ALPHA ZION’s MUTE HYBRID

"Missed a spot, freak." Beta Derek's boot found my ribs before I could dodge, sending me skidding across the marble floor I'd been scrubbing. My own blood mixed with the cleaning water, creating swirls of pink that would need mopping up all over again. I pushed myself up on trembling arms, ignoring the fire spreading through my chest. The other cleaners had already scattered like roaches when the lights came on. Smart. No one wanted to be associated with the pack's resident punching bag. Derek crouched beside me, his breath reeking of cheap beer and cruelty. "You hear me, bloodsucker? There." He pointed to the fresh droplets that had fallen from my split lip. "Clean it." I nodded, reaching for my rag with careful movements. Any sudden motion would give him an excuse to hit me again, and I had enough bruises painting my ribs already. "That's what I thought." He stood, brushing imaginary dirt from his jeans like touching me had contaminated him. "Can't even do the one thing you're good for without bleeding all over the place." The marble was cold against my knees as I scrubbed away the evidence of my existence. Again. It was a routine I knew by heart—clean up their messes, endure their fists, heal fast enough for round two. "Pathetic." Derek's voice carried that particular brand of disgust reserved just for me. "Sixteen years in this pack and you're still useless as the day we found you." Sixteen years. I'd been eight when they dragged me from the woods, half-dead and completely alone. Too weak to kill, too useful to release—that's what I'd overheard Alpha Marcus telling his Beta years ago. My vampire healing made me the perfect punching bag, bouncing back from injuries that would cripple normal wolves. My werewolf strength made me ideal for the backbreaking work no one else wanted. And my muteness? Well, that ensured I could never tell anyone how they really treated their "rescued" half-breed. Like I was some lost toy instead of the terrified child they'd enslaved. But I kept scrubbing, kept my eyes down, kept playing the part of the broken half-breed who'd given up fighting back. Footsteps echoed through the main hall—more pack members heading to breakfast. I tried to make myself smaller, invisible, but Derek had other plans. "Hey, everyone! Come see our little freak trying to clean up her own mess again." My stomach clenched as familiar faces gathered. Servants from the kitchens. Alpha Marcus daughter and her friends from the upper floors. Even some of the younger wolves who should have known better. "Gross." That was the Alpha's daughter, wrinkling her perfect nose. "Why doesn't Father just get rid of it already?" "Because where else would we find entertainment this good?" Derek laughed, and others joined in. "Besides, she heals fast. Perfect stress relief after a long day." They discuss me like I'm a piece of furniture they're debating whether to reupholster or throw away. After sixteen years, I've learned to find a quiet place in my mind where their casual cruelty can't quite reach. I kept scrubbing, but my jaw was clenched tight enough to crack teeth. The cuts on my face were already closing—vampire healing at work—but the humiliation burned hotter than any physical wound. "Speaking of entertainment," A woman chimed in, "isn't tonight the big inter-pack gathering? Alpha Zion's coming." The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Even Derek's smirk faltered slightly at the mention of the Northern Howl Alpha. "Perfect timing," Derek recovered quickly, his voice taking on an edge of malicious excitement. "Maybe our guest will want a demonstration of how we handle... mixed breeds." My hands stilled on the rag. I'd heard whispers about Alpha Zion—how he'd decimated entire vampire covens, how he had zero tolerance for anything that wasn't pure werewolf blood. The stories painted him as something between a war hero and a monster, depending on who was telling them. Derek noticed my reaction and grinned wider. "Oh, you know about him, don't you?.” “Graceful as always, The Vampire Slayer himself. I bet he'd love to meet our resident bloodsucker." Derek observes, watching me scramble to clean. "I do wonder what he will think when he realizes what kind of creature his new ally keeps in his house." I soak up spilled water with shaky hands wringing it out again and again. I knew they wanted to see me scared, shaken. And even though my heart was thudding frantically against my chest - I would not give them that satisfaction. He suddenly grabbed my chin with enough force to bruise, his claws pricking my skin. Fresh blood welled up and I resisted the urge to wince in pain. "Don't embarrass us tonight, monster. Alpha Zion has a reputation for killing your kind. Maybe if you're lucky, he'll put you out of your misery." The wounds sting, but I can already feel my skin beginning to respond. Derek holds my gaze for a long moment, making sure I understand the threat, before releasing me with a laugh that echoes through the foyer. “Clean yourself up," he calls over his shoulder as he walks away. "You look like death walking.” The crowd laughed as Derek released me, wiping his hand on his shirt like I'd contaminated him. They all walked away, chattering about tonight's feast, leaving me alone with my blood and cleaning supplies. I touched the fresh wounds on my face, feeling them seal themselves with that familiar tingling sensation. Vampire fast. Then I looked down at my shaky hands and took a deep breath. I just have to stay strong. Alpha Zion isn’t here for me. But I laughed at myself as the thought flashed through my mind. Everyone knew that the Alpha couldn’t stand vampires. But what could be worse than the torment I’ve had to endure here for years? Death?