Rejected by the Wolf King, Reborn as His Doom

I soon came to understand that hope was not to be mine.

My mother died the night I was born. She bled under the red moon with the pack healers praying and praying and praying and it didn't help. They said the moon cursed me and took her breath with my first breath. Perhaps they told the truth. I never looked upon her face nor heard her voice but I felt her shame and it became me.

The slums outside Silvercrown territory smelled bad and full of sadness. I grew up in a small shack with holes in the roof, owned by a wolf who took in orphans like they were owed money. We worked for our food, but it was never enough. Thin soup. Stale bread. We got beaten if we moved too slow or talked too loud.

I was ten years old when I was sent to the packhouse. There was always someone to clean the floors and tip the toilets, and foul omegas did not deserve any better. The labor was laborious. My hands were sore and cut by the soap. My knees were bruised by kneeling on the stone. But I held my head down and did not utter any words because to remain alive one had to be unnoticeable.

The other maids shunned me. They said I was bad luck and bad things would befall the man who got too near me. One kitchen girl who grew friendly to me fell downstairs and broke her arm. One guard who grew friendly to me lost his job the next day. I soon gave up trying to make friends.

I did have one unique gift that made me not quite so lonely. Animals trusted me. Sick birds would come to perch on my windowsill. Street dogs tailed me through the market. One time I spotted a wolf cub trapped by an anvil trap, whining and bleeding. I freed him and bound his leg with torn pieces from my only good dress. He licked my hand and took off running back through the trees. At times I would be reminded that perhaps I wasn't quite cursed. Perhaps some living creatures could sense the kindness I struggled to conceal from people who only observed my bad blood.

The packhouse was a chilly place full of beautiful people who stared at me as if I were just furniture. I supplied them with meals, did their laundry, and heard them discuss politics and power. The Wolf King resided within the eastern wing, and I'd just once seen him from afar. He was tall and dark-haired. He moved with the air of someone who confidently possessed the privilege to be in command.

I did not think about him much. Kings resided in another world where girls like me did not exist.

Everything shifted the week I turned eighteen. First, the nightmares began. I'd wake up choking, my body sweating, with visuals flashing through my head that I could not make sense of.