Marked as Defective
1412 Words
CHAPTER 6: MARKED AS DEFECTIVE
The whispers started the morning after Elara’s punishment.
She woke on the cold stone floor of the servants’ quarters. Not in her room. She didn’t have a room anymore. That small privilege had been taken from her along with what little dignity she had left. Her back still burned from the whipping, every breath sending a sharp sting through her ribs.
Pain she could live with. Pain was familiar.
It was the silence that hurt more.
When she stepped into the kitchens to start her morning duties, the other omegas went quiet. Conversations died mid-sentence. No one looked at her. When she reached for supplies, the omegas shifted away, creating neat little gaps around her like she carried some sort of disease.
“Excuse me,” Elara said softly, reaching past an omega named Sera for the bread basket.
Sera actually flinched. She jerked away so fast she knocked over a pitcher of cream.
“I’m sorry,” Elara said, starting to bend and help clean it.
“Don’t.” Sera’s voice was barely audible, her gaze locked on the floor. “Please. Just… don’t.”
Elara slowly straightened and looked around the kitchen.
Suddenly everyone had something very important to do. Eyes down, hands busy, bodies angled away. Anything to avoid looking at her. Anything to avoid being near her.
“What’s going on?” Elara asked.
No one replied. But she saw the glances. The half-second looks. The way they kept distance like touching her might ruin them.
Fear. They were afraid of her.
Or afraid of what might happen if they were seen with her.
The head cook, Martha, an older omega who used to sneak Elara an extra slice of bread when she could, cleared her throat.
“Your duties have changed, girl. You’re in the stables now. Report to the stable master.”
The stables. The worst job in the pack. Filthy, heavy work that left your muscles screaming and your clothes stained. Work for the ones at the very bottom.
Elara gave a small nod and left without a word. She had learned a long time ago that arguing only made things worse.
The walk to the stables took her past the pack square, where morning training was already underway. She kept her head down, but she still felt the stares, heard the scattered whispers that drifted behind her like smoke.
“Heard she attacked the Luna.”
“My mother says she’s cursed.”
“There’s something wrong with her wolf.”
“She shouldn’t even be in the pack.”
Cursed. Defective. Broken.
The words curled around her like chains, but chains were nothing new. She had lived with them her whole life.
The stable master, a broad-shouldered beta named Cole, sized her up with open disgust.
“You’re the omega?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Can you muck stalls without causing problems?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. I don’t want trouble. Do your work, keep quiet, stay out of the way. The horses don’t care what you are, so maybe you’ll be useful for something.” He shoved a shovel toward her. “Start with the end stalls. They haven’t been cleaned in a week.”
The smell hit her before she even reached them. Thick, sour, and overwhelming. Still, Elara took the shovel and got to work.
Out here, at least, it was just her and the horses. No flinching glances. No quick retreats. No whispered curses behind her back. Just the scrape of the shovel, the rustle of hay, the occasional snort from a restless mare.
Cursed. Broken. Defective.
Maybe they were right. Maybe something in her really was wrong. What else could explain her father’s silence while the pack tore her apart? What else could explain how her mother’s death had left her labeled as omega, as if that was all she had ever been?
The questions chased each other around her mind while she worked. Her muscles burned. Her back throbbed. Every movement hurt, but she preferred that kind of pain. At least it was simple. Clear. Honest.
She was halfway through the third stall when she heard footsteps behind her.
Elara did not bother turning around. Whoever it was would either pass by or cause trouble. Either way, there was nothing she could do.
“They’re saying you’re cursed.”
The voice was old and roughened by time. Elara glanced over her shoulder and found an elderly omega woman standing at the entrance to the stall. Her hair was pure white, her face a web of fine lines, but her eyes were startlingly sharp.
Elara didn’t recognize her. She had never seen this woman around the pack before. A visitor, maybe. But what would an old omega visitor be doing here in the stables?
“They say a lot of things,” Elara replied carefully, turning back to her work.
“Do they?” the woman asked as she stepped closer, studying Elara with unsettling focus. “They say you’re weak. Defective. That your wolf is broken.”
“Maybe it is.”
“And maybe the sky is green and rivers climb mountains.” Her voice carried the faintest hint of amusement. “I’ve lived eighty-three years, child. I’ve seen more than most. And I know a lie when I see one.”
Elara’s fingers tightened around the shovel handle. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you?” The woman reached out and gently caught Elara’s chin, turning her face toward the light. “Your mother wasn’t omega, child. And neither are you.”
The words struck like a blow. Elara jerked back, heart pounding.
“You didn’t know my mother,” she said.
“Didn’t I?” The woman’s smile turned sad. “Lydia was my granddaughter’s daughter. That makes you my great-great-granddaughter, if I’ve kept count. The years do tend to run together.”
Elara’s world tilted.
“That’s not possible. My mother was…”
“A Luna,” the old woman finished softly. “Born to lead. Born with power in her blood, wild and bright. She chose to bind her wolf, to appear omega, to hide what she truly was. She did it to protect you from those who would have killed you both if they had known what you carry.”
Luna.
Her mother had been a Luna.
Which meant…
“No.” Elara’s voice was barely a breath. “You’re lying. You’re… why are you telling me this?”
“Because they’re coming for you again, child. The same way they came for your mother. And this time, pretending to be less will not save you.” The old woman took Elara’s hand and pressed something into her palm. It was a small stone, warm against her skin, as if it held its own heartbeat. “When the time comes, remember what I’ve said. Your mother wasn’t omega.”
She held Elara’s stare.
“Neither are you.”
The woman turned to go, but Elara grabbed her arm.
“Wait. Who are you? Why are you here?”
“I’m someone who made a promise a long time ago.” The grief in the woman’s eyes felt ancient and heavy. “I promised Lydia I would watch over you if anything happened to her. I’ve been watching. Waiting. Hoping they’d leave you be. But they won’t. They can’t. Not when you carry what you carry.”
“What do I carry?” Elara’s voice cracked. “What am I?”
The old woman’s smile cut straight through her. “You’re the reason they’re afraid. You’re the reason they work so hard to break you, to make you believe you’re nothing. Because deep down, where they cannot lie to themselves, they know the truth.”
She slipped free of Elara’s grip and walked away, leaving her alone in the reeking stall, clutching a warm stone in her hand and a truth that turned her world inside out.
Your mother wasn’t omega.
Neither are you.
Elara looked down at the stone. In the dim stable light, it seemed to glow softly, pulsing in time with her heartbeat.
Something shifted inside her.
For the first time in three years, she felt her wolf stir. Not the weak, fractured presen
ce she had grown used to. Something else. Something solid. Fierce.
Something that had been sleeping. Waiting. Watching.
Something golden.
- Writer
