Rafe’s declaration of my impending Luna ceremony was the start of a landslide of changes. It started off small, with Christobel stopping in early in the morning with food, clothes, and etiquette lessons. Though the etiquette lessons were apparently unnecessary, according to her abundant praise.My manners, posture, and poise are, as Christobel stated, “beyond perfection and not at all an accurate reflection of the conditions of your upbringing.” I didn’t have the heart to tell her that etiquette and proper manners were the only real education I received in River Crest. Deadrick Pride was… physically assertive about my falling into line as a perfect “daughter” for one of his status.I still remember the sting of the switch as he slashed down my back when I stumbled as a child. The bitter taste of lycathistle root under my tongue when I forgot to address him as Beta Pride instead of ‘Father.’ If I told her half of what he did to make me so… perfect… she would join up with Thane and wa
The room goes silent. But it is not peaceful. The rage of these two Alpha level wolves radiates and makes it difficult to breathe. Thane is the first to break the heated silence.“When we left River Crest, we left them floundering. Alpha Nolan was put into a coma. The territory was destabilized after we revealed the misappropriating funds and illegal seizure of property by the pack's leaders and elders,” he begins. “All of the packs in the region are coming down hard on them with tariffs, trade restrictions, and penalties. But it isn’t enough.”“Alpha Rafael, I demand permission to form a special tactical unit on the grounds of expunging the River Crest filth from the region.”“Granted.” Rafe nods his approval.Neither one is joking. Not a smirk or devious twinkle in the eye can be found. These lunatics are about to wage war against River Crest for me. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this level of loyalty.“Denied,” I counter in a firm tone.“Makayla—” Thane tries to protest but I
It took some convincing and about a hundred promises that I wouldn’t leave his side, but Rafe finally relented and let me join him in the cellblock beneath the packhouse. His hand tightens around mine as we descend the metal spiral staircase into the basement prison.The winding stairwell disappears deep into darkness below, and there’s no light above. Every few floors, a guard is stationed and ready to apprehend anyone who dares attempt to escape this cavern.We finally reach the bottom and stand before a heavy metal door with several locks and deadbolts on the outside. It takes two people with two sets of keys to pry the door open. The groan of the hinges reverberates around the stone walls.“I never wanted you to see this place,” Rafe grumbles, squeezing my hand. I give him a reassuring squeeze in return.“I’m no stranger to prisons,” I reply. “I’m okay.”“It’s disgusting down here.”“I wasn’t expecting a five-star suite,” I chuckle, walking through the doorway first, pulling him b
I smelled him coming a mile away.My father only ever comes to see me when he reeks of cheap whiskey and rage. He needs a target to attack and someone to blame for all the various misfortunes of his life. I'm guilty of only having been born to the bitter tyrant.I press my face against the dingy wallpaper inside my run-down trailer tucked away in a corner. My heart pounds with an all too familiar dread, despite having endured this scene many times in my life. It's all burned into my body, like muscle memory.The sound of his heavy footsteps echoes outside with the uneven crunch of gravel under Deadrick Pride's stumbling gait. He's here for me, fueled by the liquor that consumes his inhibitions and ignites his rage.The trailer, my paper-thin sanctuary, closes in around me. Its walls, worn and rusted, bear the scars of countless altercations. The only physical evidence remaining of the many wounds inflicted by my father, my family, my pack. The half-broken windows allow slivers of moon
"Get up, bitch." Wesley sneers down at me, his voice dripping with venom. "Or do you need more time to finish crying to mommy dearest?" His words sting, but I'm used to them, along with his slaps, his kicks, his punches. His words are probably his weakest weapon, but that doesn't stop them from stirring something wounded within me. I pick myself up and get on my feet despite my aching, tense abdomen. I know the drill and keep my eyes lowered. Grit and bear it. That's all I have to do. Just grit my teeth and bear it. "Not much of a mother, though," he sniffs, circling me and her grave. "Took the first chance she could to leave you behind. I guess that's where you get that coward streak from." Wesley Wrest knows just what to say to cut me deep. He's had years of practice. Of course every insult and barb is carefully calculated to prick at my raw nerves. He also knows that I can't do anything against him. As the future Alpha of River Crest, he's already got more power than he knows w
If I were anyone else, I might have believed him. Might have believed he'd be gentle and let me go after and never bother me again. If I were someone else, I'd be stupid enough to see this as a chance to change my fortunes in River Crest. Maybe get into the future Alpha's good graces. But I'm not someone else. I'm Makayla Pride. I know there's nothing I could ever do to be free from this nightmarish hell. I know Wesley, Quinn, Russel, and the other three hiding out in the woods waiting for orders will never let me go unscathed. Even if I beg like he wants and give him my body. And because I am me, I know what's coming next. All I can do is relax and wait for it to pass. "You'll never get another chance like this, Pride." His thumb traces my bottom lip, and that flicker of insanity sparks in his eyes. His composure is cracking. "Beg me, and I'll make you feel like heaven." "Stop wasting your time on her, Wes. She's not worth it," Quinn snaps, crossing her arms over her chest like
Stepping out into the warm sunshine, I feel nothing but cold. A shiver runs through me when I see Deadrick Pride’s imposing figure looming at the end of the gravel path. A hint of anger still boils in his grey eyes as he approaches me at the bottom of my stoop. He barely surveys the damage he caused last night, grimacing as though the state of my home was the result of my shortcomings. Like the wreckage is proof I’m always at fault. How dare I not repair everything he ruined in mere minutes? Useless, stupid Makayla. Before he reaches me, I step forward and bow deeply, as is required for underlings when in the presence of pack leadership. Can’t say I hate it. It gives me an excuse to look away from his perpetually disappointed face. To meet his eyes would be like stepping into a minefield, so I keep my gaze lowered even after finishing the bow. Volatile doesn’t even begin to cover my father’s temperament, and there’s no way of knowing what will set him off. “You took your time,” he
I did my best to clean up the mess around my home. With so few possessions to destroy, it didn't take long for me to clear everything away or simply toss it in the trash. At least that's taken care of now. With my father's threats still hanging in the air like a guillotine blade, I retreat into my trailer. The wreckage remnants inside are too accurate a depiction of exactly how I'm feeling. Like the last pieces of my fragile sanity will soon splinter, broken windows beneath his heavy boot. But I can't dwell on it or anything else without potentially disintegrating under that very same boot. There'll be nothing left of me but dust and shards of what I used to be. Also, I don't have time to waste on metaphors and sadness. There's an event to prepare for—a mask to put on. It's a bit sickening, really, how I have to mold, shape, and scrape myself together to appease the same people who've spent my entire life tormenting me. All of this to survive. "Is it worth surviving?" The question