"Make sure the pack house is spotless by 8 o'clock, or else it wouldn't just be a week in the dungeon without food, I'll tie you naked in the woods, at the border where any rogue could have his way with you," my cruel father threatened. "Am I understood?"
"Y-y-yes, sir," I trembled, gripping the broom tightly at an attempt to contain myself.
"Pathetic," he muttered under his breath, but having superhuman hearing, I heard it loud and clear. With one last dirty look, he walked away.
He was right, I was pathetic. The fact that his hurtful words still stabbed at my heart after all those years was really pathetic. My whole life, all I've ever known was the harsh, cruel man who mentally and physically abused me whenever he got the chance. Not once was he affectionate towards me.
I remember as a toddler when I wanted to get him to play with me, he would always refuse. When I showed him my family drawing, he would laugh and call it ugly.
I was determined to impress him, to make him proud of me; so I excelled in school, took drawing classes so that I could draw a painting of him that he would be proud of, maybe display in his office. But with every report card I showed him, he would be less and less impressed. When I aced all my classes, he called it the bare minimum, that it was nothing compared to his success.
He was right, his office was littered with his achievement; trophies, certificates, medals... you name it. Though he never told me what any of those were for. Later I'd come to learn that he was accomplished in academics and sports when I went to clean his office; the only time I was allowed in his space.
I didn't understand his hatred towards me, nor his constant urge to put me down and belittle me. When I drew him a portrait as a birthday gift, he got so angry that he slammed the drawing over my head, ruining the canvas that I spent hours upon hours perfecting down to the finest line so he'd be proud of me for once. He kept saying I was talentless. That I was good for nothing. That it should've been me who died instead of my mother. After that day, I didn't try to make him accept me anymore.
It was noon and the pack house was unusually quiet. Normally, there were couples around my age making out everywhere. There were also the guys who played football outside and would be dragging dirt into the house around this time, uncaring that I was standing right there, cleaning after them.
It didn't help that I was the youngest in the pack, making me the easiest target to get picked on. The pack's alpha had twins who were just a year older than me, Sam and Stacy. They were the meanest people I've ever met. Growing up, Stacy and her squad would bully me in class while her brother and his friends would bully me at recess. They had it nailed down so well I thought they planned it.
It didn't need rocket science to understand why they hated me so much. Since my own father does, why would they like me either. As if that wasn't enough, my wolf was also quite small; with fur as stark as ice and eyes the truest blue you could ever see. Despite that, they'd never tried to touch or abuse me in my wolf form, which I found strange but didn't dare question. Even Sam's mate wasn't nice, treating me like her personal maid, and what hurt more was that I couldn't do anything to defend myself.
Even though my father's a beta, I was demoted to an omega after my mother's death. My rank was even lower than the cook's. It meant that I was in no position to question an order from someone of higher rank, or anyone at that matter. I was a step away from becoming werewolf scum — a rogue. Although I turned eighteen yesterday, and was smart enough to graduate a year early with Sam, Stacy and the others, I had nowhere to go if I ran away.
Pulling myself out of my depressing thoughts, I focused on cleaning; scrubbing everything so thoroughly that the wooden floor glinted as the light hit it. I was done within six hours, having deep-cleaned every floor and every room that wasn't occupied.
I double-checked though, adjusting everything into place as I went. I left nothing to chance. My father's threat was scarily unusual. The most extreme he went was starving me for a week in the dungeon and that was because the entire sitting area was filthy with dirt that the boys brought after I'd finished cleaning. There were guests from neighbouring packs coming over that day, so the dirty floor wasn't a good impression. My father didn't see reason, slapping me in front of strangers then manhandling me down to the dungeons where they kept trespassers and rogues and locked me down there for a week. It was the worst week I've ever lived.
After my second pass, I was asked into the kitchen to help with dinner. I learned from Mrs. Jones the cook that the Crimson Shadow pack was visiting. Having no idea who they were, she quickly explained that they were one of the biggest, most fearful packs in the entire country, who offered protection to packs they're associating with. My guess would be that my pack wanted in on the protection.
The Moon Stone pack, where I lived, had roughly fifty members, which was a relatively small number. Rouge attacks have always been at an all-time high compared to our neighbouring packs, becoming more frequent as of late. With our limited numbers and resources, of course alpha Dawson would be seeking help from such a powerful pack.
Now my father's threat made sense. He wanted no hitch so the alliance would go smoothly. How pathetic was it that I got pack news from the cook instead of my own high-ranking father. Sigh...
"Lily, dear, could you go fetch some fresh veggies from the garden?" Mrs. Jones asked me. She was the only nice person in the entire house and the only person I cared for after my mother.
"Sure," I agreed.
The garden was actually in a secluded area in the woods. As I made my way outside the house, the sun has already set, the moon illuminating my path through the forest.
Although the woods were a scary place to be at night, the garden was an incomparable sight. The moonflowers would bloom, filling the air with a fragrant, relaxing aroma. The variety of beautifully-coloured flowers made for a panoramic view that was unparalleled in beauty. I wish I lived in the garden, I would be the happiest person alive to be surrounded by all the beauty.
I sighed loudly, wanting to enjoy the garden longer, but the clock was ticking. Begrudgingly, I grabbed the pruning shears and cut a selection of vegetables. I found the fruits had ripened so I harvested some too —they would make for a beautiful fruit tray.
As I was cutting, I felt the hair at the back of my neck stand at attention. My quiet, reserved wolf was antsy inside of me. My breath was coming out as short, shallow pants, as if I've just ran a marathon. My first instinct was another rogue attack, but I scented nobody nearby. I started feeling uneasy. I didn't want to be alone in the woods anymore.
I waited a beat to make sure there were no attackers then quickly made my way back to the house. "You're finally here, quickly help me finish the food, they're almost here," Mrs. Jones hurried. I immediately powered through, forgetting the incident at the garden, cleaning then cutting the vegetables then leaving her to finish the main course while I handled dessert. At 8 o'clock on the dot, I was putting the last dish on the elaborate mahogany dining table.
"Now go take a quick shower and come back to finish the desserts," she murmured. Although they hated to admit it, everyone in the pack house loved my desserts. I was known for making the most scrumptious treats that not even my father could refuse.
I nodded, sweat and raw onions filling my nostrils when I inhaled. As I climbed up the stairs to my room, the bell rang, startling me. Against my better judgement, I waited by the banister, obscured by the dark, as I watched alpha Dawson himself get the door.
The moment the door opened, the odd feelings I had back at the garden came back, if not stronger. Goosebumps literally took over my whole body and a shudder rocked me to the core. As he welcomed the men into our house, the feeling only got more intense. My wolf was clamouring wildly inside of me, wanting to come out. I left before I shifted right there on the steps. If I was going to involuntarily shift, doing it in my own space was better than exposing myself like that and getting that dreadful punishment my father promised me.
I ran up the steps, not slowing until my bedroom door was safely locked behind me. Taking deep breaths, I tried to calm myself and my wolf. Then remembering I was supposed to be helping, I scrambled into the small bathroom, almost ripping my clothes trying to get them off.
I grabbed a quick shower that shouldn't have exceeded ten minutes. I was looking in the closet for an outfit to wear as I towel-dried my body. I settled on a grey, buttoned, long-sleeved top and a black midi skirt that belonged to my mother. I blow-dried my long blonde hair in record speed then slipped into my outfit. I didn't prefer to wash my hair at such short timing, but I stank, and my father would have my head if I served his important guests when I smelled just the slightest bit unpleasant.
I inspected myself in the mirror; my pale skin was uncharacteristically flushed, my aquamarine-blue eyes felt too big in my small face and my usually pale lips were pink and parted. My dried long hair trailed down to my waist in waves. My mama used to call me a mermaid because of my wavy, streaky blonde hair. She used to say that I had every shade of blonde in my hair. I recalled the memories of her brushing my hair and being in awe of it, and a small, sad smile tugged at my lips.
I loved my outfit, especially the flowy skirt that shifted with my every movement. However, I thought the innocent outfit felt scandalous on my body; the ribbed fabric of my top felt constricting as it outlined my curves indecently and the scoop neck rested too low on my chest that I thought would expose my cleavage if I bent just a little. I somehow inherited my mama's voluptuous figure, which I felt didn't suit my tiny frame and made me look overly suggestive.
Stacy always bullied me for my body, which made me more self-conscious than I already was, considering her hour-glass figure and her tall frame. She towered over me, which made bullying me even more humiliating. I envied her small perky breasts and thin thighs. While her hour-glass figure would enable her to rock whatever she wanted to wear, I had to be careful with my clothing so my body wasn't exaggerated.
I was almost going to change my outfit when Mrs. Jones mind-linked me, urging me to get a move on to serve their drinks. I slipped into my black flats and hurried downstairs into the kitchen. I grabbed the large tray with a steady hand, making my way into the reception room.
The moment I entered, goosebumps attacked my flesh and a shiver threatened to make me drop my tray on the thoroughly-cleaned rug. Conversation ceased and it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Eyes solely focused on the wobbling drinks, I shakily made my way to the rustic wooden table, all the while feeling a set of unnerving eyes following me. Conversation flowed back as if I never came and I relaxed a little as the attention wasn't all on me.
I unexpectedly stumbled as I walked, almost dropping the drinks and a familiar growl sounded to my right. I righted myself immediately and placed the tray shakily on the table, the drinks miraculously surviving my stumble. Dropping my head in respect, I walked as normally as I could until I was out of sight. I heard another growl as I left, this one deeper, less familiar, and had my wolf responding with a mewl of its own but I stifled it. I fled into the kitchen, hand over my chest, breathing hard.
"What's wrong?" Mrs. Jones asked, concerned.
My insides were in turmoil; my heart was pumping wildly in my chest, my wolf was excitable as ever, and I had this strange feeling in the pit of my stomach that I couldn't quite put my finger on.
"I need a minute," I whispered before I fled the kitchen, running as quietly as I could to a nearby unused bathroom. I closed the door then propped my arms against the sink. My breathing was laboured and my heart pumped wildly in my chest.
I've never been like this; never felt anything less than composed. I've learned from a young age to control my feelings in order to avoid getting picked on. If they smelled just a hint of emotion, they would use it against me in painful ways I didn't want to experience again. It was already hard living with them when my only shield was gone.
I closed my eyes and took several deep breaths, thinking of the garden, of its beauty and how it's fragrant aroma always soothed me. I closed my eyes and envisioned myself there; surrounded by lush greenery, beautiful flowers and tall trees. I instantly calmed down, returning to that zen place in my head.
Smiling, I turned around, ready to get back to helping Mrs. Jones, when my head hit against a hard wall. Wincing in pain,I opened my eyes and realised it wasn't a wall, but a dark-clothed, sturdy chest. I was so in my thoughts that I failed to notice that someone entered the bathroom with me.
I gulped as his scent hit me. My wolf was going crazy, growling obscene things in my head. The tall person that I was scared to look up to bent down, bringing us eye-to-eye. Angry, dark eyes stared back at me, and my eyes widened equally in fear and shock.
"Mate."
***
To be continued...