The Final Morning

Marcella

I jolt awake, a thick layer of cold sweat coating my skin. My chest heaves in the dark, but every frantic gasp for air ends in a sharp, blinding stab of heat beneath my skin. I clutch my side, my fingers digging into the thin, ratty sheet tangled around my legs. The horrifying nightmares begin to fade into the shadows of my room, but the waking reality of my fractured ribs is a nightmare all its own.

Tuesday night replays in my head, a dark loop of violence I cannot shut off. My father and my brother, Vance, took turns on me. It was cruel retribution for the simple crime of sneaking out of the house to attend school. Dad had not finished his morning routine of tearing me down before the Alpha mind-linked him away, so I slipped out, knowing full well the consequences waiting for me. I just needed to escape for a few hours. I did not expect him to drag Vance into it, feeding him some twisted lie about me shifting the blame onto him. For a few terrifying minutes on the floor of his study, under the crush of their boots, I genuinely believed I was going to die.

I survived, but my frail body is a canvas of deep purple and mottled black. I brace my palm against the hard wooden floorboards. Dad revoked my bed privileges as part of the punishment. Sleeping on the floor with multiple broken ribs is an agony I struggle to push through. The biting cold of the wood presses right against my fractured bones, sending shockwaves of pain through my system with every shallow breath.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The wood of my bedroom door rattles on its hinges. I flinch, and a fresh wave of fire shoots up my side, pulling a choked whine from my throat.

"Mutt, you had better be awake!" my father bellows through the door. The sheer force of his voice shakes the walls.

"I'm awake, sir," I call back. I keep my tone flat and respectful, forced by the raw terror gripping my throat. That is another rule in this house. Behind closed doors, I am stripped of the right to call him dad. I am a mutt. He is sir, or master. The title dad is a privilege reserved strictly for when we have an audience.

"You have five minutes to get a full breakfast on the table," he barks, his heavy footsteps pausing just outside my room. "Or so help me, I will let Vance loose on you again. I do not have time to beat your ass this morning."

I glance at the battered alarm clock resting on my windowsill. The red digital numbers glare back at me. 4:30 AM.

I swallow hard, fighting back a groan. Pushing myself off the floor takes precious minutes. Every twist of my torso grinds bone against bone. Searing, blinding pain radiating from my side forces me to hunch over. I drag my aching body out of the room, using the wall for support as I navigate the dark hallway and descend the stairs to the kitchen.

I pull the heavy cast-iron skillet from the lower cabinet, my breath hitching as the movement stretches my battered ribs. I crack eggs into a glass bowl, whisk the batter, flip golden hotcakes, and fry thick slabs of bacon. I set out fresh bowls of fruit and a large bottle of syrup. The rich smell of the food makes my stomach cramp. I am starving. I have not eaten a proper meal in days, but stealing even a single crumb means another broken bone.

Right on time, my father stalks into the kitchen. I place the heavy plates on the table, presenting the massive spread. He looks down at the feast. His lip curls. He scoffs in utter disdain, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

"Is this all there is?" he demands. "Not much of a spread considering we have a grueling six-hour journey ahead of us."

"I apologize, sir," I murmur, keeping my eyes fixed firmly on the floor. "Is there something else I can fetch you?"

Before he can demand anything else, loud footsteps echo from the hall. Vance and Jade strut into the kitchen, acting like they own the world. They do not even glance in my direction. My suffering is invisible to them.

Vance looks impeccably groomed. He wears a tailored black suit, a crisp white shirt beneath the jacket, and polished shoes that catch the overhead light. His dark hair is gelled tight to his scalp, slick and flawless. The overpowering wave of his expensive aftershave clogs the air, masking the scent of the breakfast I just cooked. He slides into his chair with a smug grin, looking like royalty preparing for a coronation.

Then there is Jade. We are non-identical twins, but we might as well be different species. She squeezed herself into a skin-tight, electric blue dress that leaves nothing to the imagination. The fabric clings to every curve, ending dangerously high on her thighs. She balances on towering high heels, her long blonde hair straightened to perfection. Her face is coated in a heavy layer of makeup. She looks far more prepared for a cheap, underground nightclub than an elegant mating ball at the Obsidian Pack.

She checks her reflection in the microwave door, pouting her painted lips. I secretly pity whatever unfortunate male ends up permanently tethered to her. A fated mate bond with Jade sounds like a death sentence. Her personality is pure, unfiltered poison. If she had a heart to match her stunning face, she would make an incredible mate. Instead, she is a monster wrapped in designer fabric. I have no doubt her dumb luck will land her a powerful male who will just swallow his pride and put up with her toxic bullshit.

Pure exhaustion washes over me, the sleepless nights and relentless pain catching up all at once. My vision blurs for a split second, my mind wandering to a quiet place where I do not have to smell Vance's cologne or feel the constant, dull throb in my ribs.

"Hello!" Dad’s booming voice shatters my thoughts.

I snap back to attention, my heart hammering against my bruised chest. "Sorry, sir. I got distracted for a moment there."

He closes the distance between us in two long strides. He stalks over, invading my space, leaning in so menacingly close that I am trapped against the kitchen counter. I can feel his suffocating, hot breath hitting my cheek. My skin crawls. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from flinching away, knowing any sudden movement will trigger his rage.

"That is the second time this morning I had to shout at you," he hisses, a dark warning lacing his tone. He raises a hand, his fingers twitching near my face. "You should thank your lucky stars I need to keep your face free of fresh bruises for tonight. Otherwise, you would be receiving the brutal slap you deserve right now."

I nod once, keeping my posture rigid.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes cold and dead. "Do not worry, mutt. I will not forget about it. The moment we return home from this ball, you will be punished accordingly." He turns toward the table and takes his seat at the head, picking up his fork. "You will not be joining us for breakfast this morning. Haul all the bags and pack the SUV. Get it done right the first time, and maybe I will not add any more punishments to your tab."

From the table, Vance and Jade break into loud, knowing laughter. The sound grates against my ears. They are fully aware of his sick game. It does not matter how perfectly I pack the massive luggage or how carefully I arrange their things in the trunk. Dad will always manufacture a tiny, nonexistent flaw to justify the beating waiting for me when we return.

I turn my back to them, quietly clearing my throat. I wipe down the counters, wash the prep pans, and leave the kitchen spotless while they gorge themselves on the food I made. My empty stomach twists into painful knots. I ignore it. Missing meals is standard practice for me. I have learned to survive on nothing.

Once the kitchen is dealt with, I head upstairs to gather their things. Dragging their massive suitcases down the steps is pure torture. My ribs scream in protest with every heavy thud of the bags hitting a stair. Sweat drips down my temple, stinging my eyes. I haul Vance's heavy garment bags and Jade's ridiculous oversized makeup cases out the front door, loading them into the trunk of the sleek SUV.

I organize their pristine, expensive luggage, making sure nothing gets crushed. Then, I reach into the bushes near the porch and pull out my own small, faded overnight bag. I slide it into the darkest corner of the trunk, hiding it behind Vance's leather duffel. It contains my few meager belongings, a spare set of worn clothes, and the precious, hidden photograph of my mother.

I pat the canvas bag, a small, secret smile touching my lips. My incredibly arrogant family has absolutely no idea. They think I am setting up my own execution for when we get back. They have no clue I am never coming back to this house.

I step out from behind the trunk and walk down the driveway. The early morning air is crisp and cool against my flushed skin. Across the quiet street, a front door opens. I catch Seraphina’s eye.

She stands by her own car in her driveway, a heavy jacket pulled over her shoulders. Her dad is loading some last-minute things in the back. Sera pauses and locks eyes with me. We do not speak a word. We cannot risk a mind-link with our parents so close, but the look passing between us says everything. Her gaze perfectly mirrors my own fierce, unbreakable resolve.

The plan is firmly set. Tonight, during the chaos of the Blue Moon Ball at the Obsidian Pack, we will execute our midnight escape. We will run with everything we have and never look back.

I give her the slightest nod. She returns it, a silent vow passing through the morning mist.

I turn my head and look down the street. I look at the oppressive pack lands, the identical houses, the woods that have acted as the walls of my prison for my entire life. I take it all in one last time. I expertly mask my emotions, keeping my face blank and subservient for my father's benefit. But deep inside my chest, right beneath my shattered ribs, I feel zero sorrow.

There is no sadness. There is no regret. There is only a bursting, silent excitement. A thrilling spark of absolute rebellion ignites in my blood. Tonight, I am finally going to run free. Tonight, I leave this agonizing life behind permanently.

I pull open the rear door of the SUV and slide into the cold leather seat, keeping my head down as I wait for my family, my heart pounding with the secret knowledge that I have already won.