Rain

Rain

Bonfires are lit in the garden in front of the packhouse of the Crescent Moon Werewolves Pack. Many of the pack members, especially teens or unmated adults, are gathered around them and are talking or dancing. There is always booze and food involved… and music. Let’s not forget about that, because what is a party without good music? Even if I am not invited to the party, I like to listen to the loud beat coming from the speakers. Probably that’s why I started hiding in the walnut tree to pain while the others are having a great time. Since I was eight, I always had a piece of paper and a pencil with me, and I drew while listening to what was happening around the bonfires.

The sketch I have been working on for the last few days lies forgotten on my lap. The fireflies dancing in the air have all my attention as I slowly block the music and the voices around the garden. I quietly observe them from the branch I am perched on, my back leaning against the tree trunk. It is my favorite place in the pack. No one bothers me here. I usually hide between the leaves and watch the sun setting while imagining I am far away from here.

When I draw, I escape into a world of colors, lines, and shapes. It helps me forget why the pack I was born into hates me so much. I always wondered if being an Omega had anything to do with it, but Omegas were to be protected by the packs, especially by the Alphas. In my pack—the Crescent Moon Pack—things are different. Everyone mistreats me here. Not only because I am an Omega but because—according to them—I killed my parents when I was three. I was so little when it happened. I have no recollection of that night or my parents, but from what I heard, the house my parents and I lived in burned until only ash remained. When pack members discovered what had happened, they found me among the ashes and burned wood, surrounded by fire. According to them, my eyes were like rubies, and my hair, once black, was now red. Hours later, the natural color of my eyes—green—returned, but my hair maintained the shade of scarlet. A small crown of flames appeared on my left shoulder, and it was then when I was labeled as a murderer. More than that, people thought I was cursed by the Moon Goddess since the red is usually associated with vampires, and if there is something a werewolf hates the most, it is a vampire. 

As punishment for what I did to my parents and for being marked by the Moon Goddess as a murderer, I was made into a modern-day Cinderella. Every day, around 5:30 AM, I start my day. I am expected to make sure the kitchen is spotless, same for the dining room. Mrs. Marian, the lead cook in the pack, will not only yell or smack me around if I don’t clean everything to her liking, but she will starve me for days. Not that anyone would care about that. By the time I am done with work, at 9 PM, I am ready to pass out because of how hungry and tired I am.

Even now, I can’t remember the last time I had a decent meal. If I have ever had one. Werewolves are stronger than humans and can go on without food for days and still be strong. However… when you don’t eat enough to keep living for years in a row, each bite counts. Especially when I am expected to maintain and clean the entire pack house, do the laundry, pack lunches for the pups' school lunch, and many other things. 

Not that I mind the hard work. It keeps me distracted from the way I am treated. Most of the time, it keeps me away from trouble, as many like to bully me. Soon, though, I will be nineteen. The moment the clock strikes midnight, I am leaving. Sayonara baby! Let the pack deal with the mess they make. I want to see how they will handle all the chores when I am gone since I am the only Omega here, and they think Omegas are only good for cleaning. Honestly, though, I am not the slightest bit curious. 

Mr. Smith, the pack’s art teacher, is helping me get into Bucharest National University of Arts or any other university. It is a bit tricky since I was homeschooled, and homeschooling is not approved in Romania. But friends of Mr. Smith work in many universities across Romania. If not for Mr. Smith, I would be lost…and screwed. He is the only one that shows me any affection. If not for him and his help, I would probably end up as a rogue. Not something I would like since Omegas go into ‘heat’ and would want to be around Alphas. 

A burst of laughter rises above the music, pulling me out of my thoughts, and I sniff the air. Werewolves are very sensitive to smells and scents, but it is said that Omegas have the best noses in a pack. From where I am, I can spy without being seen. 

Many scents float in the air, but the one that catches my attention is lavender. It belongs to Ruth, my cousin. Another one is oranges, which is Jordan -the future Alpha of the pack. I shuddered at the idea of Jordan being my Alpha. He and Ruth are the bane of my existence. Jordan laughs at something Ruth tells him. How could he not? After all, Ruth is everything I will never be: tall, healthy, blonde, blue eyes, amazing tits, great ass—every male’s dream. At least, that’s what most of the males in the pack say about Ruth—that she is gorgeous. I am not. I am so thin I might as well resemble a wood board. 

As for Jordan… I guess females would fawn over him. I mean, who wouldn’t want to be with a strong, tall, blonde guy as a mate? Too bad his brain is the size of a pea. 

I might be the only one in the pack that hates Jordan with a passion. Ever since I can remember, Jordan has bullied me. It was nothing serious, but it still made me hate him. I do try to hide my feelings from him. Not sure how he would react if he ever learned how many nights I spent dreaming he would slip on ice and break his neck. Impossible, I know, since werewolves have two sides—a human side and an animal side. Thanks to this, were-creatures are harder to kill. 

Jordan dips his head and says something into Ruth’s ear. She turns her head, and she almost kisses him, but he jerks away from her.  I am sure everyone in the pack knows that Ruth is irremediably in love with Jordan or… with the idea of being the pack’s future Luna. She turned nineteen four months ago. So when she realized she wasn’t Jordan’s soulmate, she had a meltdown -since Jordan would only settle for the one meant for him, his soulmate. He is yet to find her. In the past year, he has become a little impatient since he is twenty-two, and the pack is pressuring him to find her. I might hate him, but I still don’t want to be in his shoes. The constant nagging of ‘have you found her yet?’ would drive me crazy. 

Safia, my wolf, sends me an image of Jordan with a redhead female next to him—caramelized apples above her head—and I mentally arch an eyebrow at her. I am not like most people, as I suffer from prosopagnosia or face blindness. I can’t see faces. They are a blur to me, so being a werewolf is a blessing. I can tell by scent and smell who is who and how they are feeling.  Safia is also… different. The animal side of a werewolf is able to talk to the human side, but Safia has no voice, so she sends me images when she wants to tell me something. Over time we created our own way of talking, and now, we communicate without any problems. Oranges are used for Jordan; lavender for Ruth; gray clouds for when someone is upset; thunderbolts when she wants to let me know someone is furious; while rainbows are for happiness. 

Ruth tries to make another move on Jordan, but he pushes her away. Safia lets me know Jordan is angry. I roll my eyes. 

Up until Ruth turned nineteen—the age when werewolves are considered adults and can feel their soulmates—Jordan was into Ruth, and I might have caught them having sex once or twice. I pretended not to see and continued with what I was doing. Ruth was more than happy to let everyone know Jordan was interested in her. The day she turned nineteen, and Jordan knew they were not fated, he turned his attention to another female. Although, since she was in love with another pack member, Jordan backed off. Since then, he has been single. Not that I care. 

Safia insists on the image of Jordan and the redhead female, which I assume is me since my scent is of caramel and apples. For a few months now, she started being obsessed with Titan, Jordan’s wolf.  

‘You do know how much I hate Jordan, don’t you? And I doubt he would be entertained by the idea of me being around him. The few times that happened, he ended up creating more work for me,’ I tell Safia.