“I, Magnus Aldridge, reject you Diana Castellanos as my mate. By my will and word, I sever the bond and fate that exists between us”.

Diana has been living a wretched existence in the Zervos Pack since she was a child. Being treated as the lowliest of the low and an abomination, her pride and self-esteem are completely downtrodden- her sense of self worth stomped to dust.

She endures it all, having no choice but to accept that that is her life. But it is the rejection from her mate, the one person she thought would accept her no matter what and love her as she is, that finally breaks her.

Humiliated, abused and heart broken, she escapes from the pack, the only place she has ever known and plunges into the outside world. Surely, anywhere would be better than the pack that treats her like trash?

But who knew that the Fates could be so cruel? The place she escapes to just so happens to be the deadliest in the world. The territory of the Feral Alpha…

Would the hurting Diana face the same fate as those before her who were foolish enough to trespass onto his territory, or is there perhaps something special in store for her…

Diana

I rub the back of my neck as I drag my exhausted body out the kitchen. Every single joint in my body aches. I have been on my feet since morning but thankfully, I am done with my duties for the afternoon. I have a few more hours till I have to come back to make dinner so I should be able to squeeze in a nap in the meantime…

“Ahhh!”

I scream as pain explodes on my shin- a force making my body fly forward.

Next thing I know, I find myself sprawled face-first on the hard ground. The fall is a nasty one as sharp pain explodes in my nose. The attack had been so sudden that my flailing hands had done nothing to catch my fall. It also didn’t help that my reflexes are near non-existent.

With a whimper, I scramble to my hunches, crouching on the balls of my feet as my hands instinctively come up to cup my face. A viscous red liquid stains my fingers. I feel it gush down my nostrils and drip down my chin and neck, before seeping into the front of my shirt, quickly staining the top of the faded beige-colored sweater a bright red.

In my mouth, I taste the metallic quality of my own blood and as I tentatively touch my nose, the resulting sharp pain actually brings tears to my eyes, making me once again release another pitiful whimper.

Someone had tripped me.

A snicker from above my head makes me look up.

“What kind of werewolf are you that something like that is enough to get you? Even an Omega could have dodged that”, a boy, around the age of twelve or thirteen, snorts before putting on a face of mock realization as though he had just remembered something, “Oh that’s right! You can’t even be considered a true werewolf, can you? You’re so weak!”, and he guffaws, finding himself funny.

My face pales at the jab. I take a painful shuddering breath through my mouth and drop my eyes to the floor- training my gaze on the spot of blood that has dripped onto the polished wooden floors.

Though shame fills me at my own weakness. there is also outrage stifling my throat. I bite down hard on my lip, distracting myself with the coppery taste of blood on my tongue and the zinging pain spreading over my face to stop myself from reacting. I also make sure to keep my face expressionless. I refuse to let him see that he has gotten to me.

I hear faint murmurs and look back up only to realize that the sitting room is actually full of pack members- each regarding me with varying looks of disgust, disdain and the occasional cool indifference.

My anger is instantly doused as the shame overshadows all other emotions. I feel like a spectacle in a zoo, placed on exhibition for the amusement of others- and even at that, not even an animal that is liked. Like the lowliest of the low…a disgusting worm…

This is the kind of pack the Zervos Pack is.

The hierarchy of werewolves goes Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta and Omega in order of strength. The stronger a wolf, the more he is perceived to be able to contribute to the pack, which in turn corresponds to his value in the pack. Naturally, stronger wolves are treated better and can practically do whatever they want.

The teenage boy is a Gamma wolf and as such, a member capable of bringing actual contributions to the pack.

After all these years, I am of course used to the unkind words and disregard of the pack. I’m not completely immune to them, but at least they no longer stab me as badly. Thus, in truth, it is not the boy’s words themselves that hurt right now. It is something else. Or rather, someone else.

I look up, my eyes making direct contact with that of a young man in the living room. He is sitting languidly on a two-seater sofa, his back resting against the cushions, his legs splayed open comfortably and his arm resting on the sofa arm- his posture one of complete relaxation and nonchalance.

I see nothing in his familiar dark brown eyes but complete indifference- his face stoic and without any emotions. Our eyes meet for only a second before he looks away.

My heart twinges painfully at his stark indifference to my plight and my lips tug up with a sardonic smile.

What did I expect? For him to stand up for me? To protect me? He hasn’t done that in a long time…I can’t say I’m surprised by his nonchalance. However, at the same time, I can’t stop myself from hoping he would do something. Anything. To show that he cares, That I matter to him…even a little bit. I look away from him as well,

A situation whereby anyone can bully me and get away with it is nothing new, but it still doesn’t stop me from feeling so small and insignificant.

The boy squints down at me, and for a split second I see him contemplating the idea of hurting me some more. I stiffen as I await the impending blow but then his eyes run over my face, taking in the damage and I visibly see him calm down.

“What a waste of space”, he sneers before jamming his hands into his pockets and sauntering away.

I am left there, kneeling pathetically on the ground. As I dazedly stare at my blood on the floor, my subconscious whispers maliciously“You know you’re still gonna have to clean that up don’t you?” and I wince. It is the cruel truth.

With a bloody hand braced on the floor, which just smears more of the viscous red liquid on the polished oak, I stagger to my feet and stagger back to the kitchen to get cleaning supplies. I then come back and clean up the blood on the floor; each of my movements made much harder by the excruciating pain in my nose, zinging through my face.

I blink back the tears, determined not to let them fall. I am aware that the only thing I would get is more snide remarks should I actually cry.

The entire time I do this, most of the pack members ignore me, chatting among themselves, and I find myself conflicted as to whether to be happy that they aren’t kicking me while I’m down or sad that my pain isn’t even worth their concern.

When the floor is clean, I take the cleaning supplies back into the kitchen, replace the paper towel on my nose feeling it quickly getting soggy with blood as well…

Taking in a deep breath through my mouth I train my eyes on the ground as I speed-walk out through the sitting room, down the hall, and out of the Pack House.

The moment I’m out, I sprint the rest of the way towards my little house at the far southern ends of the pack territory, my chest stifled, face hurting and eyes stinging with unshed tears.

Diana

My house, if it could even be called that, is situated at the furthest reaches of the Omega District, slightly removed from the small identical houses making up the homes of the Omega.

By the time I get to it, I am already out of breath and have to slow to a jog. Eyes trained to the ground, I ignore the perpetual looks of ridicule and schadenfreude thrown my way from the Omegas, and speed walk the rest of the way with my hand clutching the bloody tissue to my face.

I hastily shut the door behind me, cutting off those sharp eyes. Ignoring the trembling that runs precariously throughout the entire house at the slight movement, I sag against the worn wood of the door and slide to the floor.

With a painful sigh, I let the tissue fall soundlessly to the floor, the bleeding had finally stopped… I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them. my head falls back against the door with my eyes fall shut.

A single tear escapes, silently, out my closed lid, coming from the deep recesses of my own heart. It flows down my cheek, before disappearing down the side of my jaw.

I stay like that, still and unmoving for a few minutes before the pain in my nose has me staggering back up to my feet again.

In the bathroom, I brace my arms on the cool ceramic of the sink before staring at my reflection in the broken mirror.

Looking back at me is the face of a nineteen-year-old girl with dried blood all over my face and neck, browned and already beginning to crust. My face is lax and expressionless, but my eyes are filled with so much despair and hopelessness…

This is me…I think. As the years pass by, I become more and more unrecognizable to myself.

My lips pull up in a sardonic smile before I focus my gaze on my nose. I stall for a minute, dreading what I am about to do yet knowing I have no choice but to do it anyways.

“It’s only going to take a second Diana”, I mutter to my reflection, and then deciding to be even crueler, “It’s not the first time anyways. Should’ve fucking gotten used to it by now”, I hiss ruthlessly.

My hand comes up and I grasp the bridge of my nose. Huffing loudly three times through my mouth to boost my courage, I yank the cartilage back to the centre, releasing a piercing cry at the sharp pain that explodes on my face. The pain radiates through my nerves and I could swear I felt it all the way to my fingertips. The motion instantly brought warm tears back to my eyes and I feel as though I had just broken the nose all over again.

I hunch over the sink, groaning in agony while biting my lip hard enough to draw blood. With my eyes tightly closed shut, I wait for the worst of the pain to subside.

It takes a good few minutes before I am able to function again and I slowly turn the valve, opening the tap. The pipes make loud banging noises in the walls before a second later, cold water gushes out of the faucet.

I carefully and gingerly wash my face, gently cleaning off all that dried blood until my face is clean.

My house is more like a shack than anything. It is old and literally falling at the seams. At ten years old when I had been banished from the Pack House to the Omega District, this place, which had been used as storage had been hastily cleaned out for me to use.

It was very small and literally consisted of only two rooms. The main room was turned into a bedroom while the connecting room, a really tiny one, was made into the bathroom.

The Omegas had taken pity on me and a few of the men handy with their hands had fashioned a single bed for me out of discarded wood, and then placed an old mattress on it. They had also roughly fixed up a condemned table, chair and chest of drawers for me, which were literally the only other things in the room.

Though the entire house is small and everything in it is roughshod and old, I still make sure to keep it all very clean and tidy.

Right when I'm finished dressing, a knock sounds on the door, making me jolt and then still.

Standing outside is a man with long, matted hair and a bushy beard, his facial features are almost completely covered up by all that hair. His clothes are dirty and his body oozes with the overpowering stench of booze mixed with the odour of a body unwashed for a good number days.

He glares at me with narrowed eyes, taking me in. I don’t move, patiently letting him take me in with a scrutinizing gaze.

“Good. Yer not dead yet”, he grunts finally, his voice deep and gruff.

I release my first genuine smile since waking up that day.

“I’m okay Billy”, I say softly.

He snorts at that, squinting at me, “I’m sure yer are”, he replies sarcastically, “that’s why yer come back dripping in blood. I was half expecting ta find ya dead as a doornail, body startin’ to rot”, he snaps.

His words are harsh but I don’t mind them. I know they are nothing but a front for the true affection he has for me. I have seen the worry in his eyes when he had looked me over and then that worry had turned to relief on seeing that I am well. His hard words are nothing but a cover for his soft heart.

“Tsk! How boring. Then I’m going back”, he snorts and turns around to leave.

“Thank you for checking up on me Billy”, I sweetly call after him.

He snorts again, “Who is worried about you?“, he gruffs under his breath as he storms away. But with this one visit of his, most of the heaviness in my heart is lifted.

Diana

Coming back to the Pack House a few hours later, I jog up the wide marble stairs leading to the large oak door with stained glass panels serving as the front door. I grab the handle but don’t get to open it before a force swings the it inwards.

I quickly step back, moving aside to let whomever it is pass. However, after seeing who it is, my body involuntarily stills. My eyes clash with honey brown eyes that extremely similar to mine. It takes only a second for the surprise wear off and I expressionlessly stare back at him.

I watch as his eyes take in the darkened bruises on my face. An emotion akin to concern flickers through them but takes less than a second to disappear.

After staring for a moment, his lips tighten but in the end, doesn’t say anything. He looks away, jams his hands in his pockets, and stalks off; his booted feet thumping on the staircase on his descent.

I let out a humourless laugh, a sardonic smile spreading across my face. Typical.

Refusing to let myself dwell on it, I wipe my face of all expression before stepping into the house…only to come stock still once more. My heart shudders violently before issuing a loud thump; my pulse starts racing, and my eyes widen in horror.

Standing on the opposite side of the living room and leaning leisurely against the wall with his arms folded across his chest is a man with a smirk on his face, his white teeth glistening.

“What a touching scene that was”, he says, voice laden with amusement. “Really, it’s always a delight watching you two. The proud Gamma with his twin sister the…err…what are you again?” he asks with exaggerated confusion on his face, “Right! You’re Wolfless…” and I find myself flinching; the word a sharp jab to me, “Well whatever”, he adds dismissively his eyes running down the length of my form.

My hands clutch tightly together in front of me, my body, already beginning to quiver. I have this overwhelming urge to cover myself from head to foot to escape his gaze.

I want to just turn on my heels and run out; to get as far away from here as I can. Away from him. I even take an involuntary step back but self-preservation stops me at the last moment- reason reminding me that the consequences for that would be even more dire…

I really don’t want to speak to this man, and I don’t want to be anywhere near him even more. But yet again, years of experience remind me that if I refused to acknowledge my superior, especially after he had directly called out to me, it would be regarded as insubordination. And that would only lead to more trouble.

And so, with extreme reluctance, I force myself to greet him. Praying that my voice doesn’t betray my terror, yet unsurprisingly unable to completely hide the tremor in my voice.

“Good evening Beta Mason”, I call out, head bowed.

He hums distractedly, his eyes lowering and stopping on my chest and I have to once again will my body not to bolt out of there as feel his gaze on me- lewd, invasive…disgusting.

My stomach turns with the realization that I would have no choice but to pass by him to get to the kitchen and from the glint of sick pleasure I catch in his eyes, I can tell that so does he.

Resisting the urge to dash the rest of the way to the kitchen, my steps are hesitant as I walk. Each step that brings me closer to him feels more horrible than the last. I lower my gaze when I can no longer take the sight of the slimy gaze that is locked shamelessly on me, leering perversely at my body.

There is still a good three-meter gap between us as I pass by him but even that is too uncomfortably close for me.

Mason can see just how terrified I am of him and as always, he thrives in it. It gives him a sick and perverted sense of pleasure for me to quake in his presence. I catch his twisted grin out the side of my eye and I know the man is reveling in my fear; my terror some form of nourishment to his evil and warped nature.

When I am just a few inches away from him, he moves a bit and the movement makes me- who is hypersensitive to his presence, flinch. Of course, he notices, and from the dark chuckle he releases under his breath, I understand that he had done so intentionally. My strides lengthen subconsciously as I hasten my pace, anxious to get to the safe confines of the kitchen sooner and be out of his line of sight.

I feel his eyes train on my ass as I pass by and even despite my fear, I have to stop myself from turning around and snapping at him. It is only when I am finally in the kitchen and he can no longer see me that I am able to release the breath I had been holding. My body sags against the wall, and it is only then, that I realize that my hands are damp with sweat.

Though I can’t see him anymore, I can hear him humming softly outside. His voice is actually pleasant; a sharp contrast to the true monster that he truly is on the inside.

I find myself paralyzed against the wall even after I have escaped his sight. His presence is stifling and oppressive- my entire body’s reaction to him one of complete terror and revulsion.

He could follow me into the kitchen if he wanted to, but he doesn’t. He stays outside instead; letting his proximity and his voice petrify me instead. And like a malevolent spirit, he feeds off of my fear.

“Aren’t you going to start making dinner yet little Diana? It’s getting awfully late”, he drawls out in a sing-songy voice.

Having him suddenly address me directly scares me even more and I jump. My heartbeat accelerates and my palms get more sweaty.

“If you don’t start soon, dinner is going to be late. And if it’s late, then I just might have to punish you. I really am quite hungry you see”, he continues lightheartedly, his voice streaming in through the kitchen doorway.

I blanch, my face paling at the way he had said the word ‘hungry’. It didn’t sound like he was talking about food at all, and I nearly throw up.

My heart literally stops beating for a second before it resumes again with a loud thud, threatening to jump out of my chest. And with his heightened senses which are currently trained on me, I know he hears it loud and clear.

I hear him laugh. His voice has a deceptively pleasant bass which does nothing but send a tremor of disgust up my spine. The sound sends me into a panic and I scramble towards the pantry, blindly reaching for ingredients; every instinct telling me to get out of there as quickly as I can.

With haste, I quickly whip up something. It is only the years of practice that makes the food to still taste good. And the entire time I cook, I hear him outside, humming that same tune softly under his breath.

It takes less than half an hour for me to dish the food into ceramics before hastily cleaning up the kitchen

Done, I stand and stare apprehensively out the archway leading out of the kitchen. The light streaming from the living room casts the shadow of the man standing outside onto the kitchen floor.

From his shadow, I watch as he leisurely swings one leg up and down. Up and down. Still, that same unnerving humming continues.

I bite my bottom lip hard and clench my fists tight. I want to escape back to my house but I really, really, really, don’t want to have to pass by him again… but there is just no way around it.

Taking a deep breath, I force myself to take even steps out, determined not to let him see how spooked I really am. I can’t do anything about my thundering heart beat, but I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing the actual fear on my face.

The moment I step out, his eyes feeling akin to that of a venomous snake- intrusive and vile, pin me down and watch me greedily.