Abused Luna

The first sliver of dawn pierced through the grimy window, painting streaks across the dust-laden floor. I stretched, a familiar weariness settling deep in my bones, and glanced at the dusty alarm clock. 5:01 AM. Another day. My mind reached out, a silent plea to Lily, my wolf, but met the same familiar wall. She was there, I knew it, a faint hum beneath my skin, but her voice, once a comfort, had been silent for years.

As I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, a searing pain shot up my leg. Broken glass. My breath hitched. It took a moment for the memory to surface, the sharp echo of my father's rage from the night before, the whip's sting, the vase shattering against the wall. I plucked the shards from my foot, a few drops of blood welling, but I barely registered it. This was normal.

Downstairs, the kitchen awaited its daily transformation. I moved with practiced efficiency, cleaning counters, preparing breakfast. Just as I placed the last pancake onto my father, the Alpha's, plate, Dallas, my brother, entered. "Sup' mutt. Breakfast done?" he sneered. I nodded, holding back the burning tears. He slapped me, hard, across the face. The physical sting was fleeting; the emotional blow, a dull, aching throb.

"Father, the mutt isn't talking to me," Dallas announced as Alpha Whyte walked in. My father chuckled, a harsh, grating sound. "Good, her voice sounds terrible. I'm glad I haven't heard it in eight years." He snatched his plate, then kicked my legs, sending me sprawling to the floor amidst his laughter. I lay there for a moment, the cold linoleum against my cheek, before forcing myself up. The day had just begun.