Alpha King's Broken Mate

BRISEIS I woke to the sound of metal crashing against stone. Again. A pot, maybe. Or a tray. It hardly mattered anymore, Alpha Rolan’s mate liked to make noise when she was angry, and she was always angry. Her voice pierced through the walls next, loud enough to make the others around me stir. I heard soft groans. A few muttered curses. But no one moved fast enough to beat the sting of her slipper, if she came storming in. I had the bruises to prove it. The air was cold against my skin as I sat up. My limbs ached. Every bone in my body felt heavier these days. Maybe from the weather, or maybe just from surviving. The straw beneath me crackled as I shifted, scratching my bare legs. The thin cloth I slept in had holes now. I used to patch them. I stopped bothering. No one cared how I looked. No one saw me. I rubbed my eyes and looked toward the window. It wasn’t even morning yet. Just the faintest grey light, not sunlight—moonlight fading. Another day in this prison of a pack. I dressed quickly, pulling on my scratchy tunic and the worn leggings that barely reached my ankles. The fabric clung to my knees from old mud stains. My boots had holes in the soles. My hair, thick, unruly, cursed curls, was tied up with a piece of string. A real omega would have been presentable. Useful. Silent. Me? I was just… Briseis. The mistake. “Get out there, rat!” someone snapped behind the door. I flinched, even though I’d expected it. The door swung open, and Selma, one of the Beta females, stood with a scowl on her lips and disgust in her eyes. “Kitchen. Alpha’s expecting fresh meat and warm bread. And don’t screw it up again.” I nodded and moved past her quickly, keeping my eyes on the ground. I’d learned that lesson early, don’t speak unless spoken to, don’t look them in the eye. Don’t let them see your wolf. I hadn’t shifted yet. I was twenty. Another reason they hated me. “Maybe your wolf’s just as pathetic as you are,” Beta Marko had once sneered after knocking me to the ground during training. He’d stood over me, laughing while I gasped for air. “Or maybe there’s nothing there at all.” They all believed it. I did too, some days. That I was broken. That the Moon Goddess had overlooked me, cursed me. Left me behind when She handed out worth. In the kitchen, the heat hit me like a wall. The cooks barely acknowledged me as I started to work. I kneaded dough, peeled vegetables, scrubbed blood off knives. Every movement was automatic, muscle memory after years of doing the same thing. Once, a few years ago, I’d sliced my palm clean open trying to gut a rabbit. I’d cried out. No one had helped. No one had even looked. I was the ghost of the pack. A shadow at the edges. They only noticed me when they wanted something, food, water, pain to pour out on someone weaker. I cleaned the Alpha’s boots with a cloth too thin to polish leather. Then the Beta’s quarters. Then the training yard. All before the sun was properly in the sky. By midday, my hands were raw. My stomach grumbled, but I wasn’t allowed food until every other wolf had eaten. And even then, it was leftovers, cold and picked over. Sometimes the bones still had a bit of meat on them. Sometimes they didn’t. I didn’t complain. What would be the point? My name wasn’t listed on any ceremony scrolls. I wasn’t part of the pack roster. I had no rank, no privileges, no purpose. I wasn’t even allowed to attend full moon shifts. “Why waste space?” I once overheard the Alpha mutter to his mate. “Omegas are supposed to be rare and sacred, not useless. I should’ve left her to rot in the snow when her mother died.” That memory still lived in me, sharp and cold. Like a shard of ice under the skin. My mother… I didn’t remember her well. Just pieces. A lullaby in a language no one else spoke. The way her hands smelled like rosemary. The way she looked at me like I was someone. Like I mattered. After she died, they stopped pretending to care. Now, I only had the stone floor. The kitchen scraps. The silence. And the Moon Rite. My stomach clenched at the thought. It was happening in two days. Every year, the packs gathered for it, a great, sacred tradition. Alphas could challenge each other for dominance, and unbonded wolves went hoping the Moon Goddess would choose their mate. It was a celebration for the powerful, the worthy. And I had no business being there. But Alpha Rolan had decided I would go. To humiliate me. He made the announcement during supper, casually tossing the words out between bites of meat. “Take Briseis to the Rite. Let her see what a real omega looks like.” Laughter filled the room. I stood at the edge, a dirty plate in each hand, and stared at the fire. I hadn’t slept since. The thought of standing among the other packs, Alphas, Betas, true Omegas, dressed in my rags, empty of power, was worse than any beating I’d ever taken. I didn’t know why the thought made my chest tighten. Maybe… some part of me still believed in the bond. The Moon. The whispers of destiny my mother used to tell me before bed. About how every wolf had a thread woven in the stars, meant only for them. But not me. No one was coming for me. No one ever had. I was nothing. A mistake. And in two days, the world would see it too. ..... I slipped out of the kitchen when no one was looking and wandered toward the back shed behind the training grounds. It was barely more than a broken lean-to, its roof half-caved and the wooden beams dark with rot. No one came here. That was why I liked it. I crouched inside, knees drawn to my chest, and let myself exhale. Just once. A full breath, no noise. My ribs ached from holding it in all morning. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the wall. When I was younger, I used to imagine I’d shift early. That I’d surprise them all, Alpha Rolan, his smug mate, every Beta who ever laughed at me. I’d wake up one morning and feel the burn in my bones, the pulse of something ancient cracking open in my chest, and I’d run into the forest with a silver coat and fire in my blood. But I was twenty. And nothing had come. I was still just… me. A girl with a small frame, a quiet voice, and a wolf that stayed silent no matter how often I begged. The worst part wasn’t the pain or the hunger or the beatings. It was being invisible. Always just outside the world everyone else got to live in. The pack’s omega quarters were meant to be sacred, soft places full of nurture and care. At least, that’s what I’d heard in stories. But in Blackridge Pack, sacred things didn’t last long. Not when they were tied to girls like me. My mother died when I was eight. She’d been a healer, gentle and wise, always humming songs that no one else knew. She told me I was special. She used to place her hand on my chest when I cried and say, “There’s power in you, little moon. Just waiting to rise.” I believed her. Until the night she didn’t come home. They said it was a rogue attack. No one brought back her body. No one mourned her. No funeral. No final words. Just silence. And a new job for me: cleaner. Then kitchen hand. Then training dummy. I was nothing more than a ghost wearing skin. One time, a visiting Gamma from another pack saw me clearing dishes and asked who I was. Alpha Rolan had smiled and said, “She’s nobody. Just a burden we haven’t figured out how to get rid of yet.” They all laughed. I had gone to bed that night with my fists clenched and tears running into my hair. And now the Moon Rite was coming. I didn’t know if I was more afraid of what I’d see… or what others would see when they looked at me. I shifted slightly and winced at the soreness in my hip. The bruise was from yesterday. One of the warriors had “accidentally” knocked me down while sparring, and when I didn’t get up fast enough, he made sure I stayed down. No one helped. They never did. Sometimes I dreamed of running away. But where would I go? What could I do? I couldn’t shift. I had no strength. No money. I wasn’t even sure if the Moon Goddess could see me anymore. Still, even buried in all that hopelessness, something in me refused to die. It wasn’t loud. It didn’t scream. It didn’t ask for revenge or rage or even escape. It was quieter than all that. A breath. A flicker. A voice that sounded like my mother’s, whispering from somewhere deep beneath my skin: “There’s power in you… Just waiting to rise.” I pressed my hand against my chest and waited. Just to see if anything stirred. There was nothing. But I held my hand there anyway. The rest of the day passed in a blur of pain and whispers. They always whispered when I walked by. Loud enough for me to hear, quiet enough to pretend they weren’t speaking to me. “She’ll embarrass us all at the Rite.” “Maybe she’ll finally get claimed by a blind mutt.” “No wolf in their right mind would scent her. She probably stinks like rejection.” I kept my eyes down and moved faster, carrying crates from the storeroom to the main hall where preparations were already underway. The Moon Rite was still two days away, but you'd think it was a royal coronation with how they were fussing. Banners were being brought out of storage. The high table was getting polished. All the warriors had begun extra training to look more impressive to visiting packs. They wanted to shine. I was the dirt they wiped their boots on to get there. “Briseis,” a sharp voice snapped. I turned to see Dalia, Alpha Rolan’s mate, standing with her arms crossed and a cruel smirk curling her lips. She always looked at me like I was a stain on her perfect life. “Yes, Luna?” I asked quietly. She tossed a bundle of cloth at me. I caught it awkwardly and held it up. A torn, stained dress. It looked like it had been buried in mud, then yanked out just for the occasion. “Your Moon Rite attire,” she said sweetly. “We wouldn’t want you showing up naked.” Laughter erupted behind her. A few younger wolves snickered as they passed by. One of them, Beta Marko’s son, muttered, “Not that anyone’d notice.” Heat flushed my cheeks, but I bit down hard on my tongue and nodded. “Thank you.” She frowned. “Is that sarcasm, brat?” “No, Luna.” Her eyes narrowed. For a moment, I thought she might strike me, but then she smiled, cold and pleased. “Good. We want the other packs to see how charitable we are, bringing our… strays.” She leaned in, voice low. “Don’t embarrass us. Keep your head down. Don’t speak to anyone. And if the Alpha King so much as glances at you, you look away, understood?” I nodded again. She walked off, robes swaying like royalty. I stood there holding that disgusting dress, fingers shaking. They wanted me there as a joke. As proof of how superior they were. I wasn’t meant to be part of the ceremony. I wasn’t meant to dance beneath the full moon or even stand among the hopeful. I was a walking shame they were dressing up like a scarecrow just to laugh at when no one chose me. But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was that some small, foolish part of me still hoped. That some part of me still dreamed of being chosen. Of someone scenting me and freezing, not out of disgust, but something deeper. Something real. I was seventeen. I should’ve known better. And yet, that night, I crept out of the packhouse and stood barefoot beneath the stars, clutching that awful dress to my chest like it was armor. The wind was cold. The trees whispered above me. The moon, half full now, glowed softly behind the clouds. I closed my eyes and whispered the old words my mother used to hum. “Moon above, shine on me. Moon within, wake in me. I am yours. Let me be seen.” Nothing happened. No light. No voice. No stir in my chest. But I stood there a little longer anyway, just in case. Because sometimes, the only power a girl like me had was daring to hope in the dark, even if no one ever came.