I jolted awake, my eyes snapping open as the remnants of the night's terror still gripped me. I sat up hastily, my head in my hands, desperately trying to dispel the haunting images from my nightmares. The sweat dripped down my forehead, and my body trembled as I fought to regain a semblance of control. Curling into a ball, I hugged my knees to my chest, taking deep breaths in an attempt to return to a sense of normalcy.

If you could even call this life normal.

This was no isolated incident. Every morning, I awoke in this state, haunted by memories of my father's brutalities — the beatings, tortures, and murders he forced me to witness during our training sessions. I was scarred, both physically and mentally, and I feared it was irreversible.

To the world, I presented a facade of dominance and emotional detachment, a mask carefully constructed to hide the terrified and shattered soul beneath. No one knew the true extent of my suffering. I felt like an over-stretched elastic band, pushed beyond the limits of resilience, unable to return to a state of normalcy. I was forever altered, a mere matter of time before the band snapped, leading to either a mental breakdown or my own demise.

Gradually, the shaking subsided, and I threw off the covers, noting the time—5:30. My father wouldn't be awake for another hour and a half. Trembling, I got up from the bed and made my way to the small shower within the caravan. Shedding my pajamas, I took a quick shower, drying my hair until it hung perfectly straight down my back.

I changed into black leggings, paired with leather boots and a black vest top with a red netted overlay, still revealing the black top underneath. After checking my appearance, I threw on a leather coat and stepped out of the caravan, following the enticing aroma of food.

I needed sustenance. I felt weak, especially after the traumatic nightmare. I craved sugar to replenish my strength. Making my way to the tent where food was being prepared, I found a large space supported by a central wooden pole. With the number of rogues in need of sustenance, such a sizable area was necessary.

The entire camp operated like a well-oiled military machine. Each person had a specific role to play, contributing to the camp's efficient functionality. Medical tents, food stations, and training areas were meticulously organized, prepared for any circumstance. This meticulous preparation was how my father achieved success in his quest for domination.

As my father expanded his rogue group, he prioritized structure and organization. This foundation was where he began to build our community of rogues. Everything was meticulously planned, leaving no room for surprises. Everyone had their place and role clearly defined. It was this level of organization that attracted so many rogues to work for him and ultimately fueled his power.

Passing through the tent and the busy tables, occupied by rogues already enjoying their meals, I remained expressionless, indifferent to their presence. They glanced at me briefly before focusing on their food. I served myself some beans and toast, washing it down with a heavily sugared cup of tea.

Finding a table in a secluded spot, I observed my surroundings. Most of the rogues were men, with fewer women among them. Yet, the women could be just as ruthless, if not more so. They were to be avoided. A couple of male rogues close to my age were also present, but I kept my distance; they only wanted one thing, and I wasn't going to allow that.

Finishing my breakfast swiftly, I left the tent. It was now 6:30, giving me another half-hour before I would have to endure the rest of the day with my father. The thought didn't sit well with me. I made my way toward the forest, strolling leisurely through it. Sitting at the foot of a tree, I curled up and immersed myself in the sounds of the forest.

The birds perched in the treetops, the rabbits scurrying across the ground—I took it all in. Breathing in the woodland aroma, I felt a sense of belonging in this natural haven. I let my eyes close slightly, resting my head against the tree trunk, lost in my thoughts. This was my routine—contemplating life.

My wolf companion, Elle, began to stir within me, growing anxious.

"Hey, Elle. What's wrong?"

"I don't know. I can feel something. I sensed it as soon as we came here."

"It will be fine, Elle. I am sure it is nothing."

I reassured her, although internally, doubt began to creep in. Elle always sensed things for a reason, and I trusted her instincts. But what could it be this time? I pondered the possibilities—anything or perhaps nothing at all.

I tensed as I heard the crunch of leaves nearby, snapping my eyes open and scanning for movement. It didn't take much searching to find Wade, leaning against a tree and smirking at me. I despised him, his obsession with me turning my stomach.

Standing up, I leaned against a tree, glaring harshly at Wade. He chuckled lightly and began to approach. I tried to move, but he grabbed my arm and forcefully pushed me against the tree. His hands were on either side of my head, his body pressing against mine. I struggled to escape his touch, but he had me pinned.

"Get off of me," I spat.

"No chance. It is only a matter of time," he spoke cryptically.

Time for what? He was speaking in riddles, and I had no idea what he meant. I needed to get away from him. He assaulted my neck with his lips, kissing down my jaw and neck. Disgust welled up inside me. I fought back, but he had me firmly pinned, continuing his assault.

Enough was enough. I brought my knee up and struck him where it hurt, causing him to back away and bend over, hissing in pain. Seizing the opportunity, I uppercut him, sending him sprawling to the ground. His nose was clearly broken and bleeding.

He glared up at me, spitting out some blood and groaning in pain. I smiled sweetly and innocently at him.

"You stupid bitch!" he screamed.

"Keep your filthy hands away from me. Step near me again, and let's just say you won't be having kids anytime soon," I sneered.

I stalked away, leaving him sprawled on the ground. I was furious, struggling to keep my wolf in check. She wanted to tear him apart, to spill blood, and I was dangerously close to letting her.

Knowing my father would be up by now, I headed to the meeting room we had set up. Leaning against the wall, I watched as the leading warrior rogues filed in, all waiting for my father. Wade hobbled in at some point, and I could barely contain my laughter as he glared at me, clearly annoyed.

My father entered the room, and a hushed silence fell. The rogues turned to him with looks of respect and admiration, sickening me. My father was nothing more than a monster, yet they treated him like a hero. Foolish. They were all foolish.

Taking his seat, my father seized control of the room. No one dared speak until spoken to. He thrived on this absolute control.

"Right. We are on the border of three packs. Now it is time to select which pack we will target first," my father declared.

A subdued murmur circulated through the room as they discussed their opinions. How naive they were, thinking they could influence my father's decision. I was certain my father had already made up his mind.

"I have already made up my mind. We will be attacking the Crescent Pack," he ordered, prompting a murmur of agreement, "Yes, it is a very large pack. Their warriors outnumber ours. However, the Alpha is young, only eighteen and recently taken over. This makes him weak, vulnerable, and inexperienced—problems we will exploit."

The group nodded in agreement as my father began outlining plans. I only half-listened, knowing that in this moment, we had sealed the Crescent Pack's fate. My father was relentless, thorough, and ruthless. The moment he decided to attack, it was over for them.

"I need volunteers to keep an eye out for stragglers on the border to instill fear. We also need someone to patrol today to familiarize themselves with their borders and patrols," my father stated.

The room filled with hushed conversations as people stepped forward to volunteer. I saw this as my chance to prove myself and avoid another beating.

"I will take on the patrol watch," I spoke up.

My father turned to me, smirking slightly, scrutinizing me, unsure if I was being serious.

"Fine. Go now. Report back to me in exactly five hours," he ordered.

I nodded and made my way out of the room through the back door. Heading towards the targeted pack's border, I found a secluded spot behind a tree, where I stripped out of my clothes and neatly stacked them for later retrieval.

Allowing my wolf to emerge, my body shuddered as I shifted. I opened my eyes and observed my black paws. I was entirely black, a rare occurrence among leaders of any pack. Most had a secondary color in their fur, but I was the exception. Black signified a true leader chosen by the Moon Goddess. My father and the rogues knew this, expecting me to be the strong and true leader of the Rogues. I would do anything to prevent that fate—anything, even if it meant facing death.

I raced through the forest, the wind rustling through my fur, an invigorating sensation. In this moment, I felt truly alive and awake. You might wonder, why not run away from this monster? Well, during the day, I was constantly shadowed. Even now, I could hear the footsteps of a wolf following me. I wouldn't get far. They'd call for backup, and my fate would likely be sealed.

Taking my position about fifteen meters away from the border, easily detectable by scent, I hid behind bushes, concealed enough to observe the border. I watched the first patrol run by and started timing until the next one. Fifteen minutes later, another patrol passed.

For the next four hours, I continued this surveillance, deducing that patrols passed every fifteen to thirty minutes. About to leave and make it back before curfew, a patrol came to a halt. A group of five stood, and in the middle, a huge black wolf, entirely devoid of any other color. I couldn't get a glimpse of the wolf's face due to the wind blowing away from me.

Realizing they might have caught my scent, I kept my head down, hiding my wolf form. The wolf pack seemed suspicious, but they eventually moved on.

Swiftly, I made my way back to the tree where I left my clothes, shifted back, and dressed. Returning to the meeting room where my father was conversing with the main rogue warriors, I stood, awaiting his command.

"Speak!" he ordered.

"I watched from cover, and their patrols pass every fifteen minutes, assuming they're on time. This pattern held during the entire observation period. The patrols are organized and well-planned. The Alpha also takes part in patrols," I reported confidently.

My father nodded. "Good. Anything else?"

"Nothing," I replied.

"Fine. You are dismissed," he ordered.

I left and headed straight to my caravan, changing into training gear. I needed an outlet for the stress building up within me. Dressed in leggings, trainers, and a sports bra, I headed to the training area. Some people were already training, but I spotted an available punch bag hanging from a tree.

Fiercely, I punched the bag, strike after strike. It shuddered under my force, my strength evident. I had a very toned stomach, a result of relentless training by my father since I was ten. He was cruel and unforgiving, pushing me to my limits for hours on end.

This relentless training was the source of my strength, speed, and power. Yet, I dared not challenge my father, for the consequences would be fatal. I pummeled the bag, releasing all the anger and frustration bottled up inside me. I was infuriated with my life, with everything.

Each kick at the bag was a release, a fierce strike of power growing with intensity. The bag could only take so much, and the chain eventually snapped, sending it crashing into a tree, fragments scattering in all directions. Onlookers gazed at me in awe, but I simply walked away.

Returning to the caravan, I took a shower and downed a couple of glasses of water. I changed into my pyjamas and indulged in some chocolate from my stash in the cupboard, munching on it as I sat on my bed.

I chose not to inform my father about the Alpha being a pure black wolf. I purposefully withheld the information, knowing it would put my father at a disadvantage. Perhaps this larger pack could prevail. I hoped for it. I couldn't bear to witness another pack's demise. I was sick of this life.

Exhausted, I fell asleep, grateful to have survived another day without additional injuries. I longed for a change, a different life, something beyond the pain and torment. I yearned for a chance at a new beginning. Please, Moon Goddess, grant me a better life.