My Wolf, My Alpha

Claire’s POV.

I opened my eyes, staring straight at the ceiling of my bedroom.

I didn’t move. I just wanted to savor those few moments that I had to myself. My bedroom was the only sanctuary I had in my life, and I knew that before long, the leave I felt this early morning would soon be broken by the

The alarm clock beside me began to ring, and I turned on my side to press the stop button. It was an old-fashioned clock that I had rescued from the scrapyard nearby.

With a groan, I sat up. My body still hurt from the laborious work I had to do the previous day. I bit my lips, inhaling deeply as I stood up, my feet padding on the floor.

I was used to it by now, the pain. I was used to working day and night until my arms and head felt like they would fall off.

But it never got any better.

I didn’t take my time with showering; it was more of a hop-in and hop-out situation. I wasn’t allowed hot water. My shower was hooked to the emergency supply of water, which was slow-running, stale, and separate from the rest of the house. If I stayed in too long I knew my stepmother or her children would be banging on my door before long.

I quickly rinsed myself off, shivering as I left the small bathroom to my bedroom. I dressed up in my regular clothes - black jeans that were now so ripped at the thighs and knees that one might think a fashion statement, and a blue t-shirt.

With a deep breath, I left my room, morphing my features into a blank state.

It was almost sunrise, and I knew that if I didn’t get the breakfast ready before they got down, I’d be making breakfast for myself with their leftovers as punishment.

The hallway creaked as I stepped on, walked down the stairs, and entered the kitchen. I turned on the lights and opened the windows. At the horizon, I could see the dawn break and the glowing sun begin to rise.

I cracked several eggs with practiced ease into the bowl, adding flour. I lost myself in the rhythm of making breakfast, humming a song I loved under my breath.

It was the only thing I remembered of my mother really; her singing to make me fall asleep.

As I plated the breakfast - pancakes, eggs, sausages, and sliced veggies, I heard a voice speak up behind me.

“You better not have wasted my food,” the voice of the woman I hated the most made me stiffen.

With pursed lips I looked at her, not saying anything. I was careful to keep my face blank because I had long learned that if I showed any sort of emotion, she would stomp on it as one stepped on an ant.

Minutes later, I had fully served their breakfast and was about to leave when I heard my stepmother speak up behind me.

“Don’t go anywhere. You have to wait for us to finish eating first.”

I turned to meet her eyes and she had glee in them. Malicious glee made me bite my lips and nod, trying to hold back from saying all the things that I wanted to. Her daughter, another bane of my horrible existence, giggled, peering at me. One would think that she was a baby with how childish she acted. But she was just three years younger than I am, and just as bullying as their mother was to me.

I had to hold back my tears of frustration.

Before, it was my stepmother not wanting me to eat with the rest of the family. In fact, she pointed to a corner of the kitchen and told me that I would be eating on the floor. I had to obey because I was a young 14-year-old then and had nowhere else to go.

Time after time I had faced her taunts and her bullying with no one coming to my defense. I was alone. Not even my father cared enough to ask how I was doing.

I waited until they finished eating, my mouth watering and longing to have something to eat. Then, I got a long list of chores that needed doing.

“You will get lazy if you go on resting all the time,” was what she stated before leaving for her bedroom for… rest.

I had no idea what time it was when I was finally on to the worst task of the day: weeding the garden. My stepmother was nothing if not exact and always made me work under the hot sun to unroot any plant that seemed unacceptable in her perfect, well-kept garden that was the envy of anyone who came visiting.

I worked long and hard to finish the task. Sweat beads rolled down my forehead and I just knew that my shirt was going to be damp with sweat. Not to mention, the way that the soil stained my jeans and shirt. Luckily for me, it wasn’t my favorite set of clothes.

I let out a long breath finally removing my sweaty hands from the rubber gloves I wore for gardening. Wiping the sweat off my brow, I was about to pick up the watering can to my left side when I froze.

A wolf was there, staring in my direction.

My eyes widened and I let out a gasp.

I was used to hearing the sounds of howling that came from the forest near us. But I didn’t think I’d ever see a wolf up front.

My heart pounded as I began to slowly back away. The panic in me increased when I realized the wolf was staring at me, unmoving.

Was it going to attack me?

I was frightened, not keeping my eyes off it.

Should I report this to the hunters?

If I ran, would it chase after me and kill me?

I didn’t know. But the thought of death left a bitter taste in my mouth.

Just as I was thinking of all the ways I could escape, I heard a small whine. The wolf bowed its head and my eyes widened. It was injured. Right there on the neck, I could see a gash. And it looked fresh.

“Oh,” I breathed out, realizing that it was asking for help.

Somehow, I calmed down and was not feeling as terrified as before. The wolf was weak and injured, just like me. Moreover, when I observed it closely I realized its front leg was caught in the trap. This gave me the assurance that it can’t hurt me.

I inched closer slowly to it, gathering up my courage since I needed to inspect the wound.

Unlike what I expected from a wild animal, the wolf only looked at me with a strange sort of understanding in its eyes, and it turned its head to let me look at the wound closer.

I placed my hand on its head, feeling the soft lovely fur under my fingers and palms.

The wolf was a strange one, I thought, using the watering can to rinse the wound out. It seemed to have intellect if it knew I wouldn’t harm it. I continued cleaning the wound, humming to myself unconsciously. When I was done, I looked into its grey, striking eyes.

“Can you hide in the bushes? You need to rest,” I stated gently, brushing its fur with my hand. “I’ll come by to check on you, okay?”

If I let it stay here, it would be dead by the time my father and the other hunters realized that a wolf was here. I didn’t want that.

It seemed to understand and moved its head up and down as if it was nodding. Then I watched as the wolf moved, disappearing into the large bushes, and blending into the shadows that led to the edge of the forest.