Orphan Alpha Daughter: Unwanted (The Sable River Series #1)

Chapter Two

In my nightmare the gut-wrenching terror and heartache mirrored my real emotions, even if that final part wasn’t actually what happened.

He didn’t throw me out the window, although he might as well have. I shivered as I thought about it.

He, my supposed father and last person in the world I could trust with my wellbeing, sent me into the forest to the east (away from the rogues, at least) roughly towards the Sable River pack, and henceforth effectively erased me, his only daughter and child, from his pack and memory.

Just like that. Even thinking about it, it sounds so absurdly abrupt and cold.

Left to my own devices, and almost defenceless as a ten year old girl who had to wait years to Turn, I wandered aimlessly and unintentionally towards the Sable River boundary. A guard there had found me, pitied me and took me back as an orphan to the pack, after I told them my parents had died. Without the care for children & women the Sable River pack showed, I would have certainly died myself. The guard had died not long after, and I wasn’t sure even who he had been - but I was forever thankful for his tenderness and kindness.

As a final parting kick to the guts, my father warned me that if I told anyone I was Alpha James’ daughter, he would know, and hunt me down to stop the shame I placed on him. And I believed him, with a terror only a helpless, frightened young girl, who has suddenly had her whole life, love, comfort and future ripped away, could feel.

So much for fatherly love.

Hearing my mother & favourite uncle were killed was the worst moment of my childhood, and then followed so quickly by such a horrific rejection, I was shattered, dazed and horrified. It’s amazing I didn’t need years of therapy.

Maybe I did.

I had to be strong to survive, though, and I refused to hold onto hate. I learnt that at school here in Sable River. Hate festers in the bones, creating more problems for the hater than the hated. It was still something I struggled with at times. After all, I was an innocent child! What did I do to deserve any of that? My blood started to boil a bit at the very thought, and I quickly took a few deep breaths to quell it. What was the use?

As it is, thinking about those moments was painful- but after these 8 years it had dulled to a low throb or pain when I inadvertently thought of them-except in the nightmares.

I still struggle with my own self-worth and rejection issues. Thanks, Daddy.

Meanwhile, I awoke from my dream sweaty and nauseous. I had been hoping to get through this week without a disturbed night, because tomorrow-which was quickly turning into today-was the day I’d been waiting for all my life.

My Turning ceremony.

Along with the rest of those to turn for the first time, I would be standing awaiting the full moon’s peak to transform fully into my wolf self, and becoming a whole werewolf for the first time.

The meeting of my own human side with my new, of-age wolf side.

Stronger, both in and out. Mentally, emotionally and physically. At least, that’s what I assumed would happen- I missed all the wolf-lore classes when I was transitioning over from my old pack, and I never wanted to look stupid and ask someone. My mother should have been the one to ask- but that had been denied me.

I was desperately hoping that when I turned for the first time, that my wolf would heal my broken heart. That I would never need to feel helpless, or like a victim, again.

Ever.

I didn’t want to lean on anyone, but most of all I didn’t want this unrelenting dull throb in my heart to be there anymore. I wanted to be free. Free of memories, free of pain, and ready to move forward.

I managed to fall back into a fitful sleep, tossing around until I finally arose at 6am, and began stretching on my thinly carpeted floor.

Today was a designated day of rest for those destined for the Turning ceremony- a first for me. Rest wasn’t really in my vocabulary, because I earned my keep (and my bungalow sanctuary space) by working each day in the kitchen of the packhouse. I would do whatever it took to keep my sanctuary.

Our middle-aged Alpha, Bronce Haddin, had decreed the day of rest before Turning, on my very first year in the pack, 8 years ago. In fact, he had said this because the newly Turned of that year were made into a target by the enemy, witches with enslaved vampires who needed to find a c***k in our armour… with terrifying results.

After that horrible day-which is now legend amongst those of us who came after- the witches are said to not only have vampires enslaved, but also wolves - our wolves- on their side, ready to fight their own natural kind, under the spell of their new masters.

Regardless, we haven’t seen them since.

All because they had worked a full day, then been exhausted when the Turning had taken place. Too exhausted to take note, run, or fight back.

They had returned to the shadows and shockingly never returned or attacked as we expected. 8 years, and nothing…

Alpha Bronce had then made a law that required the upcoming Turners to have a rest day before Turning, which was intended as a preventative measure. He also made curfew and ‘after dark’ rules involving not being alone at night in the forest. It was f*******n to be outside the pack grounds at night except when you were supporting a Turning ceremony participant-and then, you were never to be alone. Unless you were on guard duty with a partner, of course. Leaving a packhouse and grounds unguarded was simply inviting rogues in.

Thankfully as a result of this law, I wasn’t expected in the kitchens today, but expected to take it easy, prepare for the physical ordeal that is the first Turning.

Apparently it’s like your stomach is writhing, your body has fallen into red-hot lava, and your fingers and toes feel like they break - followed by the rest of your bones. I’ve heard some around the pack house say it feels like liquid fire is racing through your veins. I was horrified at the idea even when I first heard it. Now it’s almost here, I feel like I’m trying to hold the terror at bay constantly.

Yikes.

To say I’m nervous would be the understatement of the century. While everyone else will have at least some family there to support them, I’ll just have Marta from the kitchen- although she is a type of bossy but caring Aunty-like figure to me now, she has no idea what family quirks to expect, how long it will take, or what colour I’ll be in my wolf form. No info about what to expect whatsoever. It’s daunting.

Still, I have someone who cares in her own rough way, and for that I’m grateful. My best friend is away on pack business and can’t make it, which she was devastated about. I would have loved having her here to share the moment with me, especially as she was also an orphan so she really understood - but it couldn’t be helped. As the main pack interpreter, she was needed at various inter-pack relations visits, which she was currently on with Alpha Bronce’s Beta, Jason.

After watching a rare movie (which I just stared at, hardly taking anything in) and having another shower, I spent time getting my gear together for the Ceremony.

Spare clothes -check. Water bottle -check. Muesli bar, in case I got hungry -check. A hoodie, in case I needed extra warmth or covering afterwards.

And the all-important hooded blanket that I would be dressed in before turning, so as to walk away with clothes to put on, rather than shredded ones.

I stowed all these things away in a rucksack and sat it by the door in readiness, feeling like I was anything but ready, but this big change was coming anyway, no matter how much I tried to stall time.

I sighed with apprehension and a little tiredness from my lack of sleep.

I threw my rucksack on my back, turned to survey my little bungalow and realised I would be returning as a changed - no, Turned - werewolf woman, as a full-grown part of a pack and adult member of the species. I took a breath, and forced myself out the door towards the yellow bus in the packhouse courtyard, a hundred metres away or so.

It’s going to be a big night.