The Scarred Mate He Never Loved

Flashback

Rita

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The blaring sound of the alarm tore through my sleep, and I hurriedly got out of bed, freshened up quickly, and tied my hair into a bun.

As I stared into the mirror, the scar on my face stared back at me with cruelty. My arms trailed along it, following the trail. Those deep-rooted murmurs, hatred and disgust, followed each line.

But a quick excitement stole the moment. It was my fourteenth birthday, and I couldn’t have wished for anything more than fair treatment. It was a special day for all werewolf clans.

As I stepped out of the room, excitement bubbling over, my steps froze on ice at the sound of a conversation that was clearly about me.

“Mother, you talk like you don't know that there's nothing that could be done about this?” Becky's voice roared, sharp and humorless. “Nothing good can ever come out of that good-for-nothing, curse of a sister.”

Mum chuckled, chewing her food with an expression I could already picture was anything but compassion. “Not that I care so much, but you know, as a good mother, it's only proper I look out for her at least. So people wouldn't say I never tried.”

I knew that wasn’t true. When did Mum ever start caring about people's opinions?

“And you really think giving her a chance in the healers’ therapy section would fix what the moon already cursed?” Becky asked.

She didn’t hid the venom in each word. It dug a deep, hollow ache in my chest, causing my eyes to sting with tears. My legs froze in place, and my fingers carved holes of their own into my palm.

“I know it’s wrong of me to try, dear,” Mum continued calmly, “but don’t you think doing every good thing possible will only help people see her for what she truly is?” A pause. “The curse that lives among us.”

The silence that followed was both throbbing and really… really painful, forming a big, hurting pit in my stomach.

My breath hitched. I tried… I really tried to hold back the tears. But I failed at it woefully. My knees weakened, trembling with grief, sorrow, and something far worse—something that hollowed me out.

I looked down at myself, wondering what I was still doing here at the base of the stairs. My appetite had long vanished, leaving nothing but the cruelty of existence. I had wanted to turn back to my room when Becky's voice snapped at me.

“Mum, I didn't know you were such a genius.” She clapped her arms, and it echoed through the walls of my heart. “Why didn't I even have the slightest of this full wisdom the moon bestowed on you? Why didn't I think in that direction all this while?”

“You really underestimated me, my child.” The scrape of cutlery against the plate followed. “And you already possess my wisdom. Never underestimate the mind of a mother, and never forget that her presence in this house has long been unwanted.”

“Meanwhile, you look beautiful and ready, my dear.” Mum’s voice softened as she adored Becky, her cherished daughter. I could already picture her swelling up in pride and admiration, while sorrow and anguish ripped me apart.

My legs gave way on their own before I could stop myself. I hurried up the stairs, taking two steps at a time, as far as my legs could carry me, back to my room. My tears sprinkled down, consuming me, while my entire body trembled under the weight of it all.

Once I shut the door behind me, it became more unbearable and suffocating. I found myself sprawling on the floor and letting the emotions all crash down on me. My vision blurred with the tears that stung out of my face, blinding and sticking.

Why did they hate me so much? The only people I called family and had cherished all my life.

Was I really… really a curse?

Did the moon really curse me?

I buried my head down on the hard marble surface of the floor and sobbed until my eyes could no longer produce any more tears. I had thought today would be different.

But… but I was wrong. So damn wrong again. They were never going to see me any differently, no matter how hard I tried. It had always been about me. About the large, ugly mark on my face, the same one that was condemned and considered a curse.

Was it my fault? I never asked for it… for this cruelty.

My throat ran dry, and my heart slung unto my lungs like it was squeezing the very air out of me. My breaths came short and uneven. I didn’t even realize the door had opened until something struck me hard.

I gasped, lifting my head in panic, only to meet those darkened, red-rimmed eyes staring back at me. Empty. Uncaring. Just like always.

“Here.” She tossed a black bucket at me, and since I was so lost in my painful thoughts, I couldn't duck in time before the bucket landed on my head with a heavy tug.

The pain was both searing and unbearable.

I cried out in pain and clutched my arms to my head as I raised my gaze and locked eyes with Becky's unapologetic stare.

“Take that bucket and make sure you fill the drums with water before we return,” she hissed, rolled her eyes, then turned to leave, her blue set of shiny heels scrambling on the marble floor and digging holes impossible to heal.

“Why?” The word left my lips before I could stop it, and she paused in her tracks, turning with eyes designed to burn me if they were furnaces.

“Why what?” she shot back with the same arrogance and disgust.

I swallowed hard as something prickled down my face into my eyes like thick liquid, and that familiar metallic scent filled my nose.

I pulled my hand away from my head and stared at my own blood, broken.

“Why do you hate me so much?” I asked as I held her gaze. No concern or compassion for what she had done ached in her features.

Her lips curled into a slow, smug smile as she nodded disapprovingly, taking a few steps closer and crouched to meet my level.

“That… my dear, is wrong.” She tilted my chin to meet with hers. “I never hate you, my darling sister. I’m only doing you and the entire pack a favour.” Her smirk deepened as she turned and walked toward the door with practiced ease. She stopped just at the doorway but didn’t turn, her arms holding the handle.

“I should get a thank you, you know.” she hissed and slammed the door.

The weight of her words lingered, hovering in the air, sinking into every fractured piece of my heart and shattering whatever strength I had left.

I sniffed and blinked repeatedly, but the sting from the blood became unbearable. Since I had just turned fourteen, and hadn’t met my wolf yet, that only meant no rapid healing like the older wolves enjoyed. Still I did the only thing I could, I cleaned my wounds as best as I could, watching as it had joined in a cruel sequence as I glanced through the mirror.

Each mark left nothing but cruelty in my heart and reasons to question why I was even in existence, and why Mother never threw me away when she had birthed twins and found out the second child, who came a few minutes later, bore the cursed mark.

Without wasting more time, I left my room with the bucket in my arms to go fill the drums. When I stood on the last step down the stairs, that familiar lonely air greeted me. They left already.

The moment I left the house and entered the woods, unease crept beneath my skin. I was used to be treated like I never existed, used to glares, whispers and cruel murmurs. So why did this feel different?

I glanced down at my worn, torn dress, checking if any part of me was exposed to the cold morning air. Nothing seemed out of place.

Still, the feeling refused to leave.

I walked deeper into the woods, forcing my heart to steady, reminding myself of the quiet, of the vastness of nature. This was the only place I ever felt a trace of peace, when I was sent out of the house alone, to fetch water.

But today, the woods felt wrong.

The air grew heavier. The silence stretched too tight with each passing second.

Then I heard it. Loud.

An agonizing scream from the distance, just a few feet from me.

I froze, my heart pounding violently in my chest.

Terrified, I looked around the cold woods for anything to hide myself as I heard footsteps drawing closer in the same direction. With fear curling into my already troubled heart, I climbed up the nearest tree, pressing myself against the bark just as the scream dissolved into low, broken sobs of pain.

I looked down from the tree, and my heart dropped into my stomach. My entire body went stilled.

Curled on the forest floor, her face pressed into dried leaves and mud, was a woman whose face was unknown to me. Blood oozed from the back of her head, soaking into the ground where she had been struck with something hard.

But she wasn’t what terrified me most.

Standing nearby was a figure dressed entirely in black, from head to toe, even their hair was concealed. A mask hid their face, leaving only narrow openings for their eyes and nose. In the figure’s hand was a long metal rod.

I almost gasped out loud when the stranger lifted the rod again to strike the woman lying in pain on the ground.

They heard me, because whoever it was suddenly stopped, their eyes scanning every corner of the woods with swift accuracy and urgency.

I clamped my hands over my mouth, trying so hard to silence my breath and stop my heart from pounding loudly enough to expose me. My lips trembled as I heard hurried footsteps approaching. My entire body shook with something far worse than panic.

I didn’t know how long I remained frozen in silent pleas until I could no longer hear the steps. My breath hitched as everything inside me screamed that the stranger had found me. That they were standing at the foot of the tree, watching me. My entire strength collapsed as the air that was once cold and still became suffocating, thick with dread and unspoken promises far worse than anything I had known in my life.