Three-thirty in the mornin, not a soul in sight.
City's looking like a ghost town on a moonless summer night.
Raindrops on the windshield, there's a storm moving in.
He's heading back from somewhere he never should have been.
The thunder rolls, oh the thunder rolls.
Seventeen year old Marietta Bloodmoon's radio-alarm went off on the country station at five in the morning. Groaning, she tumbled out of bed. Quickly fixing her copper hair, she ran down the stairs to make breakfast. Her hopes of her father not being awake were dashed when she saw him sitting at the table with an angry scowl on his face. She tried to brace herself for whatever was coming, but she never knew what it was.
Quickly, he got up and stormed over to her. "Look at me. I said, LOOK AT ME!" When she finally met his almost black eyes with her turquoise blue one, he smacked her several times across the face. "How dare you not have my breakfast ready when I get up?! Why is the fridge empty, slut?! Where's my damn coffee?!" Marietta felt the angry, bitter tears sting her eyes as her scarred face stung with pain.
Without a word, she hurried past him and started filling the fridge up with her father's alcoholic beverages. Then, she made his coffee and breakfast. Whatever appetite she'd woken up with was gone. As soon as she had cleaned up his mess and gave him a few drinks, she fled up to the bathroom. Checking the mirror, she noticed she had a black eye and a busted lip. No amount of makeup could hide it.
Making her way back to the bedroom, she grabbed her clothes from the closet. A red t-shirt, black hoodie, blue jeans, and boots. Coming out of the closet, she found her uncle sitting on her bed, a devious smile on his face. Fear and panic coursed through her. She slowly backed into the closet. Attempting to shove the door shut behind her failed as he shoved it back open. She knew better than to scream for help. Nobody would help her. The one person who would have, her mother, was killed three and a half years ago, when she was thirteen and a half.
"Now, now, lass. I wouldn't hurt you. I just want something from you before you get dressed from school." His disgusting, whiskey scented mouth crashed onto hers before she could say anything. She'd already had about five miscarriages from him since she turned fifteen. She tried shoving him away, but to no avail. She was rarely fed, rarely allowed out, and therefore was much weaker than the average werewolf female, especially for an Alpha's daughter. Swiftly, he picked her up and flung her on the bed before tying her hands to the bedpost.
"You're mine and have been for two years." His rough voice cut through her worse than a knife. He beat her body, avoiding her face. She was pretty sure she had a broken rib or two, and she was completely bloodied up by the time he was done beating her. When his rough mouth landed back onto hers, he shoved her nightgown up and forced himself into her. Pulling in and out, he still wasn't satisfied. Slowly, he trailed sloppy kisses to his mark on her. She'd have thought she'd have been used to the pain after doing this every two weeks for thirty months, but she wasn't. When his canines sunk into her neck, she let out a scream of pure agony. She knew nobody would ever want her, especially not when she'd been claimed by her uncle.
When he finally got done, he punched her in the ribs, receiving another would-be window-shattering, but yet silent, scream. With a dry laugh, he untied her hands and left. Slowly, but painfully, she managed to get up to drag herself in the shower. Finally washing her blood off, she managed to get dressed. She made it out the door for school while her father and uncle weren't paying any attention to her.
YOU ARE READING
The Alpha's Claimed Mate
Werewolf"You're mine." Her uncle tried to claim her. Her father beat her. Her mother died. Alpha comes along. "No, she's mine." She'd found her mate. She'd already been claimed by another.
