ONE

LYRA

    It’s my eighteenth birthday today, and I can hear the merriment from the banquet hall. Werewolves are laughing, chatting, and probably shoving their faces full of food. It’s a festive night for them, and everyone seems to be in high spirits, everyone except for me. And their celebration has nothing to do with my birthday. No one cares about my birthday. I only keep track of the years because I like to know how long I’ve been stuck in this miserable cycle. A weak human slave like me isn’t allowed to be merry or join in any festivities. I only have one job: work, work, and then work some more. That is the only thing I’m good for in this werewolf territory.

I wipe the plates clean and stack them on the rack to be taken to the banquet hall. Tonight, Alpha Lucian is hosting a party for one of the neighboring alphas visiting Shadowmoon Pack. Thinking about it almost makes me scoff. Werewolves love parties so much. But I can’t even blame them. They are always at war, so I guess these celebrations help ground them a little.

“Lyra! Come here!” A sharp voice calls my name from the door.

I glance up to see Ms. Bridget, the second in command of the Chief of Staff. She is an omega; all servants are. Omegas may be the lowest in the werewolf hierarchy, but at least they are still higher than a human like me. Here, I am perceived as weak and insignificant.

“Yes, Ms. Bridget,” I reply, rushing towards her. I’m not allowed to walk when a werewolf calls for me.

“Carol is very upset that you didn’t finish your work,” she hisses.

“I’m sorry,” I stammer, trying to explain. “I was going to finish it, but Olivia asked me to do the dishes—”

“Excuses, excuses, excuses!” she snaps, rolling her eyes so hard it’s a wonder they don’t pop out of her head. She throws her hands in the air, looking thoroughly exasperated. “That’s all you’re good for. Now, get to work!”

When I was younger, being yelled at like this would have made me burst into tears. But twelve years of constant berating, scolding, and being yelled at has toughened me up. Now, I keep my head level when confronted. It’s just another part of my life.

I quickly head to the last guestroom, where a mountain of tasks is waiting for me. As I clean, humming a tune to keep myself from dwelling too much on my misery, I feel a presence behind me. Before I can turn, two hands grab my waist, and someone grinds against me from behind.

I freeze. I know exactly who it is. It’s Nathan, the alpha’s son. Of course, it’s him. This isn’t the first time he has pulled something like this. He leans down, and I feel his weight pressing on me.

“I can’t wait to taste you, little thang,” he breathes in my ear, his hot breath making my skin crawl.

I slowly reach for the penknife strapped to my thighs, anger pounding in my veins. I hate this douche wolf so much that I want to strangle him with my bare hands. But I am too weak to fight a powerful wolf like him. These creatures have everything enhanced. Without thinking, I spin in his arms and strike.

But Nathan is faster. He catches my wrist before the knife gets anywhere near him, his grip like iron. Since the first time he harassed me like this, I have stolen a knife and carried it everywhere. His eyes spark with anger and disbelief at my audacity, and mine blaze with defiance.

“You really think you can stab me, huh?” he growls, his voice low and menacing. 

My lips only tremble with no words. His alpha aura is everywhere. That damn aura that makes people so pathetic around them. His grip tightens, and for a moment, I think he might snap my wrist. But I hold his gaze, refusing to look away. I might be physically weak compared to them, but I have grown tough here, and I am not going to let this douche alpha in the making have control over my body. I would rather die than let him have his way. He shoves me backward, and I find myself on the fluffy bed I just made, but thankfully, my knife is still clutched tightly in my hand. He growls and looms over me.

“How dare you, you stupid human?” Nathan growls as he begins to unbuckle his belt. His sharp eyes glint with anger, but there is something smug and vile in his expression. “You have no power over me. I can do whatever I want with you. You’re nothing but a slave.”

The metallic clink of his belt sends a shiver down my spine as he pulls it free and tosses it aside like it’s some declaration of dominance. My instincts kick in, and I scramble up, scooting as far as I can across the bed, my heart pounding in my chest. My hand tightens around the knife as I place it to my neck.

“I swear,” I say, my voice trembling but determined, “if you come any closer, I’ll slit my throat. All you will get is a dead body,” I threaten.

Nathan freezes, mid-climb, his predatory gaze narrowing into a glare that could probably set things on fire. For a second, I see the wheels turning in his mind. He knows I’m serious, and worse for him, he knows his father, Alpha Lucian, would skin him alive if tonight’s party turned into a scandal because of his... uncontainable libido. No one disrupts an alpha’s carefully planned evening, not even the heir to the pack. If he struggles with me and I am found dead, the werewolves will pick up his scent on me.

After a tense moment, he lets out a frustrated grunt and climbs back off the bed, muttering curses under his breath. He snatches his belt from the floor and shoots me a final glare.

“You will regret this,” he sneers. “This isn’t over.”

With that, he storms out of the room, slamming the door so hard the walls seem to shudder. I stay frozen for a moment, gripping the knife like it’s my only lifeline. When I finally exhale, the breath leaves me in a shaky rush, and I sink onto the edge of the bed, trembling. I climb off the bed and open the door again. I am not allowed to keep the room doors shut when I am inside alone. I had been so nervous that the knife actually nicked my skin. A thin line of blood dots the edge of the knife. It hurts, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. I am not going to stop working just because I cut myself. No one cares if my head is cut off my neck, as long as I do my job. And from the heightened cheer coming from the banquet hall, I am sure the guests have arrived.

I walk back into the room, heading for the small mirror in the corner to check the cut on my neck. It’s not too deep, but the sight of blood makes my stomach churn. 

“Isn’t the room ready yet?!”

A deep, commanding voice growls from behind me, startling me so badly that the knife slips from my hand and clatters to the floor. My heart leaps to my throat as I spin around, wide-eyed, to face the owner of that voice.