The Brutal Awakening

Marcella

"If you don't get your goddamn ass down here right now, I swear to the Moon Goddess herself I'm going to get my fucking belt out and make you sorry!"

The terrifying, bellowing voice of my father echoes up through the floorboards, rattling the very foundation of the house. He is the Beta of the Emerald Ridge pack, and his threat sends instant, biting ice through my veins. My breath catches in my throat. I scramble backward in the pitch-black confines of my bedroom closet. The rough wood snags against my thin, oversized shirt. I press my knees tight to my chest, squeezing my eyes shut until colors burst behind my eyelids.

Please, let the floor open up. Let the old floorboards miraculously swallow me whole. I pray to a Goddess who seemingly abandoned me the day I was born. I know what comes next. Thanks to Vance, the untouchable golden child of this twisted family, my impending punishment will be devastating. My brother deliberately set me up. He thrives on my suffering.

"Where the fuck are you!" The bedroom walls shudder. A guttural growl rumbles up the staircase. He is close.

I push myself harder into the dark corner of the closet. Dust coats the back of my dry throat. My stomach cramps, empty and hollow from days without a proper meal.

"This is your last chance to come out, mutt! If you don't, you know what will happen!"

He knows exactly where I am. He just enjoys the hunt. He relishes the sick anticipation before the strike. It doesn't matter if I step out and surrender or force him to rip the doors open. Either way, my punishment will leave me broken and suffering for days.

"Your ass should have been downstairs thirty minutes ago, and now it's going to pay. I don't know why you do this to yourself every goddamn time!" Heavy boots thunder down the hallway. The wood groans under his massive weight.

I listen to his footsteps draw near and wonder how a man so dense can help lead an entire pack. Does he honestly think I chose this? That I woke up, crawled into this cramped, suffocating box, and decided to ignore my chores knowing he would make me pay? No. Vance locked the door from the outside. He laughed as he walked away, leaving me to face the monster. But the truth holds no weight in this house. My father will not believe me. He will not care.

Light floods the dark space. The closet door tears open with a deafening crack, the hinges splintering from the frame.

"Well, hello there, little mutt," he sneers. His lips pull back to reveal a savage, cruel grin.

Air vanishes from my lungs. He lunges forward without a moment's hesitation. A massive hand clamps into the worn fabric of my shirt. Before I can brace myself, he yanks me upward and violently hurls me across the bedroom. The room spins in a dizzying blur.

My fragile body collides hard against the plaster wall. A sickening crunch echoes in my ears. Blinding agony shoots down my spine, stealing my voice and paralyzing my limbs. I drop to the floor like a discarded ragdoll, landing hard on my side. I gasp, staring blankly at the ceiling, waiting for my body to stitch itself back together.

It doesn't.

Werewolves possess incredible, rapid healing abilities. A healthy wolf would brush off this impact in seconds, their cells regenerating faster than the eye can see. But I am an empty shell. Starved. Beaten day after day. My body is a wasteland. Because I am a severely starved and continuously physically abused wolf, I lack those inherent rapid healing traits. We lack the basic energy required to knit broken bones or seal bruised flesh.

I scrape my fingernails against the floorboards, fighting for a desperate breath. My lungs refuse to expand. Before oxygen can even reach my chest, a towering shadow blocks the overhead light. My father steps over me. He reaches down and hauls me off the floor by the neck of my shirt. My toes drag uselessly across the wood.

He shakes me rough. "Well, come on, mutt," he mocks, screaming directly into my face. Droplets of saliva hit my forehead, nose, and chin. I swallow hard to hold back a gag. "Won't you at least try and come up with some pathetic excuse to cover your ass?"

My vision spots with black dots. His thick fingers dig into my windpipe. Usually, I invent a lie. Blaming Vance is a death sentence in this household. My twenty-year-old brother is the top-tier, pristine golden boy. He is the future Beta. As far as my father is concerned, Vance never does anything wrong. Mentioning his name only strokes my father's pure rage and multiplies my beatings. I usually make up any excuse to protect myself from the wrath that follows his precious son's name.

But my brain is a foggy mess of static and pain. I cannot breathe. I cannot think fast enough. The truth slips past my cracked lips before I can stop it.

"Vance..." I choke out, my hands clawing uselessly at his iron grip. "Vance locked me in my closet."

The air in the bedroom turns lethal. His face darkens with pure, unadulterated rage. A thick vein bulges against his neck.

He roars, twisting his grip on my throat, and hurls me a second time.

I soar past the edge of my bed. This time, there is no wall to stop my momentum.

Crash.

Glass shatters in a deafening explosion. I cry out in sheer agony as my body plunges straight through the bedroom window. The jagged frame tears into my skin, ripping through my thin clothes. I hit the floor in a tangled heap, surrounded by a rain of broken shards. Piercing heat bites into my arms, my legs, my hands. The shattered glass impales my skin deeper with every twitch. Blood pools warm and sticky beneath me.

"Look at what you made me do now! You stupid, worthless piece of shit!"

Heavy boots crunch over the broken glass. He storms over to my broken form. I try to drag myself backward, but he brutally grips a thick fistful of my hair. He forcefully yanks my head back, making my neck arch at a painful angle. My scalp burns. I bite down on my bottom lip, tasting copper.

I glance down at my trembling right hand. A large, jagged piece of glass protrudes from the center of my palm. Blood drips rapidly from the wound, painting the floorboards red. I reach over with my left hand, trying to pull the shard free.

My father notices. He drops his knee next to my side, slapping my left hand away. He grabs my right wrist, locking it in place. He stares down at the glass embedded in my bleeding palm. A sadistic, cruel gleam flashes in his eyes.

He presses his thumb directly against the jagged edge. And deliberately pushes down.

The glass slides deeper, slicing straight through muscle and scraping against the bone. A horrific, guttural cry rips from my throat. The pain is a living fire inside my palm.

"I'll never understand why you were born," he spits venomously, his face inches from mine. "The sooner you die, the better!"

I remain quiet, squeezing my eyes closed, gasping for air to ride out the waves of white-hot agony. He continues to spew venomous insults, but he doesn't realize how wasted those words are. Eighteen years of hearing nothing but vile hatred from him, from his mate Jade, and from Vance. Eighteen years of being told I am garbage. The words lost their sting a long time ago. The physical torture is the only thing that registers anymore. The beatings are worse than any insult, and I will never get used to the pain of my bones breaking.

"The next time you speak badly about your brother," he snarls, leaning closer, "I won't be the only one handling your punishment."

He pulls his hand back. I brace for the inevitable blow. The heavy, open-handed slap connects hard with my cheekbone. The blinding force snaps my head to the side. My ears ring with a high-pitched whine. Bright lights flash across my blurred vision. I wait for the next strike. He has threatened to let Vance handle my punishment multiple times. He never follows through, mostly because he knows Vance's temper is worse than his own. Vance would lose control and kill me. And if I am dead, who will my father use to take out his anger? How would he explain my disappearance to the rest of the pack?

He grips my hair again, ready to deliver another blow.

Then, his eyes suddenly glaze over.

He freezes. His hand hovers mid-air. He stares blankly at the wall. An urgent mind-link interrupts him. Something serious enough to stop his favorite pastime.

He blinks, the murderous fog clearing from his gaze. Dropping my hair, he takes a sudden step back.

"Get your fucking ass downstairs. Now!" he barks.

He turns on his heel, marches out of the destroyed bedroom, and slams the door shut. The frame rattles on its hinges.

Left alone in the quiet aftermath, a suffocating silence fills the room.

For a long minute, I just lie there among the glittering, bloody ruins of the window. My chest heaves. The adrenaline fades, leaving nothing but raw, blistering hurt in its wake. The dam finally breaks. All the suppressed pain pushes its way to the surface. I press my face against the dusty floor and sob. The tears come in a violent stream, washing the dirt from my bruised cheeks. Every inch of my body screams. My spine throbs, my face burns, and my palm pulses a steady rhythm of agony.

Come on, sweetheart.

The voice echoes gently through the dark, hollow space of my mind. It is soft, maternal, carrying a soothing warmth I have never felt from anyone else.

Get up off the floor. Let's get you cleaned up.

I sniffle, curling my knees toward my chest. Vespera. My wolf.

I turned eighteen six months ago. While I managed to shift fine for the first month, I have not been able to shift since. My body is too shattered from the endless beatings and starvation. I am trapped in human form, incapable of letting her stretch her legs.

I have told Vespi countless times to leave me. To retreat into the recesses of our mind, or to find herself another wolf to live with. She deserves a strong host. A warrior. Not a broken, bleeding girl crying on her bedroom floor.

But she refuses to abandon me.

I am not leaving you, she hums softly. A phantom sensation of a warm muzzle nudges against my soul. We stay together. Now, stand up.

She has been by my side since day one. We share an enduring mental bond. She is my best friend. My only friend. Most days, she is the sole lifeline keeping my heart beating. When the cold threatens to finish me at night, she pushes her remaining warmth through my veins. When my father tries to break my spirit, she whispers strength into my ear.

I drag in a ragged breath and force my eyes open. Staring at the blood staining the floorboards, a sliver of desperate resolve ignites deep inside my chest.

I push my uninjured hand against the floor, ignoring the sharp sting of the scattered glass. I force myself to my knees. The room tilts, but I hold steady.

I stare at the closed door, my chest tightening. I keep fighting for Vespera, but one day, this will all be over. I make a silent vow to the empty room. I do not know how, and I do not know when. But one way or another, we will escape this house. We will flee this pack. And permanently, forever, we will rid ourselves of the absolute evil that is my father.