The Cursed Alpha's Bride

Rylee

I wake up before the sun every day and trek through the snowy forest to the packhouse by 6 a.m.

From 6 to 9 a.m., I'm stuck cleaning the kitchen and doing hard labor. They won’t let me handle food because they think I'll make it dirty. Only when Marta, the kitchen manager, is too busy, she’ll let me help make flour for muffins.

Greenvale is far up north, so mornings are late here. By the time I finish in the kitchen, it’s just getting light outside.

At 9 sharp, I head to the laundry room. Doing laundry in winter is brutal since we don’t have washing machines. The pack's finances are tight, and sometimes our heater doesn’t work. If I want hot water, it’s all about luck—which, unsurprisingly, isn't on my side today. Happy birthday to me.

I turn on the faucet. Great. No steam. Just icy cold water.

I soak my hands in the biting cold and struggle to wash the clothes Alpha and Luna have piled up over the past week. My fingers quickly freeze and turn purple. Other werewolves might not mind the cold, but I do. My body is weaker than the average omega, probably because I’ve never been properly breastfed.

I was never once nursed by my mother. Never. She died giving birth to me.

I really wish I had a washing machine. As soon as I get out of this hellhole, the first thing I’m doing is saving up to buy one!

After Alpha and Luna's laundry, I start washing Beta and his wife's clothes. When I finally get all the laundry done and am ready to take them to the kitchen to dry, someone bumps me hard from behind.

I fall. The clothes scatter all over the ground.

Who the fuck just…

I look up. Brown hair, brown eyes, and a semi-permanent look of impatience. It’s Syd.

Alright, never mind. Without a word, I get up and gather the clothes.

Syd is Beta's son and the designated next Beta. Pack rules say cursing superiors will be punished, and the last thing I want is a beating.

Syd yells at me, “You're in my way.”

The road is wide. I'm skinny. He's 6'3". I'm 5'2". How am I in his way? Idiot.

I don't want to argue with him; the guy's sick. We've been at odds since we were kids. He's always picking on me. The more I argue with him, the more he enjoys it. When I warn him, he will tug on my ponytail. The best way to deal with him is to ignore him.

I turn around and try to walk away.

Syd stops me. "Did I tell you to go? Why don't you talk? Are you dumb?" he sneers.

I try to move to the side, but he moves with me. When I push him, he doesn't budge.

Glaring up at him, I roll my eyes. “Can’t you see I’m busy? Say what you have to say and stop bothering me while I’m taking my clothes to be rewashed.” I grit my teeth and emphasize the word 'rewashed'.

Syd throws a couple of pairs of dirty underwear into the basin I'm holding and grins as if he doesn't get the hint. “So you're doing laundry. Just in time, wash a few for me too.”

I look at him with a blank face. My hand clutches the basket, and Syd can't see that my fingers are swollen and purple like tiny eggplants. He doesn't understand what it means to wash clothes twice in the dead of winter.

Syd growls, "What's with that look on your face? It's just a few pieces of cloth. Why are you so mad?"

I lower my eyes. "No, I'm just worried I won't make it to lunch later."

Syd curls his mouth, "Even dogs don't eat that mess together. I don't know why you're so obsessed with it." He puts his hands in his pockets, where there seems to be a small box inside. "Come meet me after dinner. I have something to tell you, and I'll bring you some food."

"Okay."

Syd won't let me leave until I nod repeatedly, confirming that I'll come to him. After thinking for a moment, torn between "heading straight to the kitchen" and "behaving well and rewashing," I decide to go back to the laundry room. The last time I didn't mop under Luna's bed, I got twenty lashes. I'd better not slack off. The bitch has eyes like a hawk.

I've known for a long time that fate loves to mess with me. I'm used to it, but it still gets tough sometimes. Just as I finally finish washing Syd's panties, the hot water kicks in. I grab my sore waist and stare at the steaming pool.

The heater's not broken, so someone turned it off. Now it's on. Luna's up for a shower?

She always has a way of messing with me.

"It's been eighteen years." Mist rises from the collision of hot water and cold air, wrapping me in its smoky embrace. I mutter to myself over the pool, "Just bear with it a little longer. I'll be gone soon."

"Rylee Green. Happy birthday to you."