Chapter 1


    The orphanage headmistress, Mrs. Daley, was in an excellent mood this morning. The old hag was


    excited because the Lycan king would be visiting the orphanage today. He hasn’t been here once in the


    eight years Abbie and I have lived here; we didn’t know what to expect. Mrs. Daley, however, did. She


    expected perfection and not a thing out of ce. Giving Abbie and I more tasks than usual, so many


    chores we both knew would never be done in time for his arrival.


    Abbie and I had been dreading this day, not because the Lycan king was visiting but because today is


    the day we find out if we get to live another, or if it is the day it all ends. My life was anything but easy,


    being born a rogue. Growing up, I longed to have what my parents told me about packs, unity, and


    family, other kids to y with besides Abbie; her family lived with us before her parents were k****d along


    with mine, then both of us were brought here.


    Thankfully though, because of somew all packs strictly live by, I was shown mercy or a version of. It


    was against the packw to k**l Rogue children. They call it mercy, but in reality, it is anything but. My


    parents were rogues. We lived a life on the run, but we were free. That all ended when I was ten. Now I


    live in the pack orphanage, Abbie and I are the only two rogues that reside here.


    Abbie rushes into the room, her red locks swishing past me as she dumps the fresh bed linen on the


    bottom bunk. There were six bunks in every room, and there were twelve rooms. We had to have each


    room cleaned and made up before starting lunch. Breakfast was something I hadn’t had in years, same


    as Abbie. There was just no time; time was something we were already running out of in more ways than


    one.


    I start stripping beds, tossing the sheets on the floor in a pile. Abbie goes over, ripping the heavy ck


    drapes open and cracking the windows open slightly, letting in the fresh air. It was cold this morning, the


    air had a cold chill, but I knew I would be sweating and weing that cold draft in around twenty


    minutes.


    Once the bedlinen is stripped, I start making beds. The most challenging part was the top bunks. They


    could be a real b***h to get t. Mrs. Daley didn’t like wrinkles in the bed linen, and she always checked,


    twisting her canes between her hands while she checked each bed.


    Heaven forbid she doesn’t like something, or you made it wrong. I have lost count of the times my skin


    was welted by that cane or the thin whip wrapped around its handle. I will never forget the sting and have


    quite a few scars on my back from theshings breaking the skin when she would go too far.


    “Pillows,” Abbie’s soft voice says behind me as I finish thest bed; tossing them to me, I ce them on


    each bed. We both looked around, ensuring no toys were forgotten, nothing out of ce. The dark rugs


    were straight, and the corners were t on the floor. We didn’t have time to sweep, something I know


    Mrs. Daley will notice and make us pay for.


    We still had five rooms and two hours left before being called to the town square to learn our fate. We


    both decided we would take theshes; it would be better than showing upte to see the packs Alpha.


    He decides what happens to us. This day has hung over our heads for eight long years, like a dark cloud


    threatening to rain down on us the closer it got, and I knew today it was going to pour down and d***n us.


    Rushing to the next room, we start all over again. The same routine every day. Once done here, we have


    to prepare sandwiches for the kids and pray to the Moon Goddess we finish before one. If we arete, I


    know he will k**l us. It is a great disrespect to the Alpha if you keep him waiting. The Alpha waits for no


    one.


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    By the time we are done, my arms feel like jelly. My legs b**n, threatening to give out under me. Abbie


    clutches her knees looking around at the sparsely furnished room. The fireces in the corner of each


    room were the only heating, the windows the only cooling in this dreadful ce. The fireces created


    so much dust, ash that would settle on everything making our job more problematic in the winters.


    Abbie was breathing hard, and we still had to make the lunches. Her green eyes stared at me knowingly;


    we would bete. She knew as well as I did, today we d*e. Her already pale face turns white as a sheet


    as she looks at the clock. We had forty-three minutes and over a hundred sandwiches to make for the


    children that reside here.


    Hearing the click of heels on the ck wooden floorboards heading in our direction. We both


    straightened up, ttening our aprons, fixing our hair, and smoothing down our peasant skirts. We ce


    our hands behind our backs, eyes straight ahead as she steps into the room. Her snakeskin heels are


    loud on the floor as she steps in with her sses perched on the end of her nose.


    Mrs. Daley sneers at us, her lips pulling back over her teeth as she goes to each bed. Abbie’s eyes


    darted to me nervously. Mrs. Daley enters with her trusty cane in her hand as she twisted it in her fist


    before pping it on her palm. Her eagle eyes looking for anything out of ce.


    Her hair was pulled in a bun so tight on top of her head it looked painful. Her high cheekbones and


    pointed straight nose made her face crueler, sharper; she reminded me of a crow.


    She pushes her round sses up her nose. She was in her forties but looked more in herte fifties;


    lines around her lips and the deep wrinkles around her eyes made her look older.


    We remained like statues, our eyes following her, yet we werepletely still.


    She runs her fingers over the window sill, and I see Abbie tense my eyes flitting toward it to see it


    covered in soot. Mrs. Daley clicked her tongue holding her fingers up to show us. I s*****w, my mouth


    going dry.


    “What is this?” She asks, rubbing her fingers together, the ash falling to the floor when her eyes dart to it.


    One of the kids had walked dirt through the room, and she did not miss it.


    She purses her lips clearly unhappy.


    “Who was supposed to do the windowsills?” She snaps before cracking the cane on her palm.


    Abbie raises her hand but says nothing; I could see the fear in her green eyes, tears already brimming.


    “And the floors” I raise mine, my stomach sinking. I knew she wouldn’t miss it.


    “Abbie, you get three strikes, one for each windowsill,” Abbie presses her lips together, holding out her


    hand’s palm down. Mrs. Daley shakes her head.


    “Not good enough, we have important visitors today, and I need to show them I don’t ck on the


    discipline,” She snaps. I watch as Abbie’s bottom lip trembles. The back was worse because every move


    would sting for days.