Hellfired

"Wake the f**k up!" Arien opened her eyes with a start, heart racing beneath her ribs. She sent a confused look at the burly figure hovering near the bed – their bed. She clenched her fist on the thin blanket when the man in his sharp suit leaned closer. "What did I tell you about today?" 'Today is my twenty-fifth birthday, but …' Arien averted her blue eyes, "I have no right to be present when the party starts." "And why is that?" Arien glanced at the floor-to-ceiling mirror on the left wall of their bedroom. She hated that her auburn hair was unkempt from a restless sleep. She hated that her fair skin was covered with yellow and blue. She hated that the hollowed look had become a permanent mask on her face. In a brittle voice, she whispered, "Because they might know how you cruelly treat your own mate." A strong grip jerked her shoulder back, bruising like always. But it was fine. She was prohibited from wearing any dress that showed more than her face and hands. "Try again." Arien thinned her lips, trying to hide the tremble as she rearranged her words. "Because you're the only one who's allowed to see me." "That's right," he grinned. All teeth and fangs. "Only I am allowed to see you." She might as well be dead to the world. "Look at us," he commanded, forcing her to stand by the bed, stiff rod, with an arm on her shoulders. Once again, she brought her attention to the mirror. Rayven Redwell was the epitome of a perfectly sculpted Greek god in the flesh. He was tall, while she was short. Muscled while she was frail. Gorgeous with his blond locks, while she was … she had never been this ugly, but Rayven made her like this. Not intentionally, maybe, but his violence and abuse changed her. Physically and mentally. She wasn't supposed to look like this – like she was a damned slave of an evil, mad king. Her blue eyes flicked to the dark red crescent insignia pinned on the lapel of his crisp suit. A small, little thing that showed how much authority he had within the pack. The sacred symbol for the Alpha of Grimcrest Pack. Arien was sure even without the insignia, no one would mistake Rayven. He might not be the biggest or tallest in the pack, but his cold, domineering persona was telling enough. Dressed in faded, rumpled pyjamas – the only kind of clothes he gave – she felt like a prime example of how much of a gap there was between an alpha and an omega. Although, no omega looked this messed up in this pack. She was just unfortunate enough to be unable to– "The Moon Goddess is the fairest one. She pairs me with you, perhaps to make up for your lack of everything." Rayven grumbled, staring aghast at their reflection. "I don't want to see you if I can." Arien tried to level her breathing and didn't want to aggravate the alpha when her bruise yesterday was barely healing. She kept her mouth shut. "What, no more snarky remarks?" Rayven taunted, a crooked smirk playing on his handsome face. If only people knew of his abusive streaks, she wouldn't have to suffer under his cruelty. 'I guess the Moon Goddess is fair to only those in her favour,' Arien thought, silently cursing why she couldn't be like the others. "Good, I like you this way." But there was no stopping the glare she sent to Rayven through the mirror. 'You mean, weak and abused under your violence streak?' It was a good thing that Rayven was not a mind reader. She could be dead from the number of soundless remarks she kept to herself. "Now that you know your place, I want you to not make a ruckus here." Rayven said before he left, sliding the lock in place before his footsteps faded in the hallway. Arien narrowed her eyes hatefully at the locked door. As if she could go out of the alpha's private chamber when there's no party going on. He only said this because he had a certain hobby of making her life more miserable than it already was. At least he let her have the window open. Sitting on the sill, Arien gazed forlornly at the full moon. She placed a hand on the spot between her neck and shoulder, covering the cursive Soul Mark that connected her with the Grimcrest Pack's Alpha. Its shape was complicated, but only one word to describe the Mark – beautiful. 'Know that I reject you as my mate.' That was the only thing Rayven said when they first met. He wasn't the Alpha back then. Merely one of the strongest candidates. But, meeting his fated mate was the final nail to name him as the Alpha Grimcrest Pack. Rayven knew that so well. That was why he announced they would do the sacred ritual to the pack while secretly keeping Arien to himself as nothing more than a slave. No one knew how Rayven actually treated his mate. As far as people know, he was just being overprotective and possessive. She was a prisoner to her own fated mate. And all of this was because she couldn't shift into her wolf form, a great sin to all Werewolves. Before meeting Rayven, she was already the target of bullying in the pack. Even her family treats her differently. A nasty remark in her face or a stone thrown at her back was nothing unusual. However, after Rayven declared they were a mate, people no longer targeted her. She was the Alpha's personal target of cruelty instead. 'I wish I were different.' And something burned in her arm, like fire licking at her skin. Something was burning under, as if her blood lit up, red hot as if it were magma. Searing. She clutched her arm, gritting her teeth from the intense burn. Her skin was smooth as if what happened to it was merely her desperate imagination. But her eyes were not lying. There, on her reddish burning skin, a line stretched from her wrist up to her inner forearm. Then, it cooled down, leaving a black scorch mark there. One single line she knew nothing about.