The Alpha's Slave

{Macy’s P.O.V.}

The deafening, sharp crack of an open-handed slap echoes off the cold, unforgiving stone walls of the packhouse hallway. The sound rings in my left ear, followed immediately by a blooming, fiery heat spreading across my cheek. I turn my head slowly back to the center, tasting the faint, metallic tang of copper on my tongue where my teeth clipped the inside of my cheek.

A hostile she-wolf stands over me. Her face is contorted in a vicious, ugly rage, her features twisting as she breathes heavily through her nose. She is dressed in expensive, tailored clothes that highlight her status, a stark contrast to the faded, oversized rags hanging off my thin frame.

“You filthy whore, keep your eyes off my mate!” her shrill voice pierces the tense air, scraping against the stone corridor.

She accuses me of eye-fucking her mate. The reality is far less dramatic. He was the one staring at me, his gaze lingering on my hips as I scrubbed the baseboards of this cursed hallway. She is simply too insecure to admit that even in a ragged maid’s uniform, scrubbing dirt on my hands and knees, I draw more attention than she does.

I absorb the burning sting on my cheek with practiced stoicism. My name is Macy St-Claire. Tomorrow, I will officially turn eighteen. For most wolves, their eighteenth birthday is a day of profound celebration, the day they meet their wolves and step into their true power. For me, it is just another marker of my survival in this living hell.

I live in the Nightshade Pack, ruled by the tyrannical Alpha Silas Thorne and his equally vile mate, Luna Isolde. They are the architects of my nightmare. Eight grueling years ago, when I was just ten years old, Silas and his warriors ambushed my home. They mercilessly slaughtered my entire family—the Iron Stream Pack. My father, Alpha Garrett Alaric St-Claire, was a fierce but merciful leader. He treated everyone with respect. Silas treats everyone like dirt beneath his boots.

They dragged me from the blood-soaked ruins of my home and brought me here. Not out of pity. Not to raise me. They brought me here to be their personal child slave. From the age of ten, I have cooked, cleaned, scrubbed, and bled for a packhouse that houses over fifty werewolves. I sleep in a cramped room under the main staircase that used to be a shoe closet. My bed is a tiny, lumpy cot. My blanket is a muggy, quilted monstrosity I sewed together from discarded, stained sheets. I have been beaten, starved, degraded, and treated worse than a stray dog.

But they remain completely oblivious to the monumental secret I harbor in the darkest corners of my mind: I am an Alpha’s daughter by blood.

The deranged she-wolf, mistaking my silence for submission, arrogantly raises her hand to strike me again. She pulls her arm back, her claws extending just enough to threaten tearing my skin.

My dormant reflexes take over. Before her palm can connect with my face a second time, my hand shoots up. I catch her wrist mid-air. My grip is like a steel vise. The sheer shock on her face is almost comical as her momentum is halted instantly. I squeeze her wrist, my eyes flashing with a suppressed, dangerous fire.

“Do not touch me,” I spit, letting the venom bleed into every syllable. Slaves are not allowed to speak, let alone fight back, but I want to provoke her. I want to be punished. A punishment usually means being banished to the laundry room in the basement, away from these arrogant pricks for the rest of the day.

“MACY!”

The booming voice rattles the picture frames on the walls. I release the she-wolf’s wrist and turn around. Alpha Silas marches down the hallway, his massive frame casting a long, dark shadow over the floorboards. His eyes are burning with authority. Most wolves would drop to their knees and expose their necks at the sheer pressure radiating from him.

I just look him dead in the eyes.

“You know the rules!” Silas snarls, stepping into my personal space. The scent of rotting pine and aggression rolls off him.

I offer nothing but a cold glare. He is the Alpha of this territory, but he is not my fated Alpha. Combined with the hidden Alpha blood coursing through my own veins, his supernatural command simply washes over me. It holds zero sway over my mind or my body. I refuse to bow. I refuse to submit. This unbreakable defiance is the exact reason they starve me.

“GO TO THE LAUNDRY ROOM! NO DINNER FOR YOU!” he roars, utilizing his heavy Alpha command tone.

I just roll my eyes, turning on my heel to walk away.

“Sweetheart, I told you we should have simply disposed of her years ago,” Luna Isolde sneers with venomous disdain, stepping out from behind her husband’s massive shoulder.

I stop walking. I turn my head back to look at the Luna. She is draped in silk, her nails perfectly manicured, her face painted with arrogance.

“Go ahead,” I shoot back, a blistering retort leaving my lips before I can stop it. “I’d love to see you learn how to clean and cook. You can’t even boil a pot of water without burning down half the kitchen.”

Isolde lets out a high-pitched shriek. She lunges forward, her hand connecting with my jaw in a brutal, stinging slap. My head snaps to the side, but the pain barely registers. After eight years of this abuse, her slaps feel like mosquito bites.

“Is that the best you got?” I give her a look of pure disgust, turning my back on them and walking toward the basement door. I can hear her cursing her head off, whining to Silas like a spoiled brat. How she ever became a Luna, I will never understand.

I descend the creaky wooden stairs into the damp, dim laundry room. The scent of bleach and clean linen immediately calms my racing heart. I grab a pile of damp sheets and start folding them. I stay here because I have no choice. It provides a roof over my head and scraps of food to eat. It is better than freezing to death in the woods as a child.

But tomorrow is my birthday. If the Moon Goddess grants me my wolf, and if I do not find a loving mate to rescue me from this hellhole, I am leaving. I will abandon this pack and embrace the dangerous life of a packless rogue. The Nightshade Pack only has legal custody of me until I turn eighteen. Tomorrow, I take my life back.

{Ryk’s P.O.V.}

The humid air of the bedroom is thick with the suffocating scent of sweat, unbridled lust, and deep-seated frustration. The mattress springs squeak rhythmically under my weight. I grab the naked she-wolf by her hips, my fingers digging bruisingly deep into her soft flesh as I forcefully thrust into her. I am balls deep inside her tight pussy, the repetitive, wet slapping of flesh filling the dim room.

“Yes! Ryk! Fuck me harder!” the omega screams, throwing her head back against the pillows. Her shrill voice grates on my raw nerves like sandpaper.

“I told you not to say my name!” I roar, my eyes wild with sudden, blinding anger.

Hearing my actual name fall from her lips utterly shatters the desperate fantasy I have been trying to maintain. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to force the image back into my mind. The fantasy that the woman writhing beneath me is not this nameless omega, but Macy.

For six torturous months, ever since I turned eighteen, I have secretly known the truth. The pack’s abused, malnourished house slave is my true, fated mate.

My inner wolf, Grim, violently snarls in the dark corners of my mind. He is pacing furiously, his massive paws tearing up the mental landscape.

*Do not reject our mate! What is wrong with you!?* Grim screams, his voice dripping with agony and rage. *She is ours! Claim her!*

I grit my teeth, thrusting harder into the omega just to punish myself, to drown out the wolf in my head. *Shut up, Grim!* I snap back ruthlessly, shoving his presence down behind a mental wall. *I can’t have a mate as weak as her. She is a slave. She is filth. I am an Alpha. I need a strong Luna to rule by my side.*

*If you hurt our mate, I will make your life a living nightmare!* Grim howls, throwing his massive weight against the barrier in my mind.

*We will get a second chance,* I argue back, sweat dripping from my brow as I increase my pace, my dick throbbing painfully hard inside the omega. *The Moon Goddess knows I need power. She will give us a better match.*

*You know that is a rarity! Get your head out of your ass, Ryk!*

*Fuck off, mutt.*

I sever the connection, blocking Grim out entirely. But the damage is done. Because Grim and I share a mind, I cannot escape the overwhelming physical attraction I have for Macy. Even a blind man could see she is breathtaking. Sleek, dirty blonde hair that falls perfectly down her back. Deep, rich chocolate eyes that hold more fire than any warrior in my pack. Natural, peach-colored lips that I constantly dream about biting. And a body that, despite years of starvation, has developed into a lethal weapon of curves and soft skin.

If I want to get off during sex, I have to picture Macy beneath me. If I don't, I go limp in two seconds flat.

I squeeze my eyes shut, picturing Macy’s chocolate eyes looking up at me, her peach lips parted in a moan. The image pushes me over the edge.

“Argh!” I groan loudly, my entire body locking up as my climax takes over. I grip the omega’s thighs, ripping myself out of her wet pussy just in time. I spurt my hot cum all over her flat stomach and chest, my chest heaving as I try to catch my breath.

“Wait!” the omega shouts, looking down at the mess on her skin. “I didn’t even cum yet!”

I look at her, the post-orgasmic clarity washing away any lingering desire. All that remains is profound disgust for her, and for myself.

“Too bad,” I say, my voice devoid of any emotion. I step back from the bed, grabbing a towel to wipe myself down. “Now get the fuck out of my room.”

“PRICK!” she shouts, her face turning red. She scrambles off the bed, snatching her clothes from the floor and storming out bare-naked, slamming the heavy wooden door behind her. I couldn't care less.

Tomorrow is Macy’s birthday. I have already made my decision. I am going to reject her. And I am going to do it in front of the entire pack to prove my dominance.

I pull on a pair of dark boxers and athletic shorts. I pick up the room phone and press the button for the kitchen. I order them to send Macy up to my office immediately. This room reeks of cheap perfume and omega arousal. I need her to clean it.

I walk into my adjoining office, sitting behind the heavy mahogany desk. A few minutes later, the door clicks open.

Macy steps across the threshold. The moment her foot hits the floorboards, the intoxicating, heavy pull of the mate bond hits me so hard it drives the breath from my lungs. My heart slams against my ribs, and my fangs ache with the primal need to sink into her neck and claim her. It drives me to the brink of insanity.

She is wearing a simple, faded t-shirt that is three sizes too big, the hem tied in a tight knot at her hip to keep it from swallowing her frame. Her worn-out leggings cling to her legs. Her blonde hair is pulled up into a high ponytail, exposing the smooth, pale skin of her neck.

I grip the edges of my desk so hard the wood groans. Desperate to mask my overwhelming, sickening desire, I lash out.

“Hurry up will you!?” I shout, my voice echoing off the walls. I need her to finish and leave before I lose my mind and pin her against the desk.

Macy doesn't even flinch. She grabs a rag and some spray, systematically wiping down the leather sofa and the tables, completely unimpressed by my temper tantrum. She moves with a quiet, lethal grace. When she finishes, she tosses the rag into her bucket and stands up straight.

“Calm down, I’m done, asshat,” she mutters under her breath, turning her back to me to walk toward the door.

The sheer disrespect ignites a feral, uncontrollable spark within my chest. My Alpha blood boils. Before my conscious mind can process the movement, I am out of my chair.

“WHAT DID YOU SAY TO ME!?” I roar.

I lunge forward across the room. I grab her fragile shoulders, my large hands easily wrapping around her joints. I spin her around and forcefully pull her flush against my chest. The impact of her soft body against my hard chest sends a jolt of pure electricity straight to my groin.

I scowl down at her, expecting her to tremble, expecting her to bare her neck in submission like any omega would.

She doesn't cower. Instead, she tilts her chin up and glares at me. Her breathtaking chocolate eyes are burning with unyielding defiance. She refuses to submit. The proximity is maddening. I can smell her natural scent—something sweet and earthy—cutting through the stale air. I look down at her natural peach lips. My control snaps. I desperately lean in, my heart pounding, yearning to claim her lips in a deep, consuming kiss.

Her hands shoot up between us.

“Get off of me!” Macy screams. She plants her hands flat against my chest and violently shoves me away.

The physical force of her push breaks my hold. I stumble back half a step, staring at her as she grabs her bucket and marches out of my office. For a millisecond, her absolute lack of reciprocation actually hurts my feelings. It leaves a hollow ache in my chest. But I quickly harden my heart, pushing those pathetic feelings aside, preparing myself for tomorrow's rejection.

{Macy’s P.O.V.}

The chaotic dinner service is a living nightmare. The kitchen is a sweltering inferno of boiling pots, searing meat, and shouting cooks. Cooking and serving a meal for fifty-three hungry, demanding werewolves is a ridiculous task for one person, but after doing it for nearly a decade, my body moves on autopilot.

I carry heavy silver platters of roasted meat out to the massive dining hall. The long wooden tables are packed with Nightshade wolves laughing, drinking, and tearing into their food like wild animals. I stand quietly by the kitchen swinging doors, a ghost in the background, waiting for orders to fetch more ale or clean up spilled gravy.

“Macy, come,” Alpha Silas’s voice cuts through the ambient noise of the room.

I stiffen, setting my jaw before stepping forward. “Yes?” I ask politely, keeping my face a blank mask.

Silas wipes grease from his mouth with a napkin. “Tomorrow is your eighteenth birthday, is it not?” he asks, his dark eyes locking onto mine.

I look at him and give a single nod.

“Good,” he smirks, a cruel glint in his eye. “Then tomorrow you will spend the entire day preparing for Ryk’s Alpha ceremony.”

My stomach drops. “Excuse me?”

“You are aware his Alpha ceremony is this coming Saturday, are you not?” Silas demands, leaning forward, resting his massive elbows on the table.

“I am,” I reply, fighting to keep my voice steady. “But you explicitly said I could have my birthday to myself. I requested the day off months ago.”

“Well, I changed my mind,” Silas counters casually, waving a hand in the air as if swatting a fly. “After your disgusting attitude this afternoon, and your blatantly disrespectful behavior towards your Luna…”

My patience, frayed thin after years of abuse, finally snaps in half.

“She is NOT my Luna!” I shout, my voice ringing out clear and loud over the dining hall.

The entire table gasps. The clinking of silverware stops instantly. Fifty pairs of eyes turn to stare at me in dead silence.

Silas slams his heavy fists onto the wooden table, the wood cracking under the force. He stands up, towering over me.

“DO NOT INTERRUPT ME WHEN I AM SPEAKING!” Silas roars directly into my face. The sheer volume and Alpha pressure would normally crush any other wolf, forcing them to grovel on the floor. But it holds no power over me. I stand my ground, glaring up at him.

“You will do exactly as I say!” Silas bellows, stepping closer. “You will prepare for Ryk’s ceremony! And you will start by sending out formal invitations to the neighboring packs on this list!”

He pulls a thick, folded piece of parchment from his coat pocket and violently shoves it against my chest. I stumble back half a step, catching the heavy paper before it hits the floor. I look down at the massive guest list, filled with dozens of packs. I am so incredibly pissed off that my throat tightens, refusing to let any words out. I don't give him the satisfaction of an answer. I turn around and march back into the kitchen, gripping the list until my knuckles turn white.

Hours later, long after the pack has gorged themselves and stumbled off to their beds, I finish scrubbing the final dish. The packhouse is finally silent.

I wait for the grandfather clock in the hallway to strike midnight. It is officially my birthday. I am eighteen.

I grab a clean towel, a fresh oversized t-shirt, clean underwear, and a faded pair of leggings from my closet. I slip out the back door into the freezing night air, making my way to the large pond behind the packhouse. The autumn air is biting, the dead leaves crunching beneath my bare feet. I stare up at the waxing gibbous moon hanging in the black sky, praying to the Moon Goddess that my parents are up there, watching over me.

I place my clean clothes and towel on a large, flat boulder at the edge of the water. I strip out of my dirty maid's uniform—the clothes that still reek of Ryk Thorne’s aggressive, oppressive scent from when he grabbed me in his office.

Taking a sharp breath, I step into the freezing pond.

The icy water hits my skin like a thousand tiny knives. The pond is fed by melting snow from the mountains, and the temperature steals the breath directly from my lungs. As a werewolf, I won't get frostbite, but the agonizing cold is still very real. I plunge my head underwater, resurfacing with a gasp. I grab the single, rough bar of soap I am allotted every month and begin furiously scrubbing my skin. I scrub my arms, my neck, my chest, desperate to wash Ryk’s lingering scent off my body.

Once my skin feels raw and clean, I duck underwater one last time to rinse the suds from my hair. I wring out the freezing water, twisting my hair into a tight bun, and climb out onto the muddy bank. I dry off quickly, shivering violently as the night wind hits my wet skin. I pull on my clean clothes. They smell like a faint summer breeze, reminding me of the lake back at the Iron Stream packhouse.

I sneak back inside, throwing my wet uniform into the laundry basket, and retreat to my miserable shoe closet under the stairs. I take out my hair tie, letting the damp strands fall down my back to air dry. I lie down on my cramped cot, pulling the ugly quilted blanket up to my chin. I close my eyes, exhausted to my very bones.

Suddenly, a warm, powerful presence blooms in the center of my mind. It feels like stepping into a sunlit room after a lifetime in the freezing dark.

*Hello, Macy.*

My eyes snap open in the dark. *Who is this?* I ask in my mind, my heart doing a stuttering rhythm.

*My name is Selene. I am your wolf.*

A single tear slips from the corner of my eye, tracking down my temple into my hairline. *Hello, Selene. It is a pleasure to finally meet you.*

*I am sorry,* the voice echoes, vibrating with ancient, soothing power.

*For what?*

*For the pain and suffering you have been through. I have been exploring your memories while I slumbered, and it pains me to see how much heartache and abuse you have endured alone.*

*There’s nothing that can be done about it now,* I reply, feeling a heavy weight settle on my chest.

*But we have Alpha blood,* Selene says, a low, rumbling growl of pride in her tone.

*And that will stay a secret between us, for the time being.*

*Macy?*

*Yes, Selene?*

*We will survive this. Together. We are going to embrace our blood. I am here for you now. You are no longer alone.*

*Thank you,* I whisper into the dark closet. *It’s nice to know I have at least one true friend in my life.*

*We are more than friends. We are family.*

I smile, a genuine, rare smile, and let the comforting warmth of my newly awakened wolf pull me into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The next morning, the sky outside the small hallway window is barely turning purple with the dawn. I sit up on my cot, dreading the massive amount of work waiting for me in the kitchen.

I pull my hair back into a high ponytail, walk to the guest half-bath to brush my teeth, and step out into the corridor.

Suddenly, a scent invades my senses.

It is a sudden, incredibly enticing, and aromatic scent. It smells like dark roasted coffee, pine needles, and the electric ozone smell right before a heavy thunderstorm. It is the most heavenly, mouth-watering aroma I have ever experienced. My newly awakened werewolf senses flare to life. Selene is pacing in my mind, her tail wagging, a low purr rumbling in my chest.

*Mate!* Selene howls with joy.

Driven by pure, unfiltered biological instinct, I follow the heavenly aroma. It pulls me like a puppet on a string, leading me out of the kitchen hallway and up the grand staircase. I walk up to the second floor, then the third, and finally step onto the luxurious fourth floor.

I walk straight down the corridor, the scent growing thicker, heavier, wrapping around me like a warm blanket.

I stop dead in my tracks.

The scent is pouring from beneath the wooden door of Ryk Thorne’s bedroom.

The devastating realization crashes down upon my shoulders, crushing the joy right out of my chest. Ryk is my fated mate. The Moon Goddess has paired me with the son of the man who slaughtered my family.

A wave of profound, sickening disgust washes over me. I despise him. I loathe his parents. I hate this entire pack with every fiber of my being. Why would the Goddess play such a cruel trick on me?

I stand frozen in the hallway, steeling my spine. There is no time like the present. I fully prepare myself for the inevitable heartbreak of rejection. I know he hates me. I know he will reject me. But Selene and I will survive it. We have survived worse.

Standing outside the thick wooden door, I can clearly hear the wet, sloppy noises of him actively engaging with another she-wolf inside. Disgust curls my upper lip. It is barely dawn, and he is already fucking some pack slut.

I raise my fist and knock loudly on the wood.

The noises stop.

“Who is it!?” Ryk’s irritated, whiny voice calls out.

“It’s Macy,” I state, keeping my voice flat and devoid of emotion.

“Ugh! Go away bitch!” the slut whines from beyond the wood, her voice dripping with annoyance.

“Shut the fuck up and just suck my dick!” Ryk aggressively yells at the woman, completely devoid of any respect or care for his bedmate. There is a wet slurping sound as he forces her back down.

“Come in, Macy,” Ryk calls out.

Taking a deep breath, I open the door.