Fate in circles

Christie’s life with the Crimson pack was a symphony of misery, with every note resounding through the dilapidated store they reluctantly allocated as her quarters. The stale smell of neglect covered the room, replacing the once-endearing smell of a clean store with the choking smell of bad and old wood. The space itself was a terrible reflection of Christie’s status among the pack; an abandoned area where unused possessions piled like lost memories. The walls, with their flaking wallpaper, appeared to be silently sympathetic to Christie’s life. The floor cracked from years of aggressive strides of pack members who hardly ever looked at her. One corner held a single, battered mattress, the fading fabric a sobering reminder of the many restless nights Christie had to endure. The lightweight and tattered blankets did not offer any protection from the cold air that crept through the broken walls. Christie stretched out on the mattress, was not particularly comfortable in the little blanket of hers. Her only furniture was an armchair that was missing a leg; it was a cruel joke in a cold room. Christie’s few belongings, a faded picture, and a ragged book, were tucked away in a corner, fragments of a once-promising life. The floor was covered in long, dreadful shadows from the evening sun as the pain of the wounds from the countless cruel beatings she had suffered at the hands of her foster family resurfaced heavily. Abigail, her foster sister, entered the store with a mischievous glimmer in her eyes. Scared, Christie tightly gripped her frayed book, hoping to find comfort within its pages, but she was unable to find much solace. Sneering, Abigail walked up to Christie and grabbed the book roughly out of her shaking hands. "What do you think you're doing, Christie?" Her voice dripping with poison, as she taunted. Tears welled up in Christie’s eyes, but she firmly held them back. "Please, I was just reading, Abigail”. With trembling voice, she begged, "Give it back." Laughing hysterically, Abigail continued taunting, "Aw, listen to Christie begging like a puppy." Abigail had a menacing twinkle in her eyes as she held the book just out of Christie’s grasp. "You really believe you are good for something? You're a worthless, pitiful orphan, that's all you are”, she spits. With a sly smile, Abigail added. “ But, hold on. What are you useful for these days? From the very first day Father brought you here, its been a rollercoaster of ill-luck. You're not welcome here. Our pack is burdened by you." These statements pierced Christie’s heart like multiple daggers as a lump began to form in her throat, but she forced herself not to cry. Barely audibly, "I belong here as much as anyone else," she said in self defense. “I may not be your blood or have what it takes to fit into your Pack but the truth remains that I am a Crimson now just like you and Mariam.” She said finitely. Bewildered and with mixed feelings, Abigail laughed sarcastically, shoving the book into her own bag. "Oh, Christie, how you always try to fit in. It's really quite cute. But nobody wants you here, not Father, not us; you're just a charity case." Watching her favorite novel disappear into Abigail’s bag, Christie felt her eyes burn from unshed tears. She was unable to understand why her foster siblings treated her so badly. A family she had always wanted, a place to call home, were all she had ever desired was available. Abigail turned and left the room after dealing that last blow, leaving Christie by herself in the dark. "Stop right there," Christie ordered. As she refused to allow them to break her, she stood up, walking boldly towards Abigail. To her, the feeling of hope was not inadequate, and she was going to cling to the sparkle of hope that maybe one day she would discover a place where she belonged and could be accepted for who she was. “What is going on here?” Angry, Christie’s foster dad, Mr. Thompson, queried as he ordered Christie to the parlor. She felt a sense of urgency as the evening rays expanded. Picking up her little possessions with shaky hands, she was determined not to let anyone ruin her life. Tears welled up in Christie’s eyes as she walked into their minimally furnished parlor, a bleak expression on her face. She could hear Abigail’s ridiculous laughter, cruelly, in the distance. Comfortably seated, Mr. Thompson angrily called as he sighted her, "Christie," in a firm but cold manner. "Walk fast and Come here, please." Christie stepped cautiously into the parlor, her eyes full of fear. "Yes, Dad?" she said, trembling in her voice. Mr. Thompson looked directly into Christie’s eyes, his face fixed with a stern yet resolute expression. “You've lived here for a long time now, and despite your weakness as an Omega, we have not ceased to care and support you,” he said. “The burden of caring for you is becoming expensive as you are no longer a child, hence the reason why I have called you.” At every word, Christie’s heartbeat raced harder. Would she be beaten again? Or was he going to ask her to start working? “Dad...” “Don't interrupt me.” Mr Thompson said curtly. “I have sold you.” he dropped the bombshell. Bewildered, Christie stood up as she stared at her dad in disbelief. “You’ve been sold to the Lycaon King Damien. He needs an heir, go give him one.” The weight of his words pressed on Christie, and her heart fell. “Sold? How? Why?" she asked in pain "Because I've thought it necessary, I mean, this is an opportunity to get a parcel of land from the King and more will come if you give him an heir." Mr. Thompson said without emotion. "It is beneficial for our family, isn't it? And I'll have no choice but to disown you, Christie, if you disobey me." With Christie’s eyes filled with tears, she knew that the Crimson Pack was the devil she knew and based on what she had heard about the Lycaon King, she preferred the hell at the Crimson’s; a far lesser hell. The vicious King Damien of the Dunson pack was notorious for his evil deeds. Fierce and an embodiment of evil, he was greatly feared in the whole of Ryanus. The thoughts of mating with him sent cold down her spines. Quietly, she expressed the pain in her heart. "Dad, I beg of you, save me.” Her voice was choking with emotion as she begged, "I don't want to go." Mr. Thompson's face did not change. "Is this how you will repay me for the kindness shown? I picked you from the gutters and made you a Crimson and this is how you’d thank me? It's resolved. Tomorrow, you'll leave." he ordered. With her heart heavy of pain Christie withdrew from the parlor and sought solace in her peaceful room. She felt a sense of urgency as the evening rays expanded. Picking up her little possessions with shaky hands, she was determined not to let anyone ruin her life. Christie walked stealthily through the back door in disguise, the pathway to the backyard was faintly lighted by the moon. Though fleeting, the hope in her heart surged. She would be free from the enemies of her peace. "Stop right there," a familiar voice echoed in the dark. Frightened, she stood, shaking in dead fear as the security guard pointed his torch at her scared face. Moving closer and grabbing her arm, he growled at her. “Christie?”