Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Cass 

I follow Lauren with the basket of tomatoes in my hand.

“What a beauty! These look so ripe and perfect!” Matilda, the older lady in charge of the kitchen, says as she takes my basket. “You’ve all done such wonderful work growing and tending to these!”

Lauren gives her a proud smile.

Suddenly, the Luna walks into the kitchen. We all slip back into rows and lower our heads. She slowly circles the room, inspecting everything the cooks have been preparing.

“Matilda, no leek soup tonight. I’m tired of it. Make something else,” she says.

“Yes, Luna,” Matilda replies, lowering her head.

I peek up and see two huge pots filled with the soup. That means they’ll throw most of it out and spend hours making up for all that wasted work.

My eyes land on the Luna.

In most packs, the Alpha is the symbol of strength and command, while the Luna is the symbol of kindness and nurturing. But not this Luna. She is hard on us and just as ruthless as the Alpha. She deals with the pack while the Alpha deals with the war, which means she oversees all punishments. Every punishment I’ve ever received has been because of her. To her, her children can do no wrong. Everyone else is the villain. She has no compassion for anyone.

The memory comes back, just as fresh as the day it happened—just like this morning in the field.

After my fight with Colt, Kayce, and Ezra, all I can remember is her.

The sound of the whip hitting my flesh is what stuck with me the most. Even more than the pain itself.

I remember the Luna standing on the sidelines with a pack member holding an umbrella over her as rain poured down, a glass of wine in her hand, watching what was being done to me at her command—and her “angelic” children nowhere to be found.

It was the first time I had been whipped. I was just eight.

I screamed for the torment to stop, but it felt like the end would never come.

My eyes threaten to water as the memory surges. I’m distracted until the Luna stops in front of me. I look up at her, and her look of contempt makes me want to lower my eyes, but I don’t.

She hates me because I’m not compliant like everyone else. I challenge her just by the way I look at her, even now, while everyone else keeps their eyes down in fear.

She leans in. “Cause any trouble tonight, and I will strike you myself.”

I stay quiet as she backs away and leaves the kitchen. Suddenly, everyone can breathe again.

“Damn. Back to the drawing board,” Matilda says to her cooks.

“We’ll take some of it so it doesn’t go to waste,” Lauren says. “And I’m sure others will take some too. I’ll send them your way.”

“Perfect!” Matilda cheers.

As they talk, a sharp pain stabs my heart so suddenly that I gasp. I hold my chest but try to act normal. I walk to a corner where no one can see me and rest against the wall.

“I can’t believe he’s already at it,” I whisper. “Motherfucker. I hate him.”

The pain is like a knife stabbing my heart, like it wants to burst. On earlier days, I would scream at the top of my lungs, but I’m used to it now, though that doesn’t make it any better.

I take deep breaths and force myself to walk out, pretending everything is fine.

“Can we go back home now?” I ask Lauren.

“Are you okay?” she asks, noticing my teary eyes.

“Same as always.”

She knows exactly what I mean. She’s the only one who does.

She closes her eyes and nods. “Yes. Let’s go home. Help me with this.” She hands me a huge bag filled with bowls of leek soup.

“I think she overdid it,” I mutter as we walk out.

Lauren laughs. “You and James will eat this in no time.”

I smile because she might be right.

We walk the dirt road through the woods until we reach our little shack. It’s a small, rundown house, but it’s home nonetheless.

Only those of higher rank get to live in the pack house. No privilege to me, honestly, that would be the worst kind of torture. A bunch of stuck‑up people.

Once inside, I help Lauren put the food away and then head to my small room. It used to be the dining room but was converted into a bedroom when I came into the picture. Lauren and I shared the bedroom until Mom and Dad died. They were killed when the Dark Fang pack attacked us and the fighting spilled into the pack house. Lauren and I survived only because Mom hid us under the kitchen cupboards and led them away. It was a horrible time. Lauren was seventeen then, and I was nine.

Then James came into the picture—her mate. And he is amazing. I’m content, and I’m happy for her. He’s good to her and to me, like a brother. The only problem with this room is how thin the walls are. You can hear everything from the kitchen and living room, so right now I can hear plates clattering as Lauren tries to cook.

I step out of my room. “I’ll eat later. I’m going for a run.”

“Okay, but make it short.”

“To the river and back,” I say, reassuring her. “But are you sure you want me to come back fast?”

I narrow my eyes at her because I don’t want a repeat of what I saw last time I came back too early, her and James getting it on in the living room.

“Yes…” she says. “If James gets back here before you do, all he has to do is spank these buns and give my papaya a quick rub.”

“EEEEEWWWW STOP!”

She laughs like a maniac while I run out of the house, not wanting to hear another word. I hate how she calls her privates papaya. I haven’t been able to eat one ever since she started doing that.

Forcing all of that out of my head, I step outside and take my clothes off as I enter the woods. I shift into my wolf form and run, fur bursting across my skin as my bones snap into place. The ground blurs beneath my paws the moment I hit the forest floor. This always makes me feel better. I feel connected to my wolf in this form, and my fears and anxieties fade as if they were never there at all.

I’m enjoying the peace when I suddenly hear something ahead of me that makes me stop. I halt immediately, irritation flaring when Niles jumps out of the bushes in his wolf form.

This man will not leave me alone. He doesn’t bully me like the others—it’s worse. He makes advances at me, keeps asking me to be his mate. A man twice my age, mid‑forties. His mate died a long time ago, and now he has his slimy eyes set on me. He’s a nasty man, and no other she‑wolf wants him. And since no male in the pack wants me either, he thinks I’ll be easy to claim. That I don’t have any other choice but to mate with him. But the joke’s on him. I’d rather be alone for the rest of my life than end up with someone like him.

I let out an irritated growl straight from my wolf. I can feel her emotions inside me, and she dislikes him just as much as I do.

He strides toward us, standing tall in a dominant posture, then starts sniffing behind my ears and down my neck. It’s his pathetic attempt to enamor us, or rather, my wolf. She snaps at him, and he growls back, trying to assert dominance, but we don’t accept it. She snaps again, louder this time, and he retreats a step, clearly uncomfortable as she continues barking and growling like she’s rabid.

Our mood is ruined, so we turn and run back toward the house. No amount of running will fix it now.

“That was fast. Food is ready,” Lauren says.

“Not hungry anymore,” I mutter.

“Oh? Well then start getting ready!”

I sigh. I hate dressing up. And by that, I mean still looking like a bum, just a bum who’s trying not to look like a bum.

I shower, put on deodorant, and dig through my clothes rack for a dress.

“This will do.” A white summer dress with frills. It looks childish and nothing like my twenty‑three‑year‑old ass, but I don’t care. I’m not trying to impress anyone, not even him…the cause of all my misery.

With the dress on, I turn to the mirror. Old scars from before I had my wolf—back when I couldn’t heal—are on full display. I used to hate them, but now I don’t care.

Still getting ready, I open my jewelry box and pick up my golden necklace, the only thing of value I own. It has my name on it, and it’s the only reason people know my name at all.

When I was three, I was found near the river. My real mother was dead beside me. At least, that’s what I was told. I don’t remember any of it. They think she ran away from her rogue pack. Female rogues are treated worse than I am, so it makes sense.

Lauren’s parents were the ones who found me and asked to take me in. The Alpha agreed, and they made me their daughter. They treated me like their own. I’ll always be grateful for that. Lauren has been a loving sister since day one, and after our parents died, she took on the motherly role. She’s thirty‑one now, and she and James still haven’t been able to have children, which is a shame. They’d be amazing parents.

The dress slides down my chest because it’s too small. I adjust it quickly, covering my burn mark. I’ve had it since I was a child. I don’t know or remember how I got it. I hide it whenever I can. It almost looks like I was branded. Still, kids teased me for it growing up. They said it meant I was branded as the lowest of the pack, which I am, but I’ve had this mark since before I ever came here.

I’m part of the Omega hierarchy, but I’m actually one of the runts. The lowest of the low. Weak, ostracized, rejected, and unwanted, except by Lauren and James.

Looking in the mirror, I dab concealer under my eyes so I don’t look so beat up, then pull my hair into a ponytail. It doesn’t help. It still looks like a dark lion’s mane. I’m starting to think I should cut it. Curly hair is so hard to manage when it’s this long.

After James gets home from working with the farm animals, we eat, and once he and Lauren get ready, we head to the pack house.

As we approach, the festival is already in full swing, and my heart starts pounding as I realize I’m going to have to see him again.

“James, how are the cattle doing?” Beta Christoph suddenly asks as he approaches. A strict man, but not without reason.

James is in charge of the farm, so they start talking until another high‑ranking man interrupts.

“Speaking of cattle, is it true? Did the warriors really bring back prisoners this time?”

“Yes,” the Beta says. “The Dark Fang Pack attacked the wrong encampment. They weren’t expecting our warriors to be there, and now we have prisoners of war.”

I shiver at the mention of the Dark Fang Pack. They were the boogeyman to us growing up. Except this boogeyman is real.

As I turn away, trying to distract myself from the conversation, I suddenly find myself thinking I’d rather face the Dark Fang Pack right now than deal with the person walking toward me.

My damn mate.