The Warrior King's Mate

Nova P.O.V. It started when grandma got sick. I woke up in a dark room as I had done every morning for the last few months. My alarm was always set to go off before anyone else woke in the packhouse, but every morning since my eighteenth birthday I had been startled awake in the earliest hours of the morning, panting and sweating slightly. If I had nightmares, I never remembered them, just the lingering smells of burning wood and something bitter and a racing heart. I swung my legs over the side of the old, wooden palette bed, disabled the unused alarm and grabbed my running shoes. To save time, I always slept in leggings and a sports bra – I never had much time to myself except very early on and my body was in desperate need of a run to take care of all this anxious energy. I pulled my dark brown hair into a messy ponytail and quietly stretched my arms and legs, wincing as I felt soreness in my ribs, shoulder and back. At times, it was hard to identify what aches were from my omega work and which came from the constant kicks, hits and shoves from other pack members. Despite my parents being Betas and my older siblings being mated off to other high-ranked members of neighbouring packs, I was never acknowledged as a ranked family member. My father, Beta Gavin, was killed in an attack before my mother knew she was pregnant with me. Without her mate, she never really seemed to want me. When I was five, she officially took over my father’s role and I was moved out of the Beta quarters of the packhouse. She didn’t acknowledge me, even going so far as to turn a blind eye to the cruelty of other pack members. The Alpha’s children made life hellish for me growing up, my own brother and sister even joining in. Without a second thought, the rest of the children in the pack followed suit and took the adults' indifference as the green light to beat and bully me. They made life impossible for me at school and at home, where I was forced to work for my keep as an omega. They would smash glass or porcelain dinner plates and call me disgusting names, laughing at me as I was forced to clean up after them. They would break into the omega quarters and steal my clothes, bedding, and s***h them to pieces, or they would rip up my homework assignments, forcing me to stay awake all night just to redo huge pieces of work after cooking, cleaning, washing and serving all day. Eventually, it got so bad that I moved into the basement of the packhouse, into a crawl space behind the wine and whiskey caskets, taking only a skeleton collection of clothes, my alarm clock and a threadbare sleeping bag with me for home comforts. After a few tense months of waiting to be caught, I started to feel safe in this small, cramped space, and so I would collect things to hide there to make life more comfortable – a sweater I found in the trash after Christmas one year to keep me warm in the winter, a few spare pens I’d found left behind at school, textbooks the school librarian threw out in favour of new ones, a torch so I could sneakily read and write my homework assignments in peace and most recently, a pair of running shoes my one and only friend Anna gave me when she left the pack three months ago. She had found her mate at a pack in the northern territory of our kingdom and had left to go live with him there, leaving me to fend for myself indefinitely. I tiptoed up the basement steps into the large and blissfully empty kitchen, quietly opening and closing each door that led me to the porch before pulling my shoes on. Silver Shore was one of the smallest packs in Lunar Kingdom, situated perfectly between the eastern seacoast and dense forest, completely cut off from the world. The early morning hoar still settled low to the ground, making each passing glow of the lighthouse in the distance thin and ghostly looking. The lawn was wet with it, the air salty and bitingly cold. Perfect conditions for running myself sore. I took off down the long driveway and out on to the main streets of Silver Shore, passing each sleeping household, silent as a whisper, each bead of sweat chilling against my skin instantly. The little houses were all white, their front doors painted in various ice cream colours and called things like Sandhill Cottage and Shell House. By the time I reached the town square, a sharp stitch was growing in my side and my legs and back were burning pleasurably. I looked around the dark little shops, wishing I could come and visit the cafes, ice cream parlours, fish and chip shops and antique stores during the day. I run here in the small hours of the morning every day now; I like to imagine what the different flavours of ice cream would be that day. Having never tasted any at all, I always pictured them in colours. I would sometimes peer in at the window of the antique shop at the pretty necklaces and broaches, imagining how heavy they would be. Luna Jane had some very heavy necklaces and earrings. I felt them as I carried them up and down the five flights of stairs to be polished every week. I could never imagine wearing earrings, especially ones with giant opals and diamonds in them. I relished this time alone, knowing it was going to be the only part of my day where no one would bother, hit, nag, push, order or bully me. Living in such a small pack had its difficulties for everyone, but for me it was living with the target on my back. As soon as one person started singling you out, before long everyone would. Living in the packhouse meant there was never any escape. Once my mother started treating me like an omega - in fact, less than an omega – Alpha Lawrence and Luna Jane had done the same, siding with their new Beta over a five-year-old girl. My mother made it clear that I was not to engage with her and before long even Hailey and Simon, my brother and sister, did the same. I had grown up having my arms twisted behind my back – once so badly it broke – my hair pulled, my stuff stolen, damaged or worse, set alight. I had been punched, kicked, thrown in the mud and locked outside in the snow. Once, I accidentally dropped a hot cup of hot chocolate on the Alpha’s youngest son and the Alpha, having consulted my mother on a suitable punishment, had me tied to a post with a chain around my neck outside in the yard and had invited all the children of the packhouse to beat me with sticks. Some of the omega children didn’t want to. I could see the apologies in their faces, but once the Alpha and Gamma children, alongside my own brother and sister, joined in, they knew they had little choice. They did try to hit gently though… I was ten at the time… Turning back to run home, I thought gloomily about the day of misery ahead. Alpha Lawrence’s eldest son, Logan, was due to return home from Alpha training today and so extra work was expected in the kitchens, and with the cleaning and decorating of the packhouse for his arrival. I had turned eighteen at the end of school a year ago and, since then, had been trapped full time in the packhouse, cooking, cleaning, washing, baking and serving the ranked members from dawn until sometimes as late as midnight. I was even forced to clean the rooms of my Alpha and Luna while they taunted me and kicked at me, pushed me over or, more annoyingly, kept insisting I start again from the beginning because of some small imperfection they found in my work. I knew I had to be meticulous every time I cleaned the Alpha floor. Today I’d be busying myself making sure everything was perfect for Logan’s return, and I wanted to make sure I only had to clean his quarters ONCE. Hayley and Simon were returning this weekend too, with their mates. I didn’t feel anything towards them anymore, and generally avoided being in the same room with them when they visited, if I could help it. It was agonising though, watching my mum love my twin siblings to death, throwing them lavish birthday parties and attending school events for them over the years while shooing me away and barely sparing me a glance as I collected her empty plate to be washed. This time I knew it would be unbearable to watch, as I had heard from other omega’s that Hailey had given birth to twin pups. I never understood why my mother never loved me the same way as she did them. Maybe she sensed that I was a useless wolf. I was smaller and weaker than the other omegas. Being from a long line of Beta wolves, my wolf should have been strong and powerful, but even before coming of age, I never showed much potential. Even my cuts, bruises and breaks took longer to heal than other wolves my age – once, Logan and his younger brother Morgan held my face and neck over a lit stove until I called Morgan ‘Sexy’ (which he would be if he weren’t such an evil bastard) and even now, I still have a scar behind my left ear. On the night before my eighteenth birthday, I had stayed awake all night, excited beyond words to meet my wolf, to finally have a friend in this world, to feel like someone loved me. But, as the day wore on and all I received from the members of my family and the packhouse was a migraine and a painful kick to the ribs for missing a spot while polishing the drawing room floor, my heart finally broke inside my chest. No wolf came for me. Scared, sad and terribly lonely, I eventually cried myself to sleep in the basement, holding myself and begging the moon goddess to love me, the way she was meant to love all wolves. It seems she has never heard me. So, a year later, I’m still wolfless, worthless and tormented by nightmares every night. But I had a plan forming in my mind. Alongside Logan’s impending return, the packhouse was all a-fluster when Gamma Richard spoke to the lead omega and head cook in his office about an upcoming royal visit. Royal visits were rare, especially as we were so far out from the main pack grounds of the Kingdom – Selinis Castle. The visit was scheduled for a few weeks’ time and Alpha Lawrence had left no stone unturned in the budget to make sure Silver Shore was the pride of the Kingdom by the time the new King came to town. During the visit I knew no one would dare mistreat me – even I knew the abuse I endured was against our laws. Not that it mattered, when I didn’t matter. So, I figured, if no one could hurt me, if no one would dare lose face in front of the King and his men, I could leave the packhouse as I do every morning, my absence wouldn’t be noticed until the visit ended and Logan wanted to revisit his favourite human punching bag. I’ve been timing my secret morning runs since the winter snow finally shifted around March and I knew I could be out of the packhouse, through the town and at Silver Shore’s borders in less than an hour. I could slip away so easily – life as a rogue was horrific by all accounts, especially for someone with no wolf – but…I traced my fingers over the newly healed rib fracture in my side…it must be better than this…Besides, no one knew I was a good runner, no one knew how much fitter I’d become this year, hell – no one even knew where I slept. So, imagine my surprise when, upon sneaking back up the large, sweeping lawn of the packhouse, I saw a faint light in the kitchen, floating up from the basement staircase. Heart in my throat, I removed my running shoes and soundlessly opened the back door to the kitchen, pushing it closed behind me as gently as I could. I sniffed the air frantically at the stop of the basement stairs, hoping one of the kitchen boys had woken up early to count the barrels ahead of Logan’s homecoming party. My breath was shallow and quick from running but stopped dead in my throat as I inhaled my mother’s scent. I stood frozen in the kitchen, one hand still on the door handle, the other shakily clutching my running shoes from Anna. My eyes flicked quickly to the expensive label on the sole of the shoes – how many times would my nose be broken for having them? “Get down here, I haven’t got all morning,” came the curt, cold voice of Beta Grace, my mother. Swallowing, I glanced one last time at the door handle before moving, woodenly, towards the basement stairs.