Rejected Obsidian Lycan

Maya's pov.

I was scrubbing the floors of the pack house when the buckets were rudely kicked, sending water splashing all over the place. “Oops, you missed a spot,” a girl's perky voice came after, followed by rounds of cackles as they walked away.

I didn't stare at the mess that was created and had to start over. This wasn't the first time I had to do something like this, and I'm guessing it wouldn't be the last. There was a never-ending cycle of my day as the pack's runt.

The weakest of all the pack members, even worse than an omega.

The pack had a long tradition of raising stormy and powerful members; even the omegas are considered warriors when up against a stronger foe. I, however, didn't get the message, it would seem.

And so everyone in the pack treats me like shit, constantly taunting me, and always taking an opportunity to make things difficult for me.

I never complained, never for once spoke out of turn, and always took my punishment as it was. Just like today.

I finished up with scrubbing the floors for the second time and was about to move to the next chore when the sound of the engine roaring echoed from outside.

My heart couldn't help but thud within my rib cages, the familiar feeling of fear crippled inside of me sending cold shivers down my spine. I wanted to move, I wanted to get out of that place and hide. That was how scared I was but my legs were frozen in place.

It would have been weird if I weren't this scared after hearing the sounds of their voices. I broke into a feat of sweat, knowing what was coming my way.

The front doors were pushed open, and their voices traveled across the pack house, however, only a few of them walked into the pack house, and in their midst was one of my tormentors, or should I say their second leader. She was also the daughter of the beta of the crimson blood pack.

The epitome of beauty and strength in a perfect blend, she was a figure every girl wanted to be, and everyone feared for her strength, and so did I. Just like everyone else, if not more. Lexa Hummel hated the weak, it was safe to say my presence was a sight to cause sore eyes.

She walked with a group of four as they made their way towards me, when a voice pulled me out of my daze, “Get out of the way, you mutt,” someone snapped, forcing my weak and jelly-like knees to move but they couldn't handle my weight and i fell back, the bucket i had in my hands slipped and splattered all over the floor again.

A shrill scream echoed in the pack house. I glanced at the source of the sound as I tried to get back up on my feet and couldn't help but gasp.

What have I done?

My breathing shuddered as I stared at the damage that I had done. I tried to get words of apology, but they were stuck in my throat.

Lexa glared down at me, her eyes filled with anger and intense hatred when she let out a deep chuckle, “you have got to be kidding me,” she stressed out, in a blink of an eye her claws were extended and they sunk deep at the corners of neck as lexa jacked me 3 inches from the ground.

I dangled in the air, clutching at my throat as I slowly lost air, clawing at her hands slowly, desperately, until my energy began sapping away. I watched from a blurry vision as the others stood to the side, either laughing or just watching in satisfaction at my predicament.

Before I lost consciousness entirely, I was flung across the room, and my back collided with the wall harshly, knocking the little air I had left, and I sank to the floor with my hands shielding my face.

I chanted in my head not to cry several times, as the tears would only make the session longer.

“That's enough lexa, we have more important business than for you to be wasting time with scums,” a deep voice reminded lexa and i couldn't help but thank them.

Lexa chanced a glare at me before kicking me in the stomach, “pathetic,” she muttered as she walked by me.

The crowd that seemed to have formed dissipated one after the other, and the head of the omega stood before me, “Clean this bloody mess up.” Miss Finch barked, forcing me to recoil back into myself before she disappeared just like the rest.

I got up quickly on shaky legs and carried out the task as soon as possible. My blood dripping onto the floor made it harder to finish quickly, as well as the banging migraine at the back of my head, as though it had been hammered in.

After finishing the chore, I slipped out the back door of the pack house. I didn’t head home—not yet. Instead, I wandered into the dense forest, where no one would think to find me. Hidden beneath the canopy, I pressed my back against a rough tree trunk and slowly slid down until my knees curled into my chest.

A lump rose in my throat, thick and unrelenting, choking me as tears surged forth like a flood. The pain gripped every part of me—body, mind, and soul. I was drained. Worn down. At the edge of everything I had left to give.

I hated it.

I hated myself more than anyone ever could. Hated how weak I was—how useless. I was the root of it all.

All because I couldn’t shift. That made me different. That made me wrong. Because of my looks—my long black hair, my midnight eyes—I had become a target, a living spectacle for their cruelty, a spectacle of mockery and hate.

Nineteen years. You’d think I’d be used to it by now.

But every day, I come home with more bruises than I can count. More wounds than I can hide.

And every night, I fall asleep with a broken heart and a quiet plea, blaming the Moon Goddess, cursing her for making me like this.

For bringing me into a world that only knows how to break me.