Nine Years Ago,
Three Years After The Coup
"What's anarchy?" Boston asked, squinting at the bright blue sky through the canopy of leaves above us.
Although the sun still peaked through in spots, the shade of the mammoth tree beside us provided us with much-needed relief from the afternoon sun as we perched on the roof of an old concrete shed in our overgrown neighborhood park, our feet dangled freely, swaying slightly in the warm breeze.
The shed's roof had witnessed countless afternoons we'd spent together. It was a quiet oasis from the world. And a good place to talk far away from the prying ears of others. It wasn't uncommon for one of us to ask the other about things we'd heard adults say that we hadn't been meant to hear, comparing notes about what we did and didn't understand, theorizing about the things that neither of us did.
Recently, we'd been here nearly every day after school dismissed around lunchtime. Sometimes other kids from school joined us. Usually on those days, Boston played soccer with them while I drew, or we both watched from atop the shed.
Today, though, it was only the two of us. That was the way we liked it best.
We each held half of the lemon my granddad had given along with a tiny paper packet of salt for us to sprinkle on top and lick off.
It wasn't a meal but I was still grateful to have something to fend off hunger. Besides, my granddad always ensured we had enough food for a small breakfast and a full dinner—something many in the Alderman Territory didn't have.
"I think it's like a rebellion. But everything goes crazy," I answered. Boston nodded thoughtfully, lips pursed in thought. "Who was talking about anarchy?"
"Dominic."
Dominic was the kind, but quiet mechanic that Boston's older sister/guardian, Cass, had been dating for the last year. He'd all but moved into their house over the last few months. He said it was because he worried about Cass and Boston, which I think was mostly true. But it didn't hurt that he was head-over-heels for Cass.
"What did he say?" I asked.
"I overheard him talking to Cass last night and said he thinks there'll be anarchy if the food shortages continue."
There had been riots in other Territories recently. I heard my Granddad talking to the butcher about it last week as I pretended to browse the sparsely stocked isles of the deli. From what I could pick up from their hushed conversation, it only seemed to make things worse.
Now it was my turn to squint up at the bright sun. "I hope not."
A look of confusion overtook Boston's face. "Why not?"
"I'm scared it will make things worse."
He nodded. "Cass is freaked out about it."
"So is Grandad," I replied before taking a lick of the lemon, the sour, salty taste making me salivate. Boston just stared down at his half.
"Maybe a rebellion would be a good thing," he said. "There's way more of us than there are of them. If every human came together, we'd have a chance. The problem with when the Lycan had the Coup is that everyone thought the human government was going to save them, and when they didn't, they were willing to fight themselves."
I hated the Lycan. I wished they never existed. Or, at the very least, that they never took control of everything.
But now they were here and there was no going back. A few humans had tried in the months and years following the Lycan overtook the world during the Coup but every attempt ended in the rebels being viciously slaughtered and the humans left behind being punished for it.
"My Granddad said they can't be killed."
Boston wrinkled his nose. "Everything can die."
I played with the short stem of the lemon. "It doesn't matter. There's too many of them and they're too strong...My grandad says—"
"Your Granddad doesn't know everything," Boston snapped.
I reared back.
Boston had never spoken like that about my Granddad. Since he'd moved to Valmont with Cass nearly 3 years ago, he'd treated my granddad with the utmost respect.
Boston licked his lips, peering out across the expanse of the park. "I just feel like no one is even trying."
They did try though. For three miserable weeks the human government—which had the most powerful military in the world at the time, Grandad said— tried to fight off the lycan with no success. I'd even heard some adults whisper that the only reason it took three weeks instead of three days was because the Lycan were trying to ease the transition.
My memories from that time were hazy. I remembered that my Granddad and I didn't leave the house for nearly a month, seeking shelter huddled in the hallway away from any windows. When we finally emerged outside, the world had changed.
I looked down at the crust of salt on the lemon, suddenly feeling less hungry than I had moments before.
"What kinda stuff do you remember about what things were like before the Lycan?" I asked.
Boston frowned. He didn't like talking about his life before arriving in Valmont and especially didn't like talking about life before Cass took him in a few months prior to that.
I knew that he lived with his mom. He'd been born in a city called Boston, which was where he got his name, but they moved around a lot. She always had struggled with drinking and drugs, but after the Lycans' coup, her problems got so bad she couldn't care for herself, let alone Boston.
Sometimes, he let things about his time living with his mom slip. Images of dirty, decaying houses and loud strangers.
It was a vast difference from my memories of baking cookies with my mom and being read books by my dad after being tucked into bed.
But my world ended two weeks before the Coup when my parents died.
My dad had been a renowned fashion photographer. He'd met my mom—a model—on set. After she'd retired when I was three, she became his assistant on shoots. They'd been traveling to a shoot on the day that the drunk driver ran a red light and ended their lives.
Everyone else had to wait two more weeks for their world to end.
Boston's, on the other hand, didn't even truly begin until a few months later when Cass came back into his life. When I thought about it, Boston was probably one of the few humans whose life got better after the Coup.
My stomach turned.
What was wrong with me? That was an awful thing to think. How could I even think that?
"It doesn't matter what things were like before. It doesn't make how things are now any better."
He was right. And I was a jerk for even thinking otherwise.
Boston shook his head as if silently responding to my unspoken thoughts.
"Come on." He stood, dusting off his hands before offering one to me. "Cass asked me to find some chickweed for dinner. Let's go look."
┍━☽【❖】☾━┑
Today.
Consciousness crept back to me bringing with it a thick fog of disorientation. At first, there was only the dull, throbbing pressure behind my eyes. Then a sharp, aching pain that shot through my hand followed, shaking away the final remnants of sleep.
Something was very, very wrong.
I knew that but my grasp on reality had been fragmented by so many countless lapses into darkness that it was hard to keep track of what was going on.
Warm light pierced through my eyelids. I opened my eyes and blinked the room into blurred focus.
I was lying in a bed, I realized. But whose bed?
White-hot panic gripped me despite the lingering sedative that weighed on my senses.
What happened?
The events that led me here blurred together in a disorganized muddle–flashes of memories of blood and Lycans and loud snaps and hospital rooms and...and fear.
A shadow flickered at the edge of my vision. I whipped my head in its direction to find him there—the Alpha. He sat, a silent sentinel in a simple wooden chair beside the bed, his dark gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that felt almost palpable.
Awful, terrible things had led us here, I knew that much.
His eyes held me captive for a breath, my body too taut with tension to move. Then, he made to stand and the spell was broken as the movement sparked a primal, adrenaline-fueled impulse within me to run.
I surged upright, desperation lending me strength as I scrambled across the mattress and off the bed. I made a blind, frenzied dash for the door, hands shaking violently as I grasped at the handle, only to find it immovable.
It was locked. I was trapped. Trapped in here with him.
Panic, sharp and suffocating, clawed at my throat.
"HELP! PLEASE HELP!"
I battered against the unyielding door with all the force my weakened muscles could muster.
Oh God. Oh please God.
To my surprise, the Alpha didn't immediately attack like I expended. Instead, he seemed to take his time making his way across the room. His presence slowly loomed closer and closer, an oppressive weight in the small room.
Whirling around, I pressed my back against the hard surface, my breaths coming in short, ragged gasps.
"Don't!"
Don't what exactly? Don't come any closer? Don't rape me?
He lifted a placating hand in what I could only assume was an attempt to calm me.
"You're safe." He said evenly, his voice a stark contrast to the maelstrom of frenzy.
If my mind wasn't so fogged by drugs and panic, the ridiculousness of that statement might have hit me harder. Safe? How the fuck was I safe?
He advanced a step and instinctively, I shrank back further into the cold, hard wood of the door hoping by some miracle it would swallow me up. My chin wobbled.
"Please...Let me go," I managed, my voice breaking. A steady stream of tears started down my cheeks. The Alpha tilted his head a fraction of an inch, his expression unreadable.
"I can't do that."
"Please!"
"No," he replied calmly and extended a hand toward me. "Now come away from the door."
Ignoring him, I turned back to the door and continued to slam my fists against it hoping–praying–my pleas would be met with help. Suddenly, his arms wrapped around me, an unyielding force dragging me away from my only possible escape. My nails scraped against the wood in a last, desperate attempt to hold on.
"NOOOO!" My wail was a raw, torn thing, echoing my utter desolation. "Leave me alone!"
I slammed my fists into the monster's chest, sobbing as he forced me still in his embrace. He ran a hand over my hair, stroking it in a calming motion even as I thrashed against him.
"Stop. Stop fighting me," he urged, his voice a low rumble against the chaos of my grief.
A raw, primal cry tore from my throat. A cry for all that was lost. For myself. For the fallen members of the Resistance who had been so brutally murdered because of me. For a world irrevocably changed.
I fought until my body eventually caved in on itself. If not for the Alpha's unwavering hold, I would have collapsed onto the ground.
"That's enough now," the Alpha murmured into my hair, causing a shiver to rattle my spine. "I know you're frightened. But you are safe, little one. I promise you that."
His words only made the tears come harder.
We stayed like that for a minute, my small body propped against his massive frame, my legs no longer able to support my weight. He adjusted his grip, lifting me into his arms before turning back toward the bed.
If it weren't for us, you'd be tied down to a bed with one of those dogs between your legs. Cohen's words echoed through my skull.
No, no, NO!
Summoning what little strength I had left, I frantically tried to wriggle out of his hold to no avail.
We reached the bed and, to my surprise, the Alpha didn't throw me down onto the mattress to have his way with me. Instead, he gingerly sat on its edge, still holding me tightly to his chest as he attempted to soothe me by shushing sweet nothings while gently rocking me back and forth.
"Breath. You're okay. I've got you. You're safe. No one is going to hurt you. Stop fighting."
I knew his disgusting, empty kindness meant nothing. No matter how genuine he sounded, it was only because he wanted me pliant for whatever horrors he intended to do to me.
I hated him. I hated every word that came out of his damned mouth. I hated even more how my body seemed to respond to them.
I continued to try to resist, to fight against my frowning pacificity. But as the hours dragged on, the exhaustion, coupled with the lingering effects of sedatives, wore me down. It felt so wrong but I couldn't help but succumb to the wave of calm that inevitably overcame me once my body and mind could no longer fight, a surrender born of sheer inability to continue to battle.
As fitful sleep claimed me once again, I prayed that I would never wake up.
A/N:
I feel like I could have edited this chapter for hours longer but I had a goal to publish chapters 8 and 9 by the end of February (thank god for leap year)
As always, please please please comment and vote! I read every single comment probably like 10x lol