My na is Lorraine Anderson.
Once, that na ant sothing. Once, my family was respected. My father, Gabriel Anderson, was Beta of the ShadowFang Pack, my mother his fierce and loyal mate, was a respected Nurse in the Alpha’s infirmary. We had honor. We had strength. We had a good reputation.
But five years ago, this Pack that my parents gave there all for betrayed them.
Lies turned my father from a trusted Beta into a traitor that worked with rogues to kill the last Alpha. My mother was branded a conspirator. I was young but I understood that my parents had been frad.
I rember the blood. I rember the screams. I rember hiding in the cellar, my tiny hands pressed over my ears, waiting for them to co for next.
But they didn’t kill , they should have.
Instead, they let live, to suffer, to serve, to be remminded every day that I am nothing but the daughter of traitors. A stain on their pack. I beca their slave, their punching bag, their entertainnt when they were feeling particularly cruel.
And today was no different.
It was a simple mistake. A stupid one.
I was supposed to clean the dining hall after breakfast. Scrub the floors, clear the tables, make myself invisible. That was the rule; stay unseen, stay silent, stay useful. But my hands were stiff from the cold, and I was moving too slow. When I reached for a tray, my fingers fumbled, and a single plate slipped.
Just one plate.
It hit the floor with a sharp crack, barely a sound in the large hall, but to the pack mbers lounging nearby, it was as if I had shattered sacred glass.
The room fell silent.
My heart pounded as I quickly bent to pick up the broken pieces. Maybe if I moved fast enough, they’d ignore . Maybe—
A sharp, mocking laugh cut through my thoughts.
"How pathetic."
I didn’t have to look up to know who it was. Stephen Wyatt. The new Alpha’s son. The future leader of this wretched pack.
A chair scraped against the floor as he stood. I kept my eyes down, hoping, praying, he would lose interest.
He didn’t.
His boots appeared in my vision, stopping just inches from my hands. My fingers trembled as I picked up a shard. I barely had ti to register the movent before Stephen kicked the piece from my grasp.
"You dirty little rat," he sneered. "Can’t even do the one thing you’re supposed to be good for."
I kept my head down. Submitting. It was the only way to avoid worse punishnt, I had learnt that the hard way.
But Stephen didn’t want submission today. He wanted entertainnt.
"Stand up," he ordered.
I hesitated. That was a mistake.
Strong fingers imdiately tangled in my hair and yanked upright. Pain burned across my scalp, but I swallowed the gasp that threatened to escape.
"Maybe you need a lesson," Stephen mused, voice dripping with false sympathy. He turned to the other pack mbers. "What do you think? Should we remind the little traitor what happens when she disrespects her betters?"
Laughter rippled through the room. Agreent followed.
My stomach clenched. I knew what was coming.
Public humiliation. Beatings. They would make an example of , because I had dropped a single plate.
The pack dragged outside into the training grounds, where more wolves gathered. Word spread fast when there was a show to watch.
The cold air bit at my exposed skin as Damian shoved to my knees in the dirt. My hands curled into fists. I willed myself not to shake.
Alpha Wyatt watched from his usual place by the wooden post, a smirk on his lips. He wouldn’t stop this. He never did.
Stephen cracked his knuckles. "Let’s see if we can finally break you."
The first blow ca fast. A sharp kick to my ribs. The impact sent sprawling, pain exploding through my side. Laughter erupted around .
"Again," Alpha Wyatt called lazily, "I doubt she felt that"
Another kick hit .
I gasped but clenched my teeth.
No sound. No weakness.
"Still not begging?" Stephen crouched in front of , golden eyes gleaming. "You really are pathetic."
I lifted my gaze, my hazel eyes locking onto his. I didn’t speak.
Stephen’s smirk faltered.
Anger flickered in his expression. He grabbed my hair, jerking my head back. "Speak, mongrel."
I refused.
My mouth filled with blood, thick and tallic. I gathered it on my tongue, then spat.
The red splattered across his perfect boots.
There was silence at first.
Then ca the rage.
The next blow sent crashing into the dirt. More followed, kicks, fists, jeers. I curled inward, protecting what little I could. The pain was endless.
But so was my hatred.
One day.
One day, I will rise.
One day, I will make them all pay.
But today is not that day.
Today, I endure.
And after a while of being a public punching bag, it was over.
The last kick landed against my ribs with a sickening crack, followed by laughter as my body slumped to the ground. My cheek pressed into the dirt, the taste of blood thick in my mouth.
But they finally shuffled away, their voices fading into the distance.
They were done with .
They had beaten to their satisfaction and left like discarded trash, uncaring if I ever got up again.
The world around was silent, except for the faint rustling of the trees in the wind. My body scread, every nerve on fire, but I didn’t move.
I couldn’t.
Minutes passed. Maybe hours.
Then, the first drop of rain fell.
Cold. Sharp.
It landed on my bare skin, a tiny sting against an ocean of pain. Another followed. Then another. And soon, the heavens opened.
The rain poured down in sheets, soaking through my torn clothes, seeping into my wounds, turning the dirt beneath into thick, clinging mud. Every drop felt like tiny daggers against my bruised flesh, amplifying the pain I was already drowning in.
I wanted to stay there. To let the storm take , let the cold numb everything until I felt nothing at all.
I wanted to die.
But I couldn’t.
Not yet.
With a shaky breath, I forced my arms under . My muscles scread in protest, my ribs threatening to cave in, but I gritted my teeth and pushed through it. My fingers dug into the wet earth as I dragged myself forward, inch by agonizing inch.
The pack house lood ahead, its lights a cruel reminder that warmth and shelter were just out of reach.
Every movent I took forward sent fire through my body, but I didn’t stop. I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of finding here in the morning, half-dead in the mud like a dying dog.
I reached the steps, my fingers curling around the wooden railing as I pulled myself up. The door was only a few feet away now. Just a little more... then ut all happened so fast.
Pain exploded through my stomach as a leg forcefully kicked out.
I barely had ti to register the impact before my body was airborne, flung backward. My back hit the ground hard, the breath torn from my lungs.
Through the haze of pain, a voice chuckled.
Stephen.
He stood in the doorway, his golden eyes gleaming with amusent as he lowered his foot, the sa foot he had just used to kick .
"You really don’t know your place, do you?" he drawled, stepping closer, his shadow looming over .
I gasped, struggling to breathe, my ribs barely cooperating. But I forced myself to et his gaze, refusing to cower.
Stephen smirked. "Don’t worry. By this ti tomorrow, you won’t have to anymore."
Sothing in his tone made the blood in my veins turn to ice.
He crouched down, gripping my chin between his fingers, forcing to look at him. "Tomorrow night, we’re finally getting rid of you."
The rain pounded harder, drowning out the distant sounds of the pack house. But I heard him perfectly. I heard every single words he said.
Tomorrow night.
The full moon.
The Lycans were coming.
Alpha Wyatt will hand over to them as the chosen candidate for the Lunar Crest Academy scholarship.
The realization settled like lead in my stomach.
Every year, one wolf from the Feral Packs was "chosen" for the Lunar Crest Academy scholarship.
None of the "chosen" ever returned alive.
This wasn’t an honor. It was a death sentence.
And I was next.
Stephen leaned in closer, his breath warm against my ear. "Try not to die too quickly," he whispered. "I heard the Lycans like to play with their food."
Then he let go, shoving back into the mud before stepping over like I was nothing.
I didn’t move.
I just lay there, rain washing over , pain anchoring to the ground.
Tomorrow night, I was going to die.
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