WORST NIGHTMARE

Staring at Freya for a full minute without her saying anything, Dante reached for her pocket and retrieved the pancakes.

"Hmm, you are not only a daughter of the weak pack but also a thief. How should I punish you? Tell dad? Or--"

Kneeling, "please," sobbing, "do anything else to me, but don't tell your father. Please, Dante. He will kill me."

"And what makes you think that I wouldn't kill you?"

She didn't respond.

"Okay, since I am feeling great today. Carry on with your house chores. I will look for a befitting punishment to serve you later."

Freya kept kneeling, not moving an inch. She didn't like the sound of that. It was better for Dante to take out his anger and do whatever he felt like to her; pull her hair, multitask her, have her stay outside in the cold, or just take her to a corner where he would beat her up. But not just later. Later meant that he might have something mischievous. Something worse, and he wouldn't be the only one carrying it out. His friends would be there.

"Didn't you hear me? Get out!"

Not having much of a choice, Freya stood and ran off.

From one chore to the other, the day finally came to an end for Freya. Not having anything in her stomach since morning made her stomach grumble loudly. She carried out her routine check to see if there were leftovers and to her dismay, not even a piece of bad bread was left. All the bins had been cleared out. This must be Dante's doing. He knew very well that was where Freya ate from.

With a tired body and a hungry stomach, she dragged herself back to the attic, which was where she slept.

Her body could hardly carry her as she dragged her feet, one step at a time with her eyelids weak, finding it hard to stay open. Finally, she was able to get to the only quiet space she had. No one came to the attic because of the stories that made rounds among the wolves. It was nothing more than a rumor. But, it was believed that the Luna, Alpha Hero's Luna, had died in the attic. The cause of her death was still a mystery. So many things about the late Luna were a mystery. Maybe that was why they gave Freya the space. Because it was rejected and held a sad memory.

Immediately she made her way up to the squeaky ladder and switched on the light, it was a nightmare before her sight. She slouched to the floor, her palms covering her face, and began weeping. It turned out that the entire place had been tampered with. Tampered was even a kind word. Her place was destroyed.

The cracked mirror that she often used to fix herself and check where she had sustained injuries was broken to pieces. Her clothes were shredded and so was her sleeping sheet. The few books she used at school were ripped apart, page by page. The entire place was covered with water as if the roof had been taken off, and it rained directly into the room.

Now her problems were doubled. No food to eat and no place to sleep in.

Too tired to continue crying, she curled into a ball despite the cold water slapping against her skin as she tried to sleep off.

*********

Three years later…

"Hurry, honey, you will be late!" A male voice urged the female still trying to fix herself one last time. "You look great already. Remember, this deal is important."

Comfortable with her looks, she dragged her purse and gave her boyfriend a quick kiss on the lips. " I love you as big as those fat checks I am going to receive today."

"Really? Freya Parrish, your love for me is equivalent to a check. Such material comparison."

"Oh, spare me, babe. You know I love you load," she gave him a floor-sweeping smile and hurried out of their luxurious apartment.

"Take the Lamborghini with you," he shouted.

********

"No, no, no, no, not today. You can't do this to me today!" But the car died anyway. It throbbed onto the shoulder of the empty highway, bucked twice, and gurgled to silence.

"Aw, damn it." Freya's four-inch heels landed on the pavement, followed by tanned legs and a long-tight-black dress. She glared down at the car, the Oklahoma wind tugging her auburn hair out of its careful loose-wavy bun.

Of all days, the Lamborghini for no reason decided to mess up. Freya jammed her hands on her hips and skewered the car with her enraged stare. 'Take the Lamborghini,' her boyfriend, Jake, had said. It was a big day and Jake wanted everything to be perfect for her.

Freya, who would on a normal day, have refused, only agreed because the client who flew in from Russia liked exotic cars. And if she secured this deal, her commission could be enormous. If she could get there.

Freya kicked one of the tires in rage and then danced back. Her shoes were expensive, but that still hurt.

Perfect. Jake could be generous-and he had the filthy richness to do it but he also forgot little details like making sure that cars were in good condition.

"His adorable highness can just come and get me, then." Freya went around to the passenger side of the car and leaned in through the open window to grab her cell phone from her purse.

Today. This had to happen today. Still bent into the car, she punched numbers with her thumb, but the phone made a beeping noise that indicated it was out of range.

"No freaking way." Freya backed out of the car and raised the phone high. "Come on. Find me a signal."

Oddly, she felt uneasy. Like someone was behind her and when she turned, no one was there. Was she being watched? That felt so creepy.

As she got out of the car, he saw him. The man stood about twelve feet from the car, not on the road, but in the tall Oklahoma grass beside it. The grass had flowers growing in a line and this being summer, the grass was also a nice vivid green.

It wasn't every day that a girl with trouble had the liberty of seeing someone with a T-shirt standing by the side of the road, watching her.

Watching her. His eyes were fixed on Freya, not in an abnormal way, but looking at her intensely. Like mind readers, would focus when they wanted to read minds.

He wasn't scruffy like a creepy person, either. His face was shaved, his body and clothes clean, jeans mud-free despite his having walked through the field. And he must have walked through the field because she sure hadn't seen him on the road.

His hair. . . Freya blinked as the strong sunshine caressed his sleek hair, reminding her of a certain boy who used to have the same hair. Only that, this one was a bit longer. No freaking way. Could this be him? Dante Ian?