shifts, my body ached so badly I could barely stand upright. But rent was due every Friday, and desperation made people tolerate things they once swore they never would. And that's including Dale. He cornered me near the laundry room one night while I folded towels. “You know,” he said casually, stepping too close, “I could make things easier for you here.” I already knew what that meant. “I’m fine,” I replied without looking at him. His hand slid onto my waist, causing every muscle in my body to lock instantly. “You sure?” I wanted to shove him away, I wanted to break his nose. I wanted to remind him I used to work twelve-hour emergency shifts covered in blood and stress before men like him ever learned how to speak to women. Instead, I stood there and swallowed the anger. Anger had cost me enough already, and I wasn't ready to face another year of my life in that hell. “I still have work to finish,” I said quietly. For a second, I thought he might push harder. Then he clicked his tongue and stepped back. “Don’t act proud, Wren. Girls like you can’t afford pride.” I finished my shift in silence. Someone deliberately trashed the west hallway before closing again. Beer bottles were smashed against the walls, and the already cleaned floors had mud tracks on them. Not to mention an overflowing sink in one of the public bathrooms. The other cleaners liked leaving extra work for me because they knew I wouldn’t complain. So, I had to scrub everything alone. By the time I clocked out, it was nearly midnight. The storm had gotten worse. Cold wind blew against my skin, and the ground was already covered with snow. Most people had already gone home hours ago, leaving the town eerily quiet. I shoved my hands into my coat pockets and started the walk back to my apartment. Suddenly, I noticed blood. My brows furrowed as I slowed down immediately. At first, it looked like a dark mark across the snow. But as I got closer, my eyes widened. That was a lot of blood. The trail ahead was stained deep red, leading toward a figure half buried near the trees. I stopped breathing for a second, my lips parted as short gasps escaped from my mouth. “No,” I thought. “Absolutely not.” My pulse started hammering hard in my chest as I stared at the body lying motionless in the snow. Whoever he was, he looked destroyed. One of his arms was twisted awkwardly beneath him while blood soaked through what remained of his clothes. Every instinct screamed at me to leave. People died in border towns all the time, and none of it was my business. I forced myself to keep walking, but after taking three steps, Sable stirred inside me, causing me to freeze instantly. For years, my wolf had been almost completely silent. Prison broke something inside both of us. Eventually, Sable stopped speaking altogether. Sometimes I wondered if she hated me for what happened. Sometimes I wondered if she was simply tired of surviving. But now I felt her. Squeezing my eyes shut, I whispered. “No.” I didn't want to help. If someone found me with a bleeding stranger in the middle of the night, I already knew who they would blame first. Yet, Sable persisted. I stared at the storm swirling around me before finally turning back with a curse under my breath. “Don’t make me regret this,” I muttered while shoving snow away from his body with trembling hands. The closer I got, the worse his injuries became. There were deep claw marks across his chest and shoulder, like someone had tried to rip him apart. And blood covered nearly every part of him I could see. Whoever did this to him must have wanted him dead. I pressed two fingers shakily against his neck. For one horrible second, I felt nothing. Then, there was a heartbeat. It was faint, but enough to tell he was alive. I let out a sigh of relief. “You stubborn i***t,” I breathed. My brows furrowed as I realised there were no markings on his body. He looked plain, like a random man who just showed out of the blue. But that wasn't what caught my attention. It was how strikingly handsome he looked.