Chapter2
1668 Words
Mira's voice burst through my sleep like sunshine. "Happy birthday, Sera!" Her face radiated pure excitement as my eyes fluttered open.
A genuine smile curved my lips. "Same to you, Mira. We've made it to eighteen."
Her arms wrapped around me in an exuberant embrace, her gaze shimmering with emotion. "Finally! Can you believe we're actually here?"
"Barely." I extracted myself from her grip and playfully tweaked her nose, earning an indignant huff.
"Shouldn't we get a break today? Just this once?" she whined, her tone dripping with hopeful laziness.
"You know that's not happening. Come on, up." We dragged ourselves vertical, and I gathered my wild, tangled curls into yet another haphazard bun. My hair had become a disaster, parched and knotted from months without proper care.
They'd thrown me into this barn without basic necessities, so I'd risked another midnight raid on the packhouse just to steal shampoo and conditioner. My hair desperately needed the intervention.
I collected the cleaning supplies, mop, rags, bucket of water and ventured into the packhouse. The assignments never varied: Mira tackled the dining hall while I conquered the expansive living quarters and the entire staircase. Dawn had barely broken, the house still wrapped in predawn silence. At least I'd finish before anyone stirred.
Fate, however, had different plans. Jason's footsteps echoed down the staircase, his expression twisted into that familiar sneer of superiority.
"Freak! My room needs cleaning later!" His command rang out with casual cruelty. I simply dipped my head in acknowledgment, refusing to engage. Jason's harassment had become routine.
"Pathetic omega trash," he spat, his voice thick with revulsion. Every muscle in my body tensed as I white-knuckled the rag, fighting the violent urge building inside me. One word. One retort, and he'd beat me senseless again. The temptation to reveal my true nature, to fight back with everything I possessed, nearly overwhelmed me. But exposure meant execution.
I swallowed the rage and released a long, weary breath. How satisfying it would be to wipe that arrogant smirk off his face permanently. Instead, I continued scrubbing, ignoring his presence until he finally wandered toward the kitchen for his habitual morning coffee.
Minutes crawled by before Alpha Thorne descended, his gaze landing on me with undisguised contempt.
"Guests arrive tonight. Not a speck of dust better remain, understood, omega?" His tone brooked no argument.
"Of course, Alpha..." I murmured with practiced subservience.
Without another word, he strode toward the dining hall. The moment he disappeared, I exhaled sharply, unable to suppress the resentment burning in my chest. My eyes threatened to ignite with their supernatural glow, the telltale sign of my frustration. I forced a calming breath, letting the fury dissipate.
The truth sat heavy in my mind: I was this pack's rightful Alpha, not him. And definitely not Liza, his spoiled daughter. But concealment kept me breathing. Today, though, today I turned eighteen. Today I could finally search for my mate. Today, perhaps, someone would finally protect me and extract me from this nightmare. The hope felt almost painful.
I finished the floors and moved to the staircase, methodically cleaning each step and rail.
"Revolting." Liza's venomous voice drifted down from above. I deliberately ignored her, continuing my work. "Did you not hear me? Alpha Azrael arrives today. I expect perfection, understand?" She raised one perfectly manicured eyebrow in challenge. I nodded curtly, desperate to end the interaction. She scoffed dismissively and descended past me, her shoulder deliberately colliding with mine. I rolled my eyes heavenward. Like father, like daughter indeed. I silently wished she'd miscalculate and tumble down the stairs.
"Ouch!" Her yelp of pain made me whip around. Had she actually fallen? My eyes widened in shock. Had she really just hit her butt to the floor?
"How dare you mock me!" Liza's voice cracked like a whip as she shot upright, her glare sharp enough to draw blood.
"I wasn't. I swear…" My protest died in my throat.
Everything happened in a blur. She launched herself at me with feral rage, her claws puncturing the flesh of my arms. I gasped as warmth trickled down my skin, my own blood. Her palm cracked across my cheek once, twice, three times. The pain exploded through my skull, but I refused to give her the satisfaction of tears. Another strike. Another. I could only grunt and absorb the abuse, the primal urge to retaliate clawing at my insides.
The metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth. Her foot connected with my stomach, driving the air from my lungs. She seized my hair, wrenching my head back before her fists pummeled my face repeatedly. I felt my nose give way, blood streaming freely now, though shock had numbed me beyond feeling.
A final vicious kick sent me crashing to the floor. I spat crimson onto the wood and groaned. Liza stood over me, chest heaving with exertion and fury, her disgusted gaze boring into me before she stormed off, muttering incoherently under her breath.
Slowly, painfully, I pushed myself upright and surveyed the blood, my blood, splattered across the pristine floor. My fist clenched so hard my nails bit into my palm. *One day, Liza. One day you'll answer for this.*
After completing the cleaning, I retreated to the barn to change out of my blood-soaked clothes. My wounds had already begun knitting themselves back together, accelerated healing I'd come to expect. Mira couldn't know about Liza's attack; I wouldn't burden her with more worry.
I needed the lake's cold embrace to clear my head. Standing in the shallows, I let the water lap against my skin. Enough. I'd reached my breaking point. This pack had never wanted me, and I was done pretending I belonged. Wherever I ended up, it couldn't possibly be worse than this.
I released my hair from its tie and ran my fingers through the damp strands, untangling the mess. An hour passed as I stood there, lost in bitter contemplation. Why had fate cursed me with this existence? Why couldn't I have been born ordinary? Normal?
The anomalies in my wolf form haunted me, luminous golden-white fur that seemed to glow when I shifted. My eyes, already strange in human form, became incandescent beacons in the darkness when I transformed. No other wolf possessed such traits. My sense of smell bordered on supernatural, sharp enough that I'd already detected Mira's approaching footsteps. At least my wounds had healed with their usual efficiency.
"Sera! I've been searching everywhere for you! Is everything alright?" Mira's voice carried genuine concern as she drew near.
I manufactured a smile. "Just exhausted," I lied smoothly. Her expression immediately softened with sympathy.
"You're thinking about them, aren't you?" She meant my parents. I exhaled slowly and nodded.
"I miss them desperately," I admitted, my gaze fixed on the rippling water. She murmured agreement, adding, "I miss mine too. Can you imagine if they were still here? We wouldn't be trapped in this nightmare."
I shrugged noncommittally, unwilling to voice the certainty that our lives would be unrecognizable.
"I brought cookies," Mira announced brightly, producing a package with a flourish.
"Where did you find those?" I asked, eyeing them curiously.
"Beta Lucian gave them to us. He remembered our birthday," she explained, her smile widening. I nodded, genuinely touched. Had Beta Lucian actually remembered?
"Visitors are arriving today, from the rival pack. Apparently, there's talk of uniting the two packs through some secret alliance." Her tone suggested skepticism. I nodded thoughtfully. The Shepherd's Pack had been our adversaries for as long as memory served. The sudden shift toward cooperation seemed suspicious at best.
We lingered by the lake, our conversation wandering through trivial topics until I finally confessed my escape plan. Her reaction was immediate, pure terror flooded her features. The punishment for fleeing was severe, potentially fatal if we were captured. I understood her fear completely. She'd been conditioned since childhood to believe the pack would devour her alive if given the chance.
But I refused to abandon Mira. She was the only family I had left in this world. When the moment came for me to leave, I'd reveal everything, my wolf, my truth, all of it.
'Are you certain about this?' Zephyra's voice whispered through my consciousness.
'Absolutely,' I responded internally.
'What if her reaction is... negative?'
Silence stretched between us. Honestly, I had no answer. The uncertainty gnawed at me, but I pushed it aside.
"We should head back," Mira suggested, rising to her feet.
Our walk back dissolved into meaningless chatter, safe, superficial topics to fill the quiet. Once inside the barn, we collapsed onto our grimy mattress for a brief rest. An hour evaporated before discomfort jolted me awake. Something had shifted in the air. A scent, powerful, unfamiliar, utterly intoxicating, infiltrated my senses and seized control of my entire being. My pulse thundered against my ribs as the scent's origin became clear: the packhouse.
The unknown fragrance flooded my nostrils, threatening to unravel my sanity completely. I slipped out of the barn with painstaking care, avoiding any sound that might rouse Mira. My feet carried me forward as if controlled by invisible strings, compelled to track down the source of that maddening aroma. The scent pulled me inexorably toward the packhouse, though I knew entry was forbidden at this hour.
Moments later, a figure materialized from the shadows, tall, devastatingly attractive, and moving directly toward me. Our eyes collided, locking together with magnetic force. Inside my mind, Zephyra erupted into chaos, her voice a frenzied chant.
'Mate. Mate. MATE.'
The realization crashed over me like a tidal wave. Him. This tall, striking stranger was my mate. My destined partner stood before me, his intense gaze fixed on my mismatched eyes before traveling deliberately across my entire form, cataloging every detail.
"Mate," the word fell from his lips like a sacred invocation.
"Mate," I echo
ed, my voice barely above a whisper, the single word containing every hope and fear I'd ever harbored.
- Writer
