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I'm just a wolf-less omega bitch and a fuck-up Cromwell that's descended from a dirty rogue. No wonder my pack and my own mother... think I'm the one that killed my father. But, I didn't... kill my father. I wound never kill him. He was my only friend in this pack. The only one I could relate to. I had no friends... I only had my dad. And, since I only had him... when he was gone I had no one. So, I spend my lonely hours dedicating my life to studies. I graduated early from High School with an outstanding GPA. But, even that never impressed my mother enough. So, When it came down to it... My mother didn't hesitate to accuse me of my father's death. Her hatred for me was unspoken until that moment. The moment she caught me pulling a knife out of my father's chest. It was buried in deep. And, when I got it out... I heard her horrid scream. One that was dramatic. I was forced to break eye contact from my father's corpse to see her standing on the kitchen's edge. Her hands on her cheeks. A gray and sickly color caked on her face. She could have fainted any second. "What have you done?"