UNFORGIVEN

Chapter One The scent of ash and old wood clung to the corners of the shelter, mixing with the faint musk of damp blankets and silent suffering. Moonlight spilled through the cracked roof, pooling on the floor beside a trembling form named Leah. Leah, an omega with dark brown hair and a small stature, her wolf has the same dark brown fur and is also of the same small stature. Anyone could take one look at her and immediately assume that she is nothing special, and the only thing out of the ordinary with her would be her ribs that would always make an appearance with anything she wore, even in her wolf form...simply because of how malnourished she was. And on one faithful day, there she sat curled on the cold concrete, arms wrapped tightly around her knees, chin buried in the folds of her oversized sweater. The fabric was threadbare, like everything else in this place… like her. Her breaths came in slow, steady puffs, but her eyes wide, dark, and quietly defiant betrayed the storm inside her. Tonight marked her twentieth birthday. No candles. No cake. No love. Only silence, and the low hum of whispered laughter coming from the girls’ side bunk room. The other omegas in the shelter didn’t bother her much anymore. After years of cold shoulders and stifled snickers, she’d grown used to it. Their pity had dried up long ago. But even in their cruelty, they never knew the full truth, how Leah had once called a family her own. How they had rejected her. She closed her eyes, and for a moment, she was twelve again. Shoved into the street by the very woman who had raised her, her only belongings tied into a sack. The words “You’re not one of us. You’ll never be one of us,” ringing in her ears like a curse. A sharp gust of wind rattled the shelter window. Leah blinked back to the present. She reached behind her neck, fingertips tracing the soft bumps of the odd mole-like marks etched in a crescent formation across her upper back. She had always known she was different. Not just because she was smaller, or quieter, or born without a pack rank that mattered. But because of the way her body ached when others laughed… how her instincts stirred at the moon’s highest point. Her wolf, though hidden deep, had never been silent. Only waiting. A sudden knock at the metal door snapped her thoughts. She stiffened. "Come in?" The door creaked open. Miriam stepped inside, her only true friend in the world. Tall, dark-skinned, and sharp-tongued when necessary, Miriam was the kind of girl who wore her scars like medals. She had seen too much to believe in fairytales… and yet, she had never stopped believing in Leah. "You’re hiding again," Miriam said, closing the door behind her. "I brought food." She held out a small loaf of bread and a half-filled bottle of tea. Leah took it slowly. “Thanks.” Miriam’s eyes flicked toward her. “You know what day it is?” Leah didn’t answer. Miriam exhaled, softening. “You’ve made it this far, Leah. You survived them. You survived here. That means something.” Leah smiled weakly. “Surviving isn’t the same as living.” “But it’s the first step.” They sat in silence for a moment, sharing the bread in quiet bites. Then, just as Leah leaned back against the wall, a sound echoed from outside, a distant howl. Low. Haunting. The kind that sent shivers down the spine. The kind that stirred something ancient inside her. Leah’s heart thudded. “That wasn’t one of the local wolves.” “No,” Miriam murmured, standing to peer through the cracked slat. “And it’s not rogue season yet. Something’s off.” The air in the room grew heavier. Leah felt it too, the pull of something unseen, something shifting. But before she could think too hard about it, Miriam turned to her with a sly smile. “I heard a noble’s hosting a market ball in the village center next week. Palace elites, maybe even royals. They’re hiring temporary staff.” Leah raised an eyebrow. “So?” “So you’ve always wanted a chance to prove yourself. Escape the shelter. See the world beyond this place. Maybe it’s time.” Leah hesitated. The thought of stepping into the world that had always seemed far away to her—the polished floors, the gowns, the people who walked with power pulsing in their blood—it terrified her. But something inside her stirred. Not fear. Not longing. Something older. Fate. “I’ll think about it,” she said softly, but part of her already knew, this was the beginning. The moon above the shelter shone a little brighter that night. Somewhere deep in the palace, a young Alpha paced the m arbled hallways in disguise, desperate for air. And the story of the cursed, the broken, and the unforgiven began to unfold, beneath the crescent moon.