Saved by the Alpha

ABUSED

Zara's Pov

As I slowly rose from the floor where I had just experienced yet another beating at the hands of my family, every inch of my body ached. The familiar scent of blood filled the air, a reminder of the constant abuse I endured on a daily basis. My family took pleasure in causing me pain, their hatred for me surpassing anything I could comprehend. Every other day, new bruises would join the already existing ones, some more severe than others.

Despite the pain, I forced myself to make my way to the kitchen sink to continue with my never-ending list of chores. From dawn to dusk, I worked tirelessly, performing backbreaking tasks assigned to me by my father and brother. In addition to cooking and cleaning, I was also expected to do any odd job that needed to be done around the house, which doubled as my father's office. It was a never-ending cycle of labor and abuse.

As the daughter of the Alpha, I was treated worse than even the lowest-ranking omega in our pack. Even the slaves had a better life than I did. I was hated and despised, a nobody who was barely noticed by anyone. It was almost as if I didn't exist. It was no surprise to me that the other members of the pack treated me this way, given that my father and brother had brought this upon me.

While the other children and teenagers in our pack went to school and received an education, I was forced to stay at home and do menial labor. I remember asking my father if I could go to school, but he just laughed and mocked me, along with my elder brother. They called me names for even daring to ask for an education.

"You want to go to school?" my father asked between fits of laughter.

"Yes, Dad," I replied, barely eight years old at the time and desperate to join my peers at school. I watched as they left their homes with their bags slung over their shoulders, carrying small lunch boxes with them. The sound of the school bus was like music to my ears, and I would stand at the window in my basement room, watching the other kids and wondering why I couldn't be like them.

The basement had been my room since my mother died when I was five years old. Her death marked the beginning of my troubles, and my father and brother's attitudes toward me changed drastically. My father even accused me of causing my mother's death, of being a curse on him and my brother. The hurt I felt at hearing those words was compounded by the revulsion I saw in my brother's eyes. How could they believe that I was capable of murder? How could I have killed the person who meant the most to me?

"You think you deserve to go to school?" my father asked again, his voice bringing me back to the present. I watched as he approached me with a sympathetic smile on his face,  I took his smile as a sign of pity for me, his daughter.

"Yes, Dad," I replied, looking up to meet his eyes. But the anger and fury I saw there made me quickly look down at my feet, knowing that this was not going to end well for me.

"Stop calling me 'Dad,' you brat," he snarled, before delivering a slap across my cheek.

I cried out and covered my stinging cheek with my hands. The tears flowed freely as I realized that this was the first time he had hit me. Until now, he had only abused me with his words, but now I was a punching bag for both my father and brother. They beat me whenever things didn't go their way or when someone else failed, taking out all their anger and frustration on me.

I was given scraps of food that barely kept me alive, despite my family having more than enough to feed everyone in the household. They seemed to take pleasure in denying me proper meals as if they wanted to see me suffer. I recall one instance where I was so hungry that I rummaged through the trash and found a half-eaten piece of pie. When my father discovered what I had done, he flew into a rage and beat me mercilessly. I lost consciousness and had to be rushed to the hospital.

For a while, things seemed to improve. I was given proper meals and treated with kindness. But as soon as I regained my strength, the abuse resumed. It went on like this for years, until my father passed away in his sleep. My brother took over as the head of the household and Alpha of the pack, but the mistreatment continued.

Although my brother William was not the most intelligent or graceful person, he had inherited the position of Alpha in our pack due to family tradition. I had always gotten along with him when we were younger, but things changed after the death of our mother. William’s cruelty towards me doubled after my father's death, he rationed my food and forced me to do chores for his disrespectful friends who also often mistreated me.

On the day of his girlfriend's birthday party, he insisted that I do all the cooking, refusing to give me money for groceries because he believed I would either keep some for myself or use it to buy food for myself. It was clear that he did not care about my well-being or value my contribution to the pack.

The party was scheduled to begin at 10:00 AM and I was expected to have a full meal ready by then. As the cook for a group of werewolves, this was no small task. I had to wake up earlier than usual and work tirelessly to prepare everything, despite being tired and hungry from my daily workload.

To sustain myself, I grabbed an apple from the grocery basket and retreated to my small room in the basement. There was no furniture in the room except for a cramped bed, a worn couch, and a mirror that used to belong to my mother.

I avoided looking at the mirror because of the sorry sight it reflected back at me. I was pale and thin, far from the healthy appearance I desired. Despite the abuse I suffered at the hands of my brother and his friends, I couldn't help but envy his girlfriend, Jenny. She was beautiful and curvaceous, and I couldn't understand why she stayed with my brother, who was not only mean to me but also not very intelligent. Perhaps being the alpha of the pack made up for his shortcomings in her eyes. Still, I couldn't help feeling that Jenny deserve my brother because in some ways she encouraged my brother's cruel behavior toward me.

I woke up to the sound of my name being called out. "Zara... Zara," I thought it was just a dream at first. But then I heard, "Zara, you useless bitch." My eyes flew open and I sat up in bed, realizing that I had overslept. I quickly got out of bed, grabbed one of the two gowns I had laid out, and put it on over my underwear. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail and prepared to leave the room.

As I made my way toward the door, my brother walked in. His blond, wavy hair was disheveled and he looked angry, as was usual for him. I froze at the sight of him and took a step back as he approached me. His eyes looked clouded, most likely from a night of heavy drinking. I had never seen him drunk before, but the more he drank, the more violent he became. I silently prayed to the moon goddess for help.

"Please, Williams, stop," I begged, hoping he would leave me alone

"Stop what," Williams sneers at me.

I try to plead with him, "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to oversleep. Please, Williams, forgive me if I have offended you in any way." The bruises and aches all over my body are a testament to the beatings I have received from him. I have not had a good night's sleep in a long time and I can barely stand upright due to the lack of food and constant abuse.

But Williams just shakes his head in disdain. "The mere fact that you're alive is an offense," he says, his words cutting deep.

Tears well up in my eyes as I realize that my own brother would rather see me dead. Despite knowing how much he hates me, it still hurts to hear him say it.

"What did I do to deserve this hatred?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady despite my racing heart.

"What did you do? You're asking me what you did?" Williams sneered, taking a step closer to me. "I want you to get your act together, Zara. You're a disgrace to this family. Can't you do anything right?"

I flinched at his words, feeling the sting of tears prick at my eyes."I'm sorry, Williams," I whispered, trying to placate him. "I'll try harder, I promise."

"Try harder? That's all you ever say, Zara. But it's never enough. You're always screwing up, always letting me down. Maybe it's time for you to leave this house and never come back."

I gasped at his words, tears streaming down my face. I couldn't believe he was saying this to me. I had always looked up to my brother, and had always wanted his approval. But now, it seemed like I would never have it.

His gaze roamed around my room until it landed on a pot of white daisies that I kept by the window. These flowers held a special place in my heart because they reminded me of my mother, who loved gardening and white daisies in particular. After she passed away, I made sure to take care of her plants, and the white daisies in particular flourished. Even though my brother and father often caused me pain, the sight of these flowers brought me comfort and helped me endure the hardships.

"What is this pot doing here?" William asked as he approached the window.

I hesitated before answering, "It's just some flowers I took from the garden. Mum's favorites."

William nodded and said, "Oh, I remember. These were her favorites."

For a moment, I hoped that William would remember that I was his little sister, the sister he used to love when we were children.

But my hopes were quickly dashed as he picked up the pot and smashed it on the ground before storming out of my room.

I bend down and carefully collect the flowers in my hands. Tears stream down my face as I see the destruction caused by my brother, Williams. He had ripped the flowers from their stems and left them scattered throughout the room

Determined to save them, I get down on my knees and begin picking up the flowers. But before I can do much more, I feel a sharp pain as my brother grabs my hair and yanks me back. I hadn't even heard him approach, I had been so focused on the flowers.

"Please stop!" I cry out, struggling to free my hair from his grip.

"What are you doing here?" he yelled at me. "Did you think your chores would just magically get done by themselves?"

He yanked me off my feet and dragged me towards the kitchen, still holding onto my hair. Once we reached the kitchen, he shoved me aside and I stumbled backward, hitting my back against the cabinet before collapsing to the floor. He began kicking me with his booted feet, targeting my ribs. I thought to myself that this was it, this was the day I would finally die.

After savagely beating me, his ego satisfied, he walked away. I tried to stand, but my body wouldn't cooperate. I needed to finish cooking before he returned, but the pain was too much. I huddled on the floor, trembling. Time passed until I heard my brother's friends enter the house. They were there for a party, and I was supposed to be preparing the food.

I mustered the strength to get up and go to the sink, running water to wash some vegetables and start cooking. But when I heard the laughter from the other room, something inside me snapped. I had nothing in this household that was mine. My parents were dead, and my brother and the other pack members hated me. Even the white daisies I kept to remember my mother had been taken from me. I had nothing, and I would be better off dead.

"Zara!" My brother yelled my name once more.

"Run!" Sienna, my wolf, communicated through our mind link."We have to get away now."