The Wolf King is My Mate

The moon hung low in the sky, projecting a silver sheen over the blood-drenched ground. Three wolf packs had once coexisted side by side, each keeping to its own domain. But that delicate harmony that once existed had been broken by the yearn for power, and presently just two packs remained, their strength produced in the vessel of war. The third pack, the most fragile of the three, had been completely wiped out, its members either killed or taken as spoils by the victors. The fight had raged for days with teeth exposed and paws unsheathed. The forest echoed with the cries of torment and win as wolves attacked each other with a savagery brought into the world by desperation. The smell of blood blended with the fragrance of pine and earth, a grim scent that would stay in the mind of those who survived in the recollections of the people who had given their lives. Fighters battled with a brutality that ruled out leniency, realizing that defeat implied something other than death — it meant enslavement, embarrassment, and the end of all that they held dear. In the end, the victors isolated the crown jewels. The most powerful packs took the biggest offer — region, assets, and, in particular, the excess wolves of the crushed pack and divided it among themselves. Among them was a little, terrified puppy named Liah, taken from her folks as a child. She was too young to recollect their features, but she had been informed they were low-positioned warriors, simple pawns in a destructive game they would always lose. Presently, at nineteen, Liah's life was a constant pattern of servitude under the Iron claws, the second most powerful of the two excess packs. Her recollections of the fight were cloudy, more feeling than memory — fear, disarray, and the chilly assurance that something valuable had been lost forever. The pack regarded her as a slave, a constant reminder of their triumph. She was entrusted with modest tasks — fetching water, cleaning, keeping an eye on the necessities of the pack. Liah was nothing to them, simply a living shadow of a conflict long won. Yet, she was permitted one little kindness: school. It was an uncommon thoughtfulness from the Iron Claws, an opportunity for her to figure out how to read and write, to count and think. School was the main break she had from her cruel reality, a little glint of business as usual in a day to day existence characterized by difficulty. Liah's hands moved precisely as she cleaned the floor of the Alpha's room, her thoughts somewhere else. School had been her safe place, where she could neglect, if by some stroke of good luck for a couple of hours, that she was just a slave. In any case, even there, she was an untouchable. Different wolves murmured despite her good faith, referring to her as "the war orphan " or "the lowborn." It stung, however Liah had figured out how to hold her head down, to swallow the aggravation and places emphasis on her work. She was nineteen now, mature enough to have a mate, yet none of the pack's guys showed any interest in her. To them, she was spoiled by her past, by the blood of her crushed pack. She had no possibilities, no future, and her life loosened up before her like a sad, unending road. Liah dreamed of getting away, of escaping from the harsh realities of Iron Claws and turning into a Rogue. She had heard stories of wolves who lived on the edges of society, allowed to do however they wanted, questioned by nobody. It was a perilous life, however it would be her life, not one directed by the needs of others. Even as she considered the idea, a sharp pain snapped her back to the real world. Liah staggered, her hand traveling to her stinging cheek. The Alpha's mate remained before her, eyes bursting with outrage. "wandering off in fantasy land again, Liah?" The Alpha's mate scoffed, her voice dribbling with scorn. "You think there is time to waste when there's work to be done?" Liah's heart beat in her chest as she attempted to speak, yet her mouth was dry. The Alpha's mate was a fearsome wolf known for her attitude, and Liah had felt the brunt of it at least a few times or more. Left in control while the pack was looking for a Luna, the Alpha's mate used her power with an iron fist. "You should clean the Alpha's lair, you sluggish mutt." The Alpha's mate spat, her hand raised as though to strike once more. "And, what do I find? Residue and soil! Would you like to live like the trash you came from?" Liah bowed her head, her shoulders shaking. She knew not to talk back, not to do anything to protect herself. To do so would just bring more agony, greater discipline. But Inside, her soul enraged, yet outwardly, she was the ideal image of submission. "No, ma'am," Liah murmured, her voice scarcely heard. "I'll do it immediately." "See that you do," The Alpha's mate snapped, pivoting suddenly and stepping ceaselessly, her fur shuddering with resentment. "And, in the event that it's not finished when I return, you'll wish you'd never been birthed." Liah watched her go, tears of disappointment consuming her eyes. She needed to shout, to blow up, to take off a long ways off. In any case, all things being equal, she moved in the direction of the Alpha's liar, her heart weighty with the heaviness of her world. The fantasy of opportunity, of being a rebel, was only that — a fantasy. For the present, she was caught, a captive to the Iron Claws, without any expectation of freedom. But somewhere inside her, a fire still burned. It was little, practically quenched, however it was there. And for as long as it was burning there was an opportunity — regardless of how thin that one day, she would be free