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Rhea’s POV

“Please! Don’t kill me, please! I’m begging you!” The injured man pleaded with me heartily. He was so close to dying, his wolf gave up his form and made him turn into his human self.

“I’m sorry” I said to him internally without letting him hear it, before I forced my wolf to bite his throat out and end his life.

His animalistic, pain filled screams, tore my heart out, which subsequently caused me to wake up from my night terror.

I sat up from my thin, ragged rug that I’ve been sleeping on ever since I can remember. My heartbeat was going crazy from the nightmare but I willed it to slow down to a normal rate. My breathing was fine, my face was blank. Good job Rhea. Perfect as always, just another normal ish, everyday nightmare, no big deal. I complimented myself.

I looked around and saw everyone around me on the forest ground still sleeping soundly, and I felt better knowing no one was awake to hear my struggle and get suspicious that I was suddenly growing a conscience for being a heartless, cold blooded killer. Yes, that’s what I am, and I won’t deny it.

Don’t you judge me from your little, prefect, peaceful corner of the world!

It's not like I had any other choice in the matter!

I was raised into this merciless life and there was no other way to live it but to play the only part of the game that will let me survive it, that will keep me alive.

Perhaps I should start at the beginning.

My name is Rhea, just Rhea, no last name. Because I don’t know where I come from or who my parents are…were.

I don’t even know if that’s my real name.

I am eighteen years old… I think. I don’t know when my birthday is. My wolf’s name is Hazel. She woke up in my head when I was sixteen but I had no idea what day it was to figure out the date of my birth. She’s my only person. The only one I trust and share my deepest secrets with, because I know she would never betray me with them.

I was raised by the Victor pack since I was four years old. It’s named after its Alpha. We are currently at three hundreds and fifty werewolves, plus one mean and vicious warlock. It is considered one of the most powerful and ruthless rogue packs in the whole states.

Rogue packs are savages, blood thirsty and rabid killers. They don’t have a place they can call home. They don’t belong anywhere or settle down in a place for more than one week. Our home is the forest. Our food is the animals our wolves can hunt with their teeth. Our purpose in life is to travel around and target packs. We attack it, kill any member of it that fights back, and anyone who wants to join our pack is welcome to. As soon as they prove their loyalty by killing the rest of their pack members. We don’t leave anyone alive behind, that includes women, elderly, and kids. Everyone has to either die or join us, there is no third option. We don’t take anything of value from them other than some clothes and basic necessities. We destroy and torch their places and move on to our next pack.

That’s how it was and how it has always been here. But I was the only exception. And I still to this day, don’t know why I was that exception.

Alpha Victor spared my life fourteen years ago. He didn’t let anyone kill me like they killed the rest of the pack I was living in, like they killed my parents, possibly my aunts, uncles, grandparents, brothers, or sisters. I don’t know how many family members I actually had when the pack was attacked. All I know was, alpha Victor asked everyone to not hurt me and keep an eye on me until I was old enough to fully depend on myself.

All of my memories are about this pack. I don’t remember anything before I was brought here when I was still a toddler.

I didn’t have someone to take care of me, feed me, chase my fears away, love me, hug me, or kiss my pain away. That’s not what this pack is about.

I was tossed around from a heartless monster to another heartless monster to be looked after. The rogues are not the parenting, lovey dovey type. My childhood consisted of obeying orders and getting punished if I don’t. Until I was eleven and was considered old enough to take care of myself.

I learned the hard way that if I want the beatings and mistreatments to stop, I have to be like them. A heartless, insensitive monster. And that’s exactly what I became.

I never allowed anyone to question my place in this pack. To doubt my loyalty to the alpha who I secretly loath with my whole heart. I played my part well, very well. I hunted with them, killed with them, and celebrated the blood shed with them.

I realized the painful way, not to ask questions about why I was the only kid allowed to live with them and be raised by them when they never take kids at all.

I learned to bury my pain deep inside me where no one can know how much I hate and loath myself every time I have to kill innocent people and pretend to be thrilled about it and reveling in it.

Except I keep getting haunted by the people I’ve murdered in cold blood all this time. Every night, I have to watch myself killing one of them as they beg me not to. But I learned to control them because otherwise they would make me vulnerable to the pack and my loyalty will be questioned.

Even if it kills me and destroys me to kill people, I still force myself and my wolf to do it.

It fucked me up in major ways, I thought it would drive me crazy, but I learned to live with it along the way. I learned to hide my pain and not let it out until I was alone. I mourned every single innocent life I have taken in my own way. I punished myself for killing them with my own hands. It was the only way I was able to keep going.

I wanted out, but I had no way to do it. Not alive.

Alpha Victor keeps us on a tight leash.

He has a hundred years old, powerful warlock that would track us down if we ever thought about leaving the pack.

 Leaving means dying, and despite how horrible my life has been, I still had hope for a better life without them. Which is quite crazy considering I’m too fucked up to even cling to hope.

I lift up the sleeve of my worn out jumper and burrow my wolf’s claws.

I dig the claw of my forefinger deeply into the inside flesh of my elbow, drawing blood instantly. I breathe out through the pain and close my eyes, welcoming it like an addict welcomes his next fix. I let the pain consume me, I focus on it with every fiber of my being. The physical pain relieves the greater pain of my messed up heart that I carry around inside my chest. It takes away all my suffering and all my undying, ever lasting regret for the sins I’ve committed.

That’s the solution I have come up with to keep my head from going crazy, to keep me from unraveling. And it works every time.

“Attack!”

A shriek booms from the depth of the thick forest, interrupting my momentary bliss.

An attack… on us! Well, here’s a first.