Werewolf

The Alpha calls us up to the stage, and the butcher snickers as he takes a front-row seat. I refuse to look at him, focusing on the small cafe with blue and white umbrellas out front. “Ah, choices. Now, what should I do with these filthy rogues?” The Alpha laughs. He knows exactly what he is going to do with us. He is just taunting and dragging out the inevitable.
I clutch Ivy’s fingers when the Alpha grabs her arm and tears her away. My lip quivers, and the Alpha motions to the butcher as he climbs the stairs. I feel his presence behind me as he yanks the hessian bag over my head like the Alpha did to Ivy.
“Brock, let me keep this one,” the butcher says, gripping my shoulders behind me, and my entire body tenses. “What do you want her for?”
“She has a tight ass,” he says, squeezing my shoulders as his hands trail down my arms. I am thankful for the Hessian bag so that I do not have to s

The drive to the castle was long, and I fell asleep along the way, only to be awoken by Ivy as we pull up. She shakes my arm, jostling me awake to find we have stopped. The castle is something out of fairy tales, and for a few moments, I forget about the man who had gotten in the car with us after the king became annoyed and pulled over. It is the man I saw smoking earlier. He is quiet and doesn’t say much, but it gives me a chance to peek at him.
He has dark hair and equally dark eyes, or maybe that is just because of the dim lighting with the tinted windows. He is built big and has sharp features. His lips are full and seem to sit in a permanent frown. I wonder briefly if he ever smiles—if this cold stony face is his usual demeanor, and if it suits his personality. One thing is certain—he is a man of few words.
He didn’t speak at all during the drive, just stared off. His job was clear

Mrs. Daley stares over at the two men as they approach the small brick fence surrounding the place. “You must be…” she stops trying to figure out who they are. “I thought the Lycan King was coming today?” Mrs. Daley asks, looking slightly upset. I nod toward them, and Ivy shrugs, looking them over with the same curiosity.
“He couldn’t make it, so he sent us instead,” says the man who hopped out of the driver’s seat. He is tall, dressed in a suit and has blond hair that shapes his face. Another man gets out of the car behind that one; he has darker features. His lips set in what looks like a permanent scowl, and his jaw is clenched tight, hands fisted at his sides. He moves to the back of his car and lights a smoke. I watch as he draws back on it and nearly stumble over my own feet as Ivy pulls me along.
For some reason, I find him intriguing but shake my head and push the thoughts away. There is something dark and sinister about that man. His dark eyes look me over before they meet mine. The endless pools of darkness stare back at me; he smirks making me tear my eyes away from him and pay attention to where I am walking.
Lycans are different from werewolves; they remain upright when they shift and are more powerful, faster, and can turn another werewolf into a Lycan; werewolves can’t change people and aren’t anywhere near their caliber. We are practically dogs compared to them; which is why Lycans rule over all of us.
Werewolves, like myself, are considered half-human; I shifted on my eighteenth birthday—what a horrific experience that was—especially when Mrs. Daley would come in to beat me when I was too loud; unfortunately she also beat Ivy for my pain.
Lycans are purebloods and lethal beasts; they are immortal though a dying species — go figure! Apparently they can die but their lifespan is endless unless mortally injured.
As we step out of the gate, a man I hadn’t noticed before steps into Ivy’s path.
Ivy freezes, and I hear her breathing pick up beside me. This man commands attention seemingly without trying. His suit does nothing to hide the bulk of muscle pressing tightly beneath it. His silver eyes glow as he stares at Ivy. I want to cower away from him, yet Ivy stares back seemingly mesmerized by him. He cocks his head to the side watching her. I grab Ivy’s arm, giving it a shake, knowing Mrs. Daley will whip her extra good before we leave if Ivy embarrasses her by stealing this man’s attention.
“We should go,” I whisper. I don’t want to leave Alpha Brock waiting; he will make our death particularly heinous, and Ivy nods to me. Another car pulls up, but as we pass, both men are gazing at her. We walk out of the small gate when the man with silver sparkling eyes grips Ivy’s arm tugging her to him, and I gasp as his eyes flicker. Movement out of the corner of my eye moves my gaze to the man who is smoking. He tosses his cigarette to the gutter with a curious expression on his face as he watches the man holding Ivy’s arm.”
“Rogue?” the man says, and my grip on her hand tightens; the way he looks at her is as if he wants to devour her. He turns his attention toward Mrs. Daley and lets her arm go before glancing at me, and I quickly drop my gaze. We both duck our heads in submission. The man growls, and Mrs. Daley bumps me, making my back arch as she moves closer. I don’t miss the way she sneers at Ivy.
“Yes, sir, they are just on their way. Run along, girls,” Mrs. Daley says, and we both nod, and I jerk on Ivy’s hand.
Without uttering a peep, we make our way into town. This side of town is run-down; the lawns are overgrown, litter fills and clogs the gutters, and leaves coat the ground as we walk. Most of the houses have been destroyed by a storm that blew through town a few months ago, leaving most abandoned.
There is only one way in and out of this town as it’s high up in the winding mountain ranges. The forest surrounding it is vast and dense, keeping us secluded from any human towns. Packs tend to stick to themselves and after years of hiding, humans eventually forget about werewolves, and we become folklore or myth. Yet all myths and legends start somewhere, usually with a version of the truth.
Both Ivy and I gaze at the forest longingly; if only we could escape. I sigh; the only freedom we will get is with death, foolish to run, though I can see that Ivy desperately wants to do so, too. However, a quick death is what I can live with—if we run, Alpha Brock will tear us apart piece by piece personally believing we have suffered enough.
“Come on,” I tell Ivy before she gets any ideas; we wouldn’t even make it to the forest edge before they caught us. We stride toward Town Square where we can hear people in town getting ready for the Alpha. He rarely comes to town having no need with servants at his beck and call; however today his presence is required.
The Alpha gets to decide our fates; those wishing to join the pack are herded once a month to Town Square and put on display by Alpha Brock who decides whether you can join. Other options are to cast you out or kill you. I shudder at the latter. The last option is being sold. But I don’t let my mind even go there, knowing the butcher would be the first one to raise his hand. My heart is set on either death or the unlikely miracle of being cast out.
The hustle and bustle echo loudly as we enter the square while pack members go about their day like we aren’t about to be slaughtered by their Alpha. When rogue children turn eighteen, the Alpha gets to choose their fate. It is cruel. You’d think killing parents is enough for him.
I know he will never let us go. Ivy isn’t eighteen yet but once Mrs. Daley declared I would be going before the Alpha, she begged and pleaded to have her case heard at the same time. Mrs. Daley said she would see what she could do but only if she did all her chores. For weeks she busted her ass despite me telling her not to. She wanted to die with me. We have a pact; it is probably silly but where one goes the other goes, even in death.
Mrs. Daley, though, is all too excited to get rid of us, and when Alpha Dean visited next, who is Alpha Brock’s father, he granted Ivy’s wish.
After today there will be no rogue orphans. All the orphans are pack members’ children who have been lost in various pack wars. Yet despite everything, I’m grateful that I am able to stand up on the podium with my best friend and have someone to die with. Though I can’t imagine a world without Ivy in it, and I suppose she feels the same. She is like my sister; we grew up together and I would lay down my life in a heartbeat for her if I could, but she would never allow that. She would lay beside me; that’s how it has always been and how it will be today.
People step away from us as we enter, giving us disgusted looks and a wide berth. Rogues have a particular scent to pack wolves, alerting them to intruders, and that’s how those here in the town square look at us—with judging, unwelcoming gazes. I squeeze Ivy’s fingers tighter as she slows, taking in those around us.
People watch as we make our way to the stage and take our seats next to it. The wind is cool and moves my hair in the breeze. Townspeople stare at us, spit at our feet—one even kicks my foot as he passes us. I can feel a set of unwanted eyes on me which has me nervously glancing around and I instantly find the culprit: The butcher.
Peeking at him, he waves and blows me a kiss, and I close my eyes sucking in a deep breath fighting the memories of what he did to me away—the way he violated me and destroyed me. It’s almost over Abbie; almost over and we will be free, I remind myself.
My wolf sense can pick up his pungent scent from here, and I try not to let it in—try to stop it from assaulting my nose.
Silence falls over the crowd of busy shoppers and those who came to watch our fates. Everyone rushes to take their seats. Usually, Town Square is an open space, but someone has lined rows of chairs for people, some still standing around when we hear car doors in the distance. Then Alpha Brock strolls down the aisle between chairs.
He looks to be in his thirties and only took over for his father a few years ago. He has been cruel since he took over. No rogue has lived, so we know we are doomed. We are outsiders, apparently, which is a good enough reason to hate rogues. It’s instantly assumed that without a pack, rogues are seen as unsafe or defiant against Pack hierarchy.
I swallow as he approaches. He sneers at us before climbing the steps and addressing the crowd. He isn’t bad-looking but his cruelty makes him deeply unappealing. He is arrogant and also friends with the butcher. Good friends. I have seen them together speaking vulgarly, which only eggs the butcher on—even more so when I was younger. However, nothing will ever ruin me like that day when Mrs. Daley sold me to him.

The Alpha calls us up to the stage, and the butcher snickers as he takes a front-row seat. I refuse to look at him, focusing on the small cafe with blue and white umbrellas out front. “Ah, choices. Now, what should I do with these filthy rogues?” The Alpha laughs. He knows exactly what he is going to do with us. He is just taunting and dragging out the inevitable.
I clutch Ivy’s fingers when the Alpha grabs her arm and tears her away. My lip quivers, and the Alpha motions to the butcher as he climbs the stairs. I feel his presence behind me as he yanks the hessian bag over my head like the Alpha did to Ivy.
“Brock, let me keep this one,” the butcher says, gripping my shoulders behind me, and my entire body tenses. “What do you want her for?”
“She has a tight ass,” he says, squeezing my shoulders as his hands trail down my arms. I am thankful for the Hessian bag so that I do not have to see him touching me. Knowing is bad enough; I don’t think I can handle seeing his face as the last th

chapter 4