Chapter 6

I suck in a breath, steadying myself, and slowly start to peel off my hoodie and shirt. The motion alone makes my ribs scream in complaint, a sharp reminder that nothing about my body is cooperating right now. My eyes sting before I even look up. I can feel it coming—that tight pressure behind my eyes, the kind that means I’m about to break. After I finish undressing, I stand still for a moment before forcing myself to look in the mirror. The reflection stares back at me like it belongs to someone else—disgusting.

My whole chest, ribs, arms, and legs are covered in bruises—layered shades of blue, purple, yellow, and sickly green, overlapping like stains that never fully fade before the next one appears. None of them look the same; some are older and dulling at the edges, others still dark and fresh enough to ache even when I barely move. Lacerations and raised welts cover the front of my thighs, along my chest and stomach from the signature whip that my father loves to use during his punishment sessions.

I slowly turn around to look at my back, and damn, it’s a fucking sight to behold. Riddled with scars from his tools of trade. Not only are there lacerations and layers of old scars from whippings, there are also the fresh wounds he caused the day before. 

My ass and the back of my thighs are covered in crisscross markings from when he bent me over to take out his weekly frustrations on me. My shoulders are painted in hues of deep purple and blue from being tossed around and thrown against walls. Not a piece of good skin left. I glance down at my wrists. The marks left by the cuffs he used to bind my wrists are even more visible than yesterday.

I look like I’ve been through hell, and sure as fuck, I have been.

I turn back to face the mirror again. 

What a fucking pipe dream—that anyone could ever love someone as battered and ugly as me. 

Tears spill down my face before I can stop them, and a shaky laugh escapes as I stare at my reflection. The delusional thoughts that went through my mind during the day make me feel ashamed. I press a hand against the counter to steady myself, but it doesn’t help much. I flinch at my own reflection, my jaw tightening as I try to pull myself back together, even though it feels like everything inside me is starting to crack at once. 

Fuck Raymond, you really are a useless piece of shit aren’t you? Who would love such a fucking waste? No one! You are pathetic, worthless, weak, disgusting! Just hurry up and die! 

I quickly squat down and covered my ears, burying my face in my knees. I know it won’t quiet the voice in my head, but it’s the only thing that gives me even a small sense of comfort. I cry as quietly as I can, trying not to make a sound that might draw attention. I feel ashamed of myself, and the self-loathing sits heavy in my chest. 

While crying, another voice breaks through my ever racing thoughts. 

[Ray. Friend. You are not those things. You are stronger, better than all.] My wolf says to me in a calm and powerful tone. 

[How I want to believe you, Lenus, but over the years, it has become harder to see myself as anything but weak.]

I lowered my head in shame, finding it hard to believe that the person I saw in the mirror could be anything else.

A few breaths later, Lenus continued, his voice softer now, more gentle. [Oh Ray. You have no idea the power that you truly hold. It might not seem like it now, but the Goddess has been keeping an ever watchful eye on you. The toughest warriors are built from the ashes of suffering, and you, my boy, have suffered the most.]

[Thank you my friend. I am glad that you are here for me and see me in a light that I have yet to see myself in. Your words always manage to keep me from drowning in the pits of despair.] A small smile tugged at the corner of my lips as I forced myself to steady my breathing again. 

Slowly, I push myself up and turn on the shower. Stepping in, the warm water feels harsh against my skin, stinging in a way that makes me grit my teeth and whimper softly. I move quickly, trying to push through it. I wash my hair and body as fast as I can manage, then step out and dry off. Getting dressed and brushing my teeth drains what little energy I have left, and I decide to skip drying my hair altogether. I lightly lay face-first onto the bed. I haven’t slept in a bed this soft before. Sleep comes quickly. And the night of hell has just begun. 

꧁༺ ✦ ༻꧂

“You’re a fucking pathetic weakling, Raymond! Take this as a lesson and toughen up!” My father says in his usual blustering, strident tone he uses whenever he takes all of his frustrations out on me. 

Alpha Ramulfus Shade, the pack leader of Nightshade Pack—and my father, if you can even call him that. He has never shown me an ounce of love. Instead, he and most of the pack treat me as their personal punching bag, and he permits every second of it. Some fucking father he is. I swear he gets off on seeing me suffer. It’s the only explanation that makes sense anymore. 

After two years of begging, I finally managed to get him to approve my request to join this year’s run. His only condition was that I attend the pack he personally selected. Of course, he chose the one rumored to be the strictest pack around—the pack known for hunting rogues and harshly punishing anyone who shows even the slightest sign of weakness. 

Honestly, that condition didn’t intimidate me in the lightest. The things my father, my brother, and the members of my pack have put me through are far worse than any rumor I’ve ever heard about Shadow Claw. Fear loses its edge after a while. When you’ve spent everyday for years waiting for the next punishment, the next humiliation, the next reminder of your place, eventually there isn’t much left to be afraid of. 

And even if the people there turn out to be exactly as ruthless as the stories claim, what difference would it make? I’m already used to being treated like my life doesn’t matter. At least there, there might be a chance for something different. A chance to breathe. A chance to exist without constantly looking over my shoulder. A chance to be more than the pack’s favorite target. It’s probably a foolish hope.

My father called me into his office again—the eighth time this month alone. I don’t know what his problem is, but he’s been even more irritable than usual lately. Then again, maybe I’m giving him too much credit by assuming there’s a reason for it.

It’s always the same accusations. You’re weak. You’re pathetic. You didn’t do something properly. You didn’t show enough backbone during drills. No matter what I do, he always finds fault with it. Every action, every word, every mistake—real or imagined—becomes another excuse to remind me how little he thinks of me. Nothing I do is ever enough.

I stopped trying to earn his approval a long time ago. I learned when I was young that there was no point. No amount of effort, obedience, or success would ever change the way he looked at me. To him, I was never really his son. At least, that’s how it feels. A son is supposed to be protected. Encouraged. Cared for. I was none of those things. Instead, I became a target he could beat the shit out of—a convenient outlet for his anger whenever life didn’t go his way. Someone he could tear down whenever the mood struck him. The thought makes my stomach twist. 

I made it to his office door and took a deep breath before knocking.

“Come in!” His gruff voice echoed through the thick wooden door, and I immediately braced myself. 

Opening the door, I stepped inside.

“Yes, Alpha Ramulfus.” I kept my eyes fixated on the floor. My body was already bracing for this to turn south quickly.

 He was pissed. I could feel it the moment I walked into the room.

 This is going to hurt like a bitch.