Chapter 1
A small sliver of light peers through the closed cupboard doors. The only sound Saira hears from her hiding place is the breathing and footsteps of the Darkmoon pack soldiers. Their boots make an odd clanking sound on the wooden planks of her home. As fear envelops her body, she pulls herself closer to her knees for comfort.
A tall, brutish man steps in front of her light. His voice bellowing, strong and commanding, “The traitors are here. Find them.”
Saira is too young to really understand what is happening. All she knows is that her parents told her to hide when the soldiers came.
At the command of Alpha Daycer, the soldiers tear her house apart, piece by piece. They are searching for her parents. The silence that filled the room below was now replaced with a barrage of noise. The soldiers smash walls and empty closets.
As one soldier approaches Saira’s hiding place, her mother erupts from under the floor. She expertly kills three soldiers with her bare paws. Blood covers the floor. Fifteen soldiers tackle her, binding her hands and feet. More soldiers show up with her father restrained.
Saira is so tiny that the number of men now invading her home is higher than she can count. She watches through the small crack as her parents fight against their restraints. The Alpha steps forward, leaning into her father.
Her father, a large powerful wolf, growls and snarls. He retorts, “Daycer, why am I not surprised?”
The Alpha whines, almost a teasing tone to his voice, “Good to see you, old friend,” - he clicks his tongue before continuing - “Too bad it’s not under better circumstances.” Pacing around my father, his hands behind his back, he says, “If I wasn’t planning on killing you, I’d punish you for not calling me Alpha.”
She watches her father sneer. “That title is something you have to earn,” he growls, his voice dripping with disdain for the man.
Alpha Daycer now paces around her mother, his voice changing from teasing to calm and mechanical. “Now lookie here, you might be right, but you see, old friend, I am not so worried about the Alpha title. I’ve got my sights set higher. King Daycer. That has a nice ring to it.”
My mother spits on his feet at this exclaim. Saira knows one thing and one thing only. This man is frightening.
She watches as he lifts her mother’s chin with two fingers. Her mother, a powerful and stunningly beautiful werewolf, turns away, so her gaze adverts from his eyes.
Leaning his head so he can stare directly into her eyes, he says, “Where is he? Where is the Lycan King?”
The silence her mother uses as a response sends her message loud and clear. Alpha Daycer smacks her across the face with the back of his hand. The force of the slap is so strong it swings her head to the other side. Blood pours from her lips.
“Don’t play dumb with me,” He screams.
A stoic look dons her face. Not an ounce of recognition of the Alpha’s words. Nothing but her cold hard stare answers back.
Alpha Daycer growls and snarls, his frustration evident in his voice. “You were his little wolf slut for a decade. He can’t have changed that much in the last five years. Where IS HE?”
A snarl, and then a loud roar, emits from her father as he snaps his binds. He knocks down three more soldiers before they tackle and restrain him.
Alpha Daycer stares at her father before saying, “Funny thing, you two being fated at almost the same time as the King found his queen.” His words taunt and goad his prey.
Both her parents stay silent, stoic. Like statues, not reacting, not moving, and not willing to give up their king. Alpha Daycer sneers, “No?” motioning to one soldier.
The soldier escorts an adolescent wolf in. He’s about 14 years old. A mousey-looking child with dark black hair and jet-black eyes. He wears the military uniform, although it hangs off of his frame.
“Son,” Alpha Daycer says, bringing the boy closer to his prey, “It’s time you earn your Alpha title.”
The look of joy on the boy’s face is horrifying. Walking up to Saira’s father, he releases his claws, swiping them through her father’s throat. Her father’s head falls backward, his dead eyes reaching the darkness in her soul. Fear and other emotions her four-year-old mind can’t understand overwhelm her body. It takes all of her self-control not to scream.
A mind-link fills Saira’s head. Fight my beautiful child. Fight. The last words she ever hears from her mother.
Her mother erupts, sending five of the soldiers flying onto their backs. She lunges toward a soldier, pulling the knife from his ankle holster. Practically flying, she leaps, stabbing the Alpha in the stomach. He keels over in pain, falling to his knees as the soldiers rebind her mother.
Saira listens as Alpha Daycer sputters, blood pouring from his mouth. Filled with pure rage, the adolescent wolf swipes her mother’s throat, slashing her neck open. The sound he makes whilst licking her mother’s blood off his claws haunts her every thought. A picture that will stay in her mind forever.
Saira, reaching into the coat of her now-dead father, pulls out a small pocketknife. Carefully opening the blade, she emerges from the cupboard, taking her mother’s words to heart. The whole room stands, surprised by her. No one is sure if they should attack this little girl.
Attempting to thrust the knife at the adolescent wolf, she lunges toward him. Alpha Daycer stumbles to protect his child. One soldier grabs Saira by her waist. She writhes, kicking, screaming, and flailing her little body, desperately trying to get free. In the commotion, the small pocket knife embeds itself in the neck of the Alpha. He gurgles, grasping his neck as he falls to his knees and, finally on his face, blood pooling around him.
The soldier clasps Saira in his arms, restraining her little limbs as she wails with fear and sadness. He looks over at the adolescent wolf, understanding that this is his new Alpha, and says, “Alpha Tarado. What would you like me to do with her?”
He turns, a look of pure evil in his eyes. He says, “Take her home. She can work as my slave. The spoils of our war.” Placing one bloody claw under her chin, he snarls to her face, “You are MINE!”
A soft knock wakes me from my nightmare. I can tell from the smell that it is Aunt Frannie. Looking at the small plastic clock, I groan, realizing it is six-thirty in the morning. It takes a few minutes for my eyes to adjust to the dark.
My room has no windows. The only light comes from the crack under the door. The sliver of light under the door reminds me of the cupboard I hid in as a child. I stand naked, the lumpy mattress leaving marks on my skin. My bed, if you can call it that, is a few pieces of plywood precariously perched on the floor. The blanket is a corner of an old curtain the Luna was throwing out.
I mutter, “Just a minute” as I walk to the small sink.
Taking the pathetic excuse for a rag out of my drawer, I wet it. Using the small bar of soap I am allotted monthly, I clean my face, chest, and arms. Slaves do not have the right to bathe or shower. Alpha Tarado’s stupid rules are no excuse for poor hygiene.
My skin is pale and dry from lack of proper bathing. I have short nails all cut and chipped from manual labour. Braiding my long, knotted blonde hair, I sigh, staring into my own blue eyes. If I wasn’t a slave, someone might say I’m pretty.
I can smell Auntie Frannie patiently standing outside the door. “One more minute Auntie,” I say as I quickly dress.
Auntie Frannie and Uncle Ode took me in when I first came to the Darkmoon Pack. I was a scared child who just witnessed the death of her parents. They are not slaves, but servants. Which means they make a measly wage and have a living quarters. Taking me in was an enormous risk. A risk I am grateful for every day. Honestly, I wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for them.
Opening the door Auntie beams at me “Happy eighteenth birthday dear child,” she exclaims, practically falling into my arms. She is wearing her servant’s uniform and has her grey hair in a messy bun atop her head. In her hands is a piece of paper scrawled with birthday messages from the other servants.
I catch her as I softly pat her back. “Thanks,” I say as she stands up.
“Any idea who your mate is?” She asks, handing me the paper.
I shake my head no. At eighteen, every wolf mates. All I hope is that my mate is kind. Someone who will love me and care for me. A partner I can cherish. Maybe I’ll even be lucky enough to be mated to a groundskeeper.
She pats me on the back. “Well, no mind dearie. You’ll know when you know. The other servants have all banded together to get your tasks done so you can have the morning off.” Age crackles in her voice.
“That is very nice of them. I think I’m going to head to the gym for a workout.” I reply.
All wolves in the pack, servants or not, must train in the basics of combat. Darkmoon is a warring pack, and although this is the time of peace, we all need to be ready for war. There is a section of the gym that is cordoned off specifically for our use. The Alpha says this is so we don’t taint the pack.
I walk down the faded yellow corridor, dimly lit by flickering lights. Brown doors pass by, numbered as a reminder that we are not worthy of names.
Passing through another hallway and down a flight of stairs. My body freezes in place. A powerful scent of sandalwood powers through my nose. Unable to move. Athena, my wolf, utters one word “mate.”
Under the scent is a smell I know. It’s the Alpha. He rounds the corner, his face all contorted with rage. Stomping, I notice his hands clenched into fists at his side.
Fear envelops me. How could I mate to Alpha Tarado? He has a luna. This is impossible unless they lied about their mate bond.
My mind floods with the memories from my dreams. The blank stare of my father’s eyes. The sound of him licking my mother’s blood from his claws. That noise haunts me every moment.
All these years, he knew I was his mate, and he still treated me like I was worthless, pathetic, and should be dead. Well, I won’t be his little plaything. The toy that he uses when he is bored. I know what I need to do. Reject him.
As soon as he is within earshot, I utter the words, “I Saira of the Alpine pack reject you, Alpha Tarado of the Darkmoon pack.”
A powerful wave of searing pain stabs my heart, burning through my skin. I scream as the Alpha says, “I Alpha Tarado of the Darkmoon pack accept your rejection.”
Falling to the floor, I grip my heart, barely able to keep my eyes open. His acceptance changed the pain from searing to tearing. It feels like something is ripping out parts of my soul and pouring acid on the open wounds.
He winces slightly and his voice hitches. I can tell he is suffering, too. Trying to fight the pain of his rejection, he mutters, “You ruined it. I have waited 14 years to reject you and you rejected me first. You bitch.” He slaps me across the face.
I barely feel it as the pure horror of my rejected mate bond overpowers everything. My wolf says, I, Athena of Alpine pack, reject you Castien of Darkmoon pack as my mate.
There is silence. A presence fills my mind. I do not accept your rejection. Mate. You are mine. His voice overwhelms my mind.
Tarado pauses for a moment before replying, “You can’t tell anyone about this rejection if you are dead.”
Lifting me by the front of my shirt, he makes a fist. I watch from outside my body as time slows down. He raises his hand above his head, ready to strike me. Suddenly, he stops, almost like an invisible force halts him. I think to myself, “It must be his wolf.”
Before he can act, we both smell the Luna coming. She yells his name down the halls, her voice grating and scraping in my ears.
I watch as he freezes in place. A small smile dons my face and I realize what is happening. She knows they aren’t fated mates, but she doesn’t know it is me. His personal slave, the little girl he has owned his whole life.
I am the invisible presence in his life. Watching him fuck every wolf that walks by. Cleaning up his messes, fixing his clothes, and organizing his office. The things I know about him could bring down his empire in one fell swoop. If I had anyone to tell.
As she gets closer, he growls, “Little thing.” This is the nickname he has called me since the day he kidnapped me. “It’s too bad I didn’t get to play with you before the rejection.” The terror in his voice sends a chill down my spine.
He drops me to the ground, hiding his pain. The searing agony is back, racing through my veins, burning every ounce of my body. I don’t know how long I writhed and screamed in that hallway, but it felt like forever. Eventually, Auntie Frannie finds me, enveloping me in a hug.
“Oh sweetheart,” she says, “He rejected you. My poor thing.” Her hands softly caress my messy hair.
I claw at her, reaching for any comfort from the agony. “I rejected him.” The words mutter through my lips.
She looks down at me. “Why would you do that, sweetie?” She says as another wave of pain overwhelms my body.
I watch as she runs through all the pack wolves, wondering which one I would reject. Suddenly, a wave of realization beams across her face.
“Oh, him,” she says, “you did the right thing.”
