Rejected By My Mate, Claimed By Alpha King

FIONA'S POV

“Get out of here, you stupid girl!”

I slipped and fell to the ground as I tried to dodge the glass bowl Natasha threw towards me. The bowl shattered, showering me with fragments of glass. I stayed on the ground, not daring to move or look up as Natasha, my stepmother, advanced towards me.

“You stupid idiot, you can't even do anything right!” She yelled, towering over me.

“I'm sorry,” I apologized, hating the fact that my voice came out as a whimper.

She gave me a kick to my ribs and I tried my best not to cry out. Yesterday, she had shoved me and I had hit my ribs on the staircase, leaving it bruised and now the kick added more to the pain in the already sore spot.

“You can't even prepare a plate of food for your sister! What is that burnt nonsense on the dining table?!” She asked with a shrill.

“I'm sorry! I forgot about the food because I was busy with the clothes you asked me to fold,” I pleaded, praying desperately that she would leave me alone.

“That's not an excuse, you lazy cunt! Get up now and go prepare something else.”

I nodded on the ground, not daring to move until she had left. When I saw that she was far away enough, I stood up and went to the kitchen through the back door.

Ever since my father, the Alpha of our pack, had brought in Natasha when I was twelve, my life had been hell. Not that it hadn't been hell before. But my troubles tripled when she came in. Natasha made sure that she tormented me every passing moment while my older sister Amber, did whatever she wanted.

My father did not care what happened to me. He believed whatever Natasha told him. He hated me anyways so it only gave him more excuse to beat me.

As I started cooking, Amber sauntered into the kitchen.

“Hey, sister.”

I ignored her and continued with slicing the mushroom.

“Fine,” she said, “Be like that,” she said and reached out for one of the apple slices I had put inside a bowl. I resisted the urge to slam the knife on her fingers.

“Natasha says you should stop whatever it is you're cooking and start preparing something better.”

“Wha - what do you mean?” I asked, momentarily stopping the knife over the mushrooms.

She slipped another apple slice between her lips and took her time before answering. “Her orders, not mine.”

I watched as she continued to gobble up my apple slices. I had meant to use the apple as my lunch since I hadn't eaten anything all day and it was now past evening, but now they were all gone and I dared not say a word or it would mean a fresh round of hell for me.

After she put another slice in her mouth, she said, “I suggest you roast a chicken. I'm craving for some,” she said, sliding the last slice of apple into her mouth.

“I should roast a chicken?” I asked in dumb disbelief, hoping that I hadn't heard her correctly. I was already tired to the bones and I needed to rest. The idea of roasting a chicken this late into the day had tears rushing to my eyes. “But what about the soup on the fire now?” I asked.

Amber reached over, stretched her arm, and callously tilted over the bubbling pot on the stove, splattering the soup everywhere and making a mess of the floor and countertop.

“Oops,” she said, as she turned to go, “Would you look at that? Good luck with the chicken.”

Slowly, I sank to the floor and started cleaning up the mess. I tried my best to prevent the tears but they clouded my vision and spilled down my face even though I knew there was no one coming to save me, no one to take me out of this suffering and misery.

I quickly wiped my tears and got to work on the chicken I had been order to prepare. I had no choice.

My heart quivered and my hands shook in fear as the loud set of footsteps continued stomping up the stairs and towards my room. I didn't have to be told that it was my father, coming to teach me a lesson as usual. These days, he didn't need an excuse to beat me into stupor and trying to protect myself was futile because all it did was got me hurt more. My body was already filled with countless scars.

My door suddenly flew in and there he stood, breathing hard from anger. The veins stood out on his face and his eyes were red with rage. In his hand was a belt.

I scooted back on the bed, stopping when my back hit the wall.

“F…Father —”

“You!”

Immediately, I knew he was drunk. The smell of the alcohol on his body, hit me full on the nose and I tried my best not to flinch or cover my nose. It was a pattern I was already used to. Each time, he got drunk, he would always turn me into a whipping post.

“Where have you been all day?!”

I tried not to sound scared as I replied, “I've been here all day, Father.”

“All day?!” He barked. “Been here all day doing nothing and being utterly useless?!” As he raged, spittle flew from his face and directly onto mine.

I didn't see the belt fall on me until I felt excruciating pain spread through me.

I folded myself into a tight ball, trying to protect my self as much as I could, but it was futile. The whip kept finding his mark all over my body.

“You bastard child!” he screamed, lashing at me continuously with the belt in his hand. “You killing monster!”

I remained curled up on my bed until he was tired and done.

“Make sure you present yourself nicely tomorrow and don't embarrass me with your attitude!”

“Yes, Father.” I replied, because I knew if I didn't, he might flew into another rage.

When he left, I dragged myself to the bathroom and paused in front of the mirror.

Blue eyes, black hair. The spitting image of my mother — the woman who died on the day I was birth and the main reason why I was being treated like trash by my father and sister. They believed I killed her, that she dying on my birth day was no mere coincidence.

I was used to their treatment of me and had accepted it for as long as I could but no more.

Tomorrow, I would turn eighteen and that means I would be able to know who my mate was. I didn't care whoever it was, as long as he would take me away from here. I would finally be free.