Hattie's POV

My head throbbed with pain as my hand flailed about, desperately trying to silence the blaring alarm beside my bed. My heavy eyelids reluctantly fluttered open, and I grumbled angrily under my breath. The intrusive noise had yanked me from my slumber so abruptly that I lunged at the accursed device, shutting it off with more force than necessary, as if it were the root cause of my troubles. I yearned to smash it against the floor, but I knew all too well the consequences that would follow such an act.

My bleary eyes traced the room's walls to the slightly ajar window, revealing the first light of dawn. It was far too early for anyone to be up except for me. An audible hiss escaped my lips as I lowered my head, weighed down by the heavy heartache that had gripped me. A surge of both anger and sorrow coursed through my veins, and I battled to hold back tears.

Although it had been just a couple of hours since I had gone to bed, it felt as if mere seconds had passed, given the fatigue that had settled in my bones. I sat on the edge of my bed, leaning against the wall, and yawned repeatedly, rubbing my eyes.

My body protested every movement, yearning for nothing more than to return to the welcoming embrace of sleep. I was too feeble to extricate myself from the bed's gravitational pull. The house was eerily silent, as if it were uninhabited, but appearances were deceiving; everyone else was sound asleep. They were all enjoying their rest while I had been roused at this ungodly hour to tend to household chores, despite being the last to retire for the night.

Another yawn escaped me, and I stretched, wincing as the welts from the previous day's lashings on my upper arms and back throbbed with a fiery sensation. My eyes flicked toward the clock, and I gritted my teeth. It had been over a minute since the alarm had gone off, and I dared not linger in bed, lest I incur the wrath of my stepmother and face a beating for my perceived laziness and disobedience.

The thought of enduring another round of physical punishment, on top of the torment I had suffered the previous day, spurred me into action. Hot tears welled up in my eyes as a pounding headache assaulted me.

My legs ached with sharp spasms, serving as a painful reminder of my frail health. Every inch of my body pleaded for rest, but I knew that was a luxury I couldn't afford. I felt groggy and weighed down, my scrawny legs struggling to support me, while the bed seemed to leer at me, a menacing trap ready to ensnare me.

I sensed my heavy-lidded eyes fighting to close as I grappled to keep them open, caught between exhaustion and the urge to surrender to sleep. All I longed for was the solace of my bed, but I knew better. I was acutely aware of the torment I would invite if I dared to lie down and doze off after the alarm had sounded. The last time I had attempted such defiance, I had been left with an indelible scar on my back from the slash of my stepmother's wolf's claw.

You might be wondering who I am and what I could have done to endure all this suffering. Allow me to introduce myself.

I am Hattie Goleman, the daughter of Alpha King Hugo Goleman, one of the most formidable and feared Alphas among all the packs.

History held a chilling account of his unparalleled military prowess, where victory was a constant companion, and the very pack responsible for his parents' tragic demise during his childhood had met its end at his hands. His growth was marked by an astounding surge in power, rendering him an unstoppable force on the battlefield.

The origins of his enigmatic abilities remained a mystery to all, shrouded in obscurity. His combat skills were as swift as the wind and as elusive as unseen phantoms. His wolf, an embodiment of terror, was infamous for its unrelenting brutality, consuming adversaries with ruthless efficiency.

One would expect that being the sole offspring of his Luna should have bestowed upon me reverence and awe for the rest of my days. However, my fate diverged dramatically from that expected trajectory. Instead, I found myself relegated to the status of a slave, scorned and loathed by everyone, forbidden from mentioning the Alpha as my father or appending his surname to my own.

Inexplicably, I was cast out and stripped of my royal heritage, reduced to a status beneath even the omegas. My father, too, had turned his back on me, publicly disowning me in front of the entire pack, threatening my expulsion. He subjected me to relentless torment, turning my life into a never-ending nightmare. All of this was the consequence of an unimaginable and horrific act I had committed.

I had murdered his mate, the Luna, my own mother. But it had been an act born out of sheer survival. It transpired three years ago when I was a mere 15 years old.

I cannot offer a rational explanation for how I had accomplished such a gruesome deed, driven by an overwhelming power that had inexplicably overtaken me. That fateful night, within the confines of her room, I had brutally ended my mother's life with my bare hands, rending her chest with my claws and consuming her heart, an act that resembled the actions of a bloodthirsty monster.

All I could recall was the emergence of a ferocious, unknown beastly spirit that had risen within me, seizing control of my mind, body, and soul just as my mother had nearly taken my life. It was this strange entity that had saved me from certain death. By the time I had wrested control back, the deed was done, and I had taken the life of the woman who had given me birth. The pack, however, etched into their hearts the belief that I had killed our Luna. They subjected me to brutal torment, weakening my wolf with wolfsbane and stripping me of my royal lineage, relegating me to the lowliest status, that of a slave.

No one cared to hear my side of the story, let alone understand why I had resorted to such a gruesome act. It had been a fight for survival, a desperate struggle against my mother, who had transformed into a bloodthirsty demon, hell-bent on my demise. I had tried to evade her, to escape from that room without causing her harm, but it proved impossible. She was swift, relentless, and intent on ending my life.

I had no choice but to defend myself, and my victory in that battle would not have been possible if not for the extraordinary strength that had surged within me. I remained oblivious to the true nature of that mysterious power that had suddenly awakened within me and how it had manifested from my own body. I had sensed the presence of a strange entity within me, distinct from my own wolf, despite not having reached the age of 16 when the wolf typically awakens. Fueled by this peculiar strength, I had fought back against my mother's demonic possession. This unsettling incident had unfolded while everyone was gathered at the royal palace for the Beta's daughter's birthday, leaving me isolated and in a desperate struggle for survival.

It was a stark and brutal choice: either I fought back and killed her, or I was killed.

I can still recall the moment it all began. My mother had inexplicably summoned me into her room amid the birthday festivities, and I assumed she had a message or something important to convey.

I remained oblivious to the fact that she was already ensnared within the grip of a malevolent enchantment, her sanity slipping away.

"Mommy, why did you bring me into your room?" I had queried, but my question went unanswered. Instead, I watched in growing horror as her eyes darkened and clouded over, while her canines elongated into menacing, razor-sharp fangs.

Fear surged through me, and instinct drove me to make a desperate dash for the door. However, before I could make good my escape, she lunged at me, her claws sinking deep into my back. A piercing scream of pain escaped my lips as agony gripped me. I begged and writhed, struggling to break free from her grasp, but my efforts proved futile. She pinned me down with an eerie gaze, a chilling snarl on her lips, and an unsettling demonic aura emanating from her form.

"Mommy! Mum! What are you...?" I gasped, my voice strangled by terror, while she continued her relentless assault. Her fangs pierced my neck, and she drank my blood, her clawed hand tracing my chest as though searching for my heart.

The excruciating pain overwhelmed me, and my strength waned. My ability to cry out for help or howl in distress dwindled, dissipating like a wisp of smoke. That night, my own mother was on the brink of taking my life, and no one came to my rescue. No one heard my pleas within the confines of that room, as my screams were drowned out by the thunderous rhythm of drums and the festive music celebrating the birthday.

She withdrew her bite from my neck, emitting eerie guttural sounds as her vacant eyes stared into the void.

"You must die for the demons to rule!!" I heard my mother utter, as if an unseen force spoke through her, her words chilling me to the bone.

My mother seized my gown and mercilessly tore away its upper portion, exposing my heart, the most vulnerable point for a werewolf. Despite my frantic pleas, her actions remained heedless, as she had irrevocably lost her sanity.

It was then that an unexpected surge of power surged from within me, enabling me to push her away from my prone form. I hastily rose to my feet, sensing an intense heat enveloping my body, as if I were about to unleash fire. Something tumultuous roiled within me, as if it sought liberation from its confines.

In the end, it seemed this force succeeded, for I suddenly found myself bereft of reason, under the control of this enigmatic beast, and imbued with tremendous strength.

As I gazed at my mother in that moment, her visage had transformed into something otherworldly. Instead of her familiar face, I beheld a demonic countenance, and an overpowering scent filled the air, stoking the fires of my fury.

An overwhelming compulsion seized me, and I could not delay any longer; I lunged at her with a ferocity that defied explanation. She made a futile attempt to defend herself, but my newfound strength allowed me to mercilessly rend her flesh. I savagely gouged out her eyes, shattered her limbs, and, in the end, ripped her heart from her chest, consuming it in a manner reminiscent of a vampire.

It was precisely at that moment when the Beta's mate forcefully burst into the room, kicking the door wide open.

Upon witnessing the grisly scene, she let out a blood-curdling scream, drawing the attention of others who promptly rushed to the scene, discovering me in the midst of my mother's brutal demise.

Yet, the question remained—why had no one come to my aid when I was nearly killed by her hand?

Despite the multitude of wounds that marred my body, they inexplicably reached a different conclusion. Instead of recognizing my mother as the aggressor, they believed she had been acting in self-defense.

The powers of the enigmatic beast that had momentarily seized control of me dissipated and never returned. This life-altering incident had transpired when I was a mere 15 years old, and from that point onward, my existence spiraled into misery.

They labeled me a demon, and on numerous occasions, they summoned various sorcerers to examine me. These sorcerers would administer concoctions that would only sear my insides with unbearable pain.

Some even subjected me to baths infused with wolfsbane, inflicting injuries so severe that it took a month to heal. However, none of their efforts revealed anything beyond my wretched wolf.

It had been three agonizing years since the incident, and despite my repeated claims that my mother had transformed into a demon and sought to end my life, no one believed me. Instead, my torment intensified for accusing the deceased Luna falsely.

This year, my world descended into unmitigated hell when my father selected another woman as his new mate. Her name was Gemma, and she became not only my stepmother but also an embodiment of malevolence who relished my suffering.

For reasons I couldn't fathom, she took pleasure in witnessing my pain and heartbreak. I struggled to identify any wrongdoing on my part that would provoke her hostility.

Ever since Father brought her into the royal pack house, my existence had become a ceaseless ordeal. A few months ago, our Betas perished in a war, and my father took in their daughter. I was 18, and she was 17, but our ages held no significance, as she, too, treated me as a lowly servant. I obeyed her every command without question, for even a hint of disrespect would earn me a deep and painful cut from my father.

...

"Hattie!!!" My stepmother's voice shattered my reverie, jolting me from the bed where I had unknowingly perched.

Fear clutched at me, rendering my mind numb as I fumbled my way out of the room, my vision blurred by hot tears. There was no need for divination to discern that I was about to endure another round of her beatings.

Even her tone was a grim harbinger.

Lost in my sorrow, I had lost track of time, oblivious to the persistent blaring of the alarm.

"Hattie!!!" She shouted once more, prompting me to make a stealthy retreat to the kitchen before responding, in hopes of concealing the fact that I had remained in my room after the alarm had sounded. However, upon reaching the living room, I was confronted by my tormentor, who appeared to have been lying in wait. Every muscle in my body constricted as I beheld her towering form, her countenance more menacing than ever.