"Mamma...."

The little girl shivered as frigid water swirled across her skin. But this chill was nothing compared to the icy cold radiating from her mother’s rigid embrace.

"Mamma?"

She’s asleep. She has to be asleep.

the child told herself. Yet confusion gnawed at her. Her mother lay motionless, refusing to speak, kiss or hold her. The girl clung to the thought that her mother was merely sleeping — but how could anyone sleep with their eyes wide open?

Time dragged on. To the child, it felt like hours, though less than an hour had actually passed.

"Mama, wake up."

Her soft young voice would have warmed anyone who heard it, yet there was no living soul around to listen. Her words were swallowed by the raging river current, which threatened to sweep her away if she stepped any farther in. She brushed her tiny fingers gently over her mother’s lips.

"Blue. Pretty."

That was what she meant to say. No one was there to correct the three-year-old’s mumbled words.

The small child trembled.

"Cold, Mama. So cold."

Her body reacted on instinct. She stumbled away from the river’s edge, her bare feet scraping painfully against the rough river rocks that felt enormous to a little girl.

She glanced back at her mother, terrified the woman would drift down the river alone this time. But she saw the leather belt wrapped tight around her mother’s wrist, secured firmly to a log branch. Her mother had tied it quickly before they set off on what she had frantically called an "adventure" when the fireworks began. The log was wedged firmly against the riverbank — surely her mother would be safe.

Slowly, the girl’s eyes grew heavy. The cold faded away, until she could barely feel a thing at all. Even the sharp burning pain in her chest vanished. Everything blurred into a hazy fog.

"What... Oh..."

A young woman stepped into view, a stranger the child did not recognize.

"Oh my goodness!"

Warm arms suddenly wrapped around the little girl. She clutched the necklace her mother had given her before their journey — a string of letters she was far too young to read.

The woman watched the child drift off to sleep, then her gaze locked onto the necklace in the girl’s small hand.

"C-Cassiopeia?" she whispered, staring down at the child. "How did this little one end up here?"

——————————————

I stand naked beneath the glowing full moon, stripped against my will. I should be running free in the forest, yet here I am, being punished once again.

Another sharp sting cuts across my back as the whip cracks down. I hiss, but I do not scream. I have long grown used to this pain.

"That’s enough," one of the guards says.

I am twenty-three years old, and they claim I still haven’t learned my lesson. But what lesson? To stay silent? To endure insults, mockery and abuse without fighting back? Never. I will never submit quietly. Let them whip me, let them punish me — I will not break.

When they unlock the chains binding me to the wooden pole, my legs give out and I collapse to my knees, too weak to stand.

"Let’s go."

The guards grab me by the arms and haul me to my feet, carrying me between them. My vision blurs as my eyes grow heavy. I see them leading me toward the forest path. They will leave me at home, just like they always do.

I slip in and out of consciousness, struggling to stay awake. When I finally spot my sister, I let go completely and sink into a deep, weary sleep.

——————————————

"Give it back!" I shrieked.

"You can’t be a weakling your whole life, Cass. Come and take it from me!"

"Colt! Give it back!"

"It’s Alpha Colt to you," Kayce chided.

"He’s only thirteen! He isn’t the Alpha yet! Give me my doll!" I jumped fruitlessly, my small limbs unable to reach high enough. Colt dangled my tattered doll far above my head. He was much bigger than me; he didn’t need to tease me like this.

"He will be Alpha someday. You ought to show him some respect," Kayce replied.

"No! Give it back!"

"Say please," Colt grinned widely.

I stared at him, and his smug smile ignited my rage. I pulled my arm back and slammed my fist straight into his nose.

Colt yelped and reeled backward, clutching his face. The other two boys gasped. In an instant, I was thrown to the muddy ground and kicked.

"Who do you think you are?!" they shouted.

"Hey! Leave her alone! She’s just a kid!" Colt called out.

"So what? She punched you! She can’t get away with that! She’s the pack’s runt!" Ezra snapped.

Kayce nodded in agreement. "Exactly. No one even likes her. Mom and Dad would do the same to someone like her."

"I don’t care," Colt said. "It didn’t even hurt that bad."

"Dude, you’re bleeding," Ezra pointed to his nose.

"It’s fine." Colt tossed the doll toward me. "Here. Take it."

Tears stung my eyes, but before I could grab my doll, Ezra snatched it away.

"Aww, look — she’s gonna cry! Hahaha!" Kayce laughed alongside him.

"Give it..." I mumbled, fighting back tears.

"How about this? Kiss my feet, and I’ll give it back, Cassiopeia." Ezra sneered, then muttered under his breath, "Ugly name... Her mom must have been crazy to name her that."

A low growl rumbled in my throat. My hands clenched into fists, and I acted without thinking. I launched myself at him and tackled him to the ground. I pummeled him repeatedly until his mocking laughter died. He raised his arms to shield himself, so I didn’t hurt him badly — but I felt triumphant. Everyone was watching me stand up to one of the Alpha’s sons.

These three brothers were bullies. I had no doubt their two younger siblings would join in to torment me too, if they were old enough.

"Cass..."

Stupid Alpha brats!

"CASS!"

I jolted back to the present, startled out of my memories. "What?!"

Lauren stared at me. "What were you daydreaming about?"

"Uh..." I glanced around the vegetable field. "Sorry, I zoned out."

"Don’t let it happen again. We need to finish picking before tonight’s festival."

Damn it. I’d gotten lost in the past. Why was I thinking about that memory anyway?

I glanced at my nearly empty basket and hurried to pick the tomatoes. I knew exactly why — the festival was being held in his honor, after all.

I was eight years old when the Alpha himself pulled Ezra and me apart that day. Needless to say, I was the one punished. I always was. I struggle to control my temper, I really do — but even when I’m the one being bullied, I’m always the one who gets in trouble. I shifted my shoulders, wincing at the lingering soreness on my back.

"How’s your back feeling?" Lauren asked.

"Like I just got whipped again."

She narrowed her eyes.

"It’s better, though. Heals fast, like always."

She sighed. "I know I say this too often, but please stay out of trouble. I keep worrying they won’t bring you back safely like they did yesterday."

"I’ll be fine. Might as well get used to the beatings, right?"

Her expression turned serious. "That’s not funny. You have to get your anger under control."

I nodded.

Things hadn’t always been this way. Everything changed when I turned eighteen and received my wolf. Now I fight constantly to hold back my rage, or I lose myself entirely. The punishments have grown harsher over the years, yet I still refuse to back down. Most bullied pack members keep their heads down, act like wounded animals. I can’t. I will never become that quiet, broken girl everyone wants to push around. I’d rather take the pain than stop standing up for myself. I’ve learned to temper my reactions, though — it lessens how severely I’m punished.

"Look! They’re back!" one of the female field workers called out.

Excitement rippled through the crowd as everyone hurried to greet the returning young warriors. I was not among them.

I brushed a hand through my thick, unruly curly brown hair and stared at the cars and vans approaching in the distance.

Lauren laid a hand on my shoulder. "I know this will be hard for you. Please, just keep your cool. I hate having to say this — none of this is your fault, but..."

"I know, Lauren. I get it."

She gave me a sad, apologetic smile.

My sister lives in fear for me. I’ve earned a reputation as the pack’s resident troublemaker, and more often than not, she has to bear the consequences of my actions.

Anger has lived in my heart for years. I only feel peaceful and content when I’m alone.

I took a deep breath and returned to my work.

Every member of the pack has a role. Mine is working the fields — planting, tending and harvesting crops. As for my status? I am a Runt, the lowest rank possible. I have no special talents, nothing but a stubborn fighting spirit.

My gaze drifted back to the vans and the newly arrived warriors. A crowd swarmed around them to offer greetings. These men had spent months away at the fortress camps, the training grounds for pack members who turn eighteen. They live there for years. Omegas and Runts like me are never allowed to join. We are seen as weak, a liability — fit only for the menial jobs within the pack.

"Pay them no mind. Let’s finish up here," Lauren said.

I nodded and kept working.

Once our baskets were full, we headed for the kitchen to hand over the vegetables to the cooks. I brushed dirt off my clothes. I wore a simple white shirt under a faded khaki pinafore dress — a hand-me-down from one of Lauren’s friends. It looked more like a burlap sack than proper clothing.

On the way to the kitchen, we passed the courtyard, where rogue prisoners were put on public display. Fresh blood seeped from their wounds. This was pure torture. If any of them dared to fall asleep, they were struck with whips.

Even though these were rogues, hated by most in the pack, I felt pity for them. Us Omegas fare no better. The smallest misstep earns us brutal punishment.

"I’m sweltering. Are you hot?" Lauren asked suddenly.

I shook my head. "No."

"Maybe I’m just restless," she laughed.

I gasped. "Lauren! Seriously, I don’t need to hear that!"

She cackled. "You’d better steer clear of the main house once James gets back."

"Gladly!" I shot back.

Lauren is quick to lecture me about controlling my temper, as if it’s an easy thing to do — yet she can’t even watch her own tongue! This woman and her shameless teasing.