His Wolfless Bride

MARGUERITE’S POV: The market roars with rage while the street vendors and shops with large tattered wagons of goods narrow the street, forcing the people to walk in an almost impassable straight line. Among all the buzzy noises, one stands out. “The King Ultima is murdered! The King Ultima is murdered!” The newspaper vendor comes to me, offering a piece of his trash with one hand while carrying the rest of his piled trash on his back. He says in an almost inaudible voice, “The King Ultima is murdered.” “I know. That’s what you’ve been shouting the whole time,” I reply. “Don’t you wanna find out how?” he asks, teasing. “Will finding out how make me less hungry?” I ask back with an apparent irritation in my tone. If I base it on appearance, among many customers jostling in the street, I am the least likely to buy anything inedible. That’s why it’s a wonder why the hell would he offer me one. The vendor makes an effort to compete with my glare, before walking away with equal irritation plastering all over his hollowed face. I take off my glare from his back and return my focus to the bakery shop. Its clean, slightly sweet, yeasty aroma entices me to take a step forward, weaving my way through the sweaty vendors and irritated customers. Soon, I find myself standing in front of the array of crates decorated with collages of freshly baked bread. I stare at their golden crust, imagining how fluffy and tasty they could be from the inside. My stomach gurgles. My mouth salivates. “Are you gonna buy some?” an old lady with flour all over her ragged skirt asks. I tuck my hands inside my shabby full-dress coat’s pockets, but grope nothing. I know I have nothing, I just don’t know why I need to even double-check. I fold my fingers into my palms, wave my head, then take a step back. My response gets a snore from the old lady. She even murmurs, “Beggar.” I don’t pay attention to her insult. Why would I? Her insult is nothing worse than what I’ve heard from my packmates. I’m used to hearing harsh words. Words that never fail to shatter my heart… when I was younger, but not anymore. I’m much more insensitive now. If I let those kinds of insults drown me, I wouldn’t be alive today. I would have chosen an easier way out - death. I continue to stare at the loaves of bread, making the old lady add, “If you don’t have money to buy something, then go away! You’re making other customers feel uneasy!” I smirk, which she obviously doesn’t appreciate. Sure, there’s a lot of customers, but nobody seems to care about my presence, so why worry? Instead of insulting me more, she just grunts then turns around from me. Another lady, who looks much older than me, says, "Do you want the bread? Take it. I'll pay for it." My eyes widen in disbelief. "You mean it?" I ask. The instant the lady nods, the pangs of my hunger disperse any of my hesitation and controls my next action. With quickness, I grab one loaf of bread, then say, "I'll take one. Thank you!" The lady winks at me while smiling. I wave at her, before sprinting and squeezing my way through herds of people. “Thief!” says someone from somewhere. The voice of the old lady soon echoes, “Help! That beggar stole my bread!” Thief?! I didn't steal anything! Assuming that nobody would believe me, I let my fear take over me. I dart past several shops, fumble down twice, get back up, then sprint again until a tingling sensation thrills through my racing legs. When I reach a part of the market that’s slightly uncongested, I look back to see if the old lady has caught up with me. Her wrinkled face is nowhere around, so I stop to relax my breath and to rest my legs. As soon as I get some comfort, I stare at the bread in my hands. My hands tremble as I inch the warm bread closer to my nose and mouth. I snif, admiring its aroma. Suddenly, a tear trickles down my eyes the moment I finally take a bite of the bread. Every chew generates more tears to fall. It’s been a while since I ate decent food and it’s been three days since I ate anything at all. The high officials of my pack always get the best quality and portion of food while the Omegas, like me, eat what’s left, which, most of the time, isn’t enough for all of us. As a result, they starve me coz I’m considered the bottom of the bottom. There are times when I think, maybe it’s best to just run away and become a rogue instead. If only I have the heart to do it, I would’ve done it a long time ago. But I don’t, coz I don’t think that there’s a place where I am welcome to stay. I wipe my tears as I swallow the bread, not minding the people who are gawking at me with unneeded pity in their eyes. Just when I’m about to take my second bite of the bread, a voice from behind me shouts, “Stop right there, you thief!” My wet eyes widen while my body temporarily freezes in place. When the thudding footsteps amplify, I’ve got no choice, but to force my legs to sprint again. “No! Stop, you rat!” says the voice. With the bread tucked in my chest, I keep propelling forward. The tremendously wild beats of my heart shut off all the noises around and there’s only one thing that conquers my thoughts - if I get caught, I’m doomed! The tingling sensation in my legs not only returns, but also intensifies. Though it slows me down, it doesn’t stop me. For a good moment, I manage to dodge the market goers who are heading in the opposite direction from me. I’m doing great… or so I think, until a tall, caped man appears in front of me. I see him, but for some reason, I’m unable to pause or to avoid him. My head bumps to his hard chest, reeling me and my bread a few feet away. My back hits the paved ground first, making me gasp. Pain gyrates through me. I dip my knees to my midsection, then lie on one side, trying to reduce the pain. “The thief comes this way!” That irksome voice forcibly restores my adrenaline. Ignoring my pain, I get up, then grab the bread from the ground and jog past the tall-caped man. My exhaustion and my back pain hinder me from increasing my pace, so the best option for now is to hide. I enter a dead-end alley, lower myself behind a trash can, then silently pray that no one will find me here. I squeeze my hand against my nose when the reek of animal feces starts to flip my still hungry stomach upside down. “Is there anyone who saw a girl with long, dark braided hair? She’s about this height,” a voice says. “Is that the girl who's carrying a loaf of bread?” another voice, low and quite monotonous, asks. I close my eyes and press the bread into my chest while fighting both the fear of being found and the rancid stink of the cramped air. “That’s her. She stole that bread from an old lady's shop.” No! Please, Moon goddess, do something! You know I didn't steal the bread! So you gotta save me! Both the voices become silent, and the more their silence lasts, the more my thoughts go wild. I can’t be found. I’ve survived a lot and there’s no way I’ll let a loaf of bread become the death of me! “I saw her go that way.” Following the response of the low voice, are thuds of footsteps that are coming my way. Every footstep is reciprocated with an even louder and faster beat of my heart. This is it! I have to fight for my life! I’ll attack before they could! I stay low and, carefully, peek from behind the trash can. My eyelids jerk and my heart becomes less frantic when the man and his minions run past the alley. However, when I attempt to stand up, a huge shadow slinks through the alley’s stonewalls, prompting me to sit back down. Soon, steady footsteps follow. So, I’m found, ah? Okay, relax, Marguerite. You handled sh*tty situations before. There’s no way you can’t handle another one. When the footsteps stop rumbling off the stonewalls, I don’t waste a second and charge forward. Before my fist could land on the tall, caped man, his wolf growled through his bizarre-looking eyes, causing me to take tottering steps back. “You still aren’t letting go of that bread?” So, he owns that low, monotonous voice from earlier? I stay silent while embracing the bread across my chest. “You’re not from around here, right?” he asks. “It seems like nobody here knows you. From what pack do you belong?” Again, I refuse to respond. He can’t know. My pack can’t know what's happening here. He steps forward, sparking a threat in my mouth, “Don’t come near me! If you do, you’ll regret it!” My voice quavers a little, revealing my false confidence and activating a wry smirk on his… on his… oh my goodness! How did I miss that gorgeous face?! I was so unfocused that I didn’t pay attention to him earlier. His looks, which I can’t imagine possible, makes my heart go even more unruly than it already is. His woody, with undertone of leathery and smokey, scent cuffs my senses. He slides down his cape from his head to his broad shoulders, exposing his curly, white, shoulder-length hair that accentuates both his fiery red left eye and his piercing gold right one. “Mind telling me what a wolfless werewolf like you can do to me?” he asks with an exaggerated sarcasm. My eyes fall on my dirty shoes at the mention of the word ‘wolfless’. Sure, that’s something I’m very ashamed of and that’s something I can never hide. Just by looking at my eyes, one can already tell that I don’t have a wolf in me. “What?” the man asks. His provocation is a success. I shoot a glare at him, which makes his smirk even wider and more annoying. “So what if I’m wolfless?” I ask, wearing a false bravery, which doesn’t work most of the time, but I hope to work this time. “Not all wolfless are weak!” “Really? So if I transform into a wolf now and attack you, can you fight back?” he asks without dropping his smirk and sarcasm. I don’t know how, but something deep inside me screams that ‘he wouldn’t transform and that he wouldn’t hurt me’. That scream sets my chin up and my shoulders back, resting my knuckles on the sides of my waist. “I dare you.” I immediately regret my words when the man strides towards me. I lower my hands from my waist while taking steps back until my back hits a wall. The man levels his head to mine while utter seriousness eradicates his smirk. His light-gray wolf growls at me again, frightening me to my core. I’ve never seen a scary wolf like his in my life, ever! My tears trickle down for the second time today and for the thousandth time in my life. These tears are proof that I really am weak, not just physically, but emotionally too. Unsurprisingly, the heat in my chest flames through my lips. “I hate begging, but I also didn't steal this bread! I’m not what everybody thinks I am!” The man stands up straight, dragging his face away from me. That small movement of his also lifts a load of uneasiness from me. “It looks like you haven't eaten in a while. May I know why?” he asks. Telling him the reason would make me look even weaker and more pitiable, so I hesitate to answer him. Instead, I throw a question of my own. “Why did you lie to those guys? The fact you’re here means that you saw me enter this alley.” He’s silenced for a moment, before responding, “I have no obligation to tell you why.” “Great! Then, I don’t also have any obligation to tell you why,” I reply. I wheeze and almost jump when the man clutches my wrist, then holds my free hand firmly. Warmth surges through my cheeks while bolts of uproar stream into my now loosened bundles of nerves. “Don’t steal again,” he says, calmly. I stare without any motion as he turns away and, into the narrow opening of the alley, disappears. His warmth still lingers in my hand, that he just held so tight. I squeeze that hand into a fist, but instead of alleviating that unknown feeling, I feel a pouch. I gawk at it for a second, before loosening its garter at one end. As I peek through its inside, my eyebrows twitch. Flickering and clinking metals I’ve not touched before, greet my widening eyes. Gold coins!? Why is he giving me this?! I run out of the alley, hoping that I could still find the man. My eyes roam with my feet, but no matter which direction I look, he’s nowhere. Well, it’s not my intention to return these gold coins, I just wanna find him to say thank you. I transfer my gaze back to the gold coins, then grin when exuberance eclipses my still gurgling belly. These could feed me for a year. Thank you Moon Goddess for sending a savior to me! I quickly tuck the pouch inside my coat’s pocket before a real thief takes it away from me. A smile, something I’ve lost for a while, comes to me while taking huge bites of the bread in my hands. But that smile soon retreats when, a couple of steps from the dead-end alley, the men, who were hunting me, emerge from the pool of people in front of me. “There she is, shamelessly enjoying a stolen bread!”