FORGIVE ME, MY MATE

The cold, sterile ringing of the alarm clock ripped Rose from a fitful sleep. Her hand shot out, silencing it instantly, a practiced reflex honed by years of living on the edge. The last thing she needed was to wake anyone in the pack house. It was 5 AM, well before dawn, and her day, like every other, began in the frigid predawn dark.

She slipped out of her straw-filled cot, the rough fabric of her 'clothes' — little more than rags — chafing against her skin. A sigh escaped her lips, a whisper of the misery that was her life. Orphaned at two, blamed for her parents' deaths, she was nothing more than a pack maid, a shadow in a house full of wolves who despised her. Her mind drifted to the approaching eighteenth birthday, a date that promised either a terrifying revelation or a desperate chance at freedom. She had two weeks. Two weeks to solidify her plan. Two weeks to escape.

The kitchen was a cavern of cold steel and dim light. She moved with practiced efficiency, the aroma of cooking breakfast slowly filling the air. Soon, the omegas would arrive to take the food, and then the alpha and luna, and worst of all, their son, Alexander. The thought of him sent a familiar chill down her spine. He was her nightmare, a constant, looming threat. She just needed to survive this day, like all the others, and inch closer to her escape.