Welcome Death

POV Cal

Judd scoots backward on his backside, his eyes blown wide in sheer terror. He scrambles away from me, his shoes slipping on the greasy kitchen floor, before he finally finds his footing and sprints out the door as fast as his legs can carry him.

The moment he vanishes, the strange, ethereal calm shatters. I am violently thrust back into my own mind. My knees buckle, and I collapse onto the hard tiles, gasping for air. The blinding violet light fades from my palms, leaving the kitchen dim and quiet. My hands no longer glow, but the skin feels raw, burning like it was submerged in boiling water and buzzing with residual static electricity. I stare at my shaking fingers.

"Nix! What was that?" I scold her in our mind-link. I sound angry, but the truth is I am terrified.

"I could not help it," Nix replies, her voice defensive but exhausted. "He was threatening us. He was going to rip our throat out."

"Okay, I get that, but what was with the glowing purple, burning hands thing?! That is not normal for a wolf!"

"Cal, we have been through this," Nix sighs, a heavy weight in her tone. "We are a child of the Moon Goddess. We are special. The glowing purple fire is a gift from our mother. There is more, too. You will see after we shift for the first time. Until then, I do not have the strength to show you. Besides, it is not like I permanently crippled him. His wolf will heal those burns before he even sits down behind his desk."

I blink, trying to process the magnitude of her words over the pounding ache in my head. "Wait. You mean the Moon Goddess is my actual mom? Like, she physically gave birth to me? You don't just mean she is the mother of all werewolves because she created our species thousands of years ago?"

"That is exactly what I have been saying since I woke up inside your head," Nix huffs. "It is not my fault you refused to believe me."

I let out a shaky breath and reach for a clean dish towel on the counter. I press the cloth to my face, wiping the thick, smeared blood from my nose and chin. I can feel the broken cartilage shifting. Nix is already sending warmth to the area, healing the break, but the damage to the skin is done. My face is going to be severely bruised for the next few days. I pull my faded baseball cap down low over my brow, casting a shadow over the dark purple swelling around my eyes. I cannot afford to stop working. I pick up the first two heavy lunch platters and push through the swinging doors, rushing out into the noisy dining room.

As I set the plates down and hurry back for the rest, my mind races. "Okay, fine," I tell Nix. "But if you have the power to do that to Judd, why can't you do it to Alpha Kaelen? Or Jaxon? Why do we let them beat us?"

Nix goes quiet for a long moment. "I think the magic surfaced once before I fully woke up, but I was not in control. I cannot do it now because Kaelen is our Alpha, Cal. Pack law is bound into our blood. I physically cannot go against his commands. My instincts paralyze me. I cannot attack our Alpha, and I cannot strike our future Alpha."

"Fine," I concede softly, dropping the argument. I am in uncharted territory. Discovering I have magic is insane, but learning it is useless against my worst abusers makes the revelation feel hollow. I just need to figure out the rules of my own existence.

I power through the lunch service, keeping my head down. Once all the platters are cleared and washed, I write out a list of extra supplies needed for dinner. I walk down the hall and slip the paper into the wooden box hanging outside Judd's office. The door is shut tight. Good. I do not want to look at him again.

With lunch cleaned up, I have about forty-five minutes before dinner prep begins. I head down the narrow, dimly lit corridor toward the isolated stockroom to load the pantry cart. The air in the back room is stale, smelling of dry flour and old cardboard. I start grabbing heavy cans of vegetables, stacking them onto the metal shelves of the cart.

Behind me, someone clears their throat.

The sound sends a spike of pure ice down my spine. I freeze. I slowly turn around to find Jaxon standing in the doorway. He takes a step inside, kicking the heavy wooden door shut behind him. He stands uncomfortably close, his tall, muscular frame blocking my only exit.

"Can I help you with something, Jaxon?" I ask. I swallow hard, trying to push down the thick panic rising in my throat.

"Cal," Jaxon starts, his voice smooth and unsettling. "I just wanted to say, when I become Alpha, you will not be treated the way you are right now."

He takes another step forward. I instinctively step backward, my spine hitting the hard metal edge of the pantry cart. I have nowhere left to go.

"Jaxon, please stop," I say, my voice trembling. I raise my hands, pressing my palms lightly against his chest to create some distance, but it is like pushing against a brick wall. He is massive, fueled by werewolf strength, and he does not budge an inch.

I look up into his face. An ugly, sick grin stretches across his lips, distorting his features.

"I see the way my dad treats you, Cal," Jaxon murmurs, stepping closer until the toes of his heavy boots trap my worn sneakers. "You never complain. You just take it." He inhales deeply, smelling my fear, and leans his heavy body fully against mine, pinning me to the cart. He lowers his head, his hot breath ghosting over my ear. "I think you like it when he does it. Don't you?"

My stomach drops. Disgust churns in my gut. Did I hear him right?

"Jaxon, I absolutely do not enjoy being beaten by your father," I snap, disbelief overriding my fear. "And you are no better! You just stand there watching him hurt me instead of stopping him!"

Tears of frustration sting the corners of my eyes as Jaxon slips a heavy arm around my waist, locking me against his waist. My skin crawls.

"Do not lie to me, Cal," Jaxon whispers harshly. "It makes my cock hard thinking about what I will do to you when it is finally my turn. I cannot wait until he lets me treat you like that. I want to hear you moan with pleasure when I beat you. I want you on your knees so I can whip your back instead of him. I want you to be my toy, Cal. Not his. You would like that, wouldn't you? Bowing down to me with your pretty ass in the air? We will turn the pack dungeon into a playroom just for us."

He nuzzles his wet nose against my neck, right below my ear. I cringe, twisting my upper body, but his grip is an iron vice. I feel the hard bulge of his penis pressing through his jeans, grinding directly against my stomach as he shifts his weight.

"Are you insane?!" I scream, panic exploding in my chest. I shove both my hands hard against his shoulders, fighting with everything I have. He does not move. "Get off me, you sick psycho!"

The realization hits me like a freight train. This whole time, he has been getting turned on by watching his father torture me. This entire bloodline is rotten to the core.

My defiance flips a switch inside him. The sick, amused grin vanishes from his face, replaced by pure, unfiltered disgust. Without a word of warning, Jaxon takes a half-step back, raises his knee, and kicks me squarely in the stomach.

The force of the blow drives all the oxygen from my lungs. Pain detonates in my abdomen. I double over, gasping silently for air. Before I can fall forward, Jaxon slams his elbow hard into the center of my back. I crash down onto my knees, hitting the concrete floor so hard the impact shoots up my shins.

Before I can crawl away, Jaxon grabs my hair and shoves me flat onto my stomach. He drops his heavy body over mine, pinning me to the freezing concrete.

"Nix!" I scream in my head. "Help me!"

"I can't!" Nix cries out, her voice a miserable, paralyzed wail. "He is the future Alpha! Pack law is holding me down! I can't move!"

Jaxon slides his thick arm under my shirt. His rough hand grabs my bare breast, squeezing the flesh hard enough to leave bruises, while he grunts like an animal in my ear. He reaches his other hand down, ripping my leggings and underwear straight down the middle with his sharp wolf claws. The cold air hits my bare skin. He grabs my hips, pulling my body up off the floor and pressing his hard penis directly against my buttocks. He grinds back and forth, rubbing himself against my naked skin, his breathing ragged and wet as he drags his tongue across the side of my face.

"I know you want me, Cal," Jaxon pants. "Do not worry. You will be mine as soon as I convince my father to let me have you. I wanted him to watch the first time I take you. I wanted to make him proud by making you squeal in pain. But I do not think I can wait."

I sob into the dust on the floor. I am terrified to fight back, terrified to speak. Nix is trapped, useless against the pack hierarchy wired into her brain.

'Moon Goddess, if you are really my mother, please help me! Save me from this!' I beg in my mind. No divine light comes. No purple fire sparks in my hands.

Jaxon shoves his fingers roughly into my vagina. The pain makes me choke on my own tears. Then, he pushes himself inside my vagina.

The sheer agony and violation snap the final thread keeping me grounded in reality. I know I cannot survive this if I stay in my body. Just like the night Alpha Kaelen beat me within an inch of my life, I turn my mind off. I detach. I retreat deep into the darkest corner of my brain. The smell of the stockroom fades. The agonizing pain dulls to a distant pressure. I float somewhere near the ceiling, staring blankly at the flickering fluorescent light bulb, while the monster below finishes tearing my dignity to shreds.

It feels like hours pass before Jaxon finally pulls out. He releases his semen over the thick, raised scars on my bare back. He stands up, zips his jeans, and steps over me. Just to ensure I know my place, he kicks me in the ribs one last time before walking out of the stockroom, leaving the door wide open.

I lie in the dirt, a shattered, hollow shell of a person.

"Get up, Cal," Nix commands softly in my mind.

I do not move.

"I said get up," she repeats, her voice stern but laced with deep sorrow. "You are better than this. We will survive this."

"I want to die, Nix," I whisper into the concrete. "I cannot do this anymore. I just can't."

"You can, and you will," Nix insists. "We will find our true mate soon enough, and things will change. I promise you."

"How can you be so sure?"

"You will see. Glowing hands are not our only gift."

Slowly, agonizingly, I pull myself off the floor. My body aches with every micro-movement. I find an oversized, moth-eaten cardigan shoved in the back of the supply crates and pull it over my torn clothes, hiding the evidence of the assault. I limp back to my tiny bedroom, strip off the ruined fabric, and scrub my skin until it bleeds before putting on clean work clothes to cook dinner.

The next four days pass in a heavy, traumatic blur. The packhouse operates as normal, ignorant of the rotting decay inside its walls. The only incident during those four days is my own internal war. Every single afternoon, I walk up the narrow maintenance stairs to the packhouse roof. I stand on the concrete ledge, my toes hanging over the edge. I stare down at the ground four stories below. The wind whips my hair around my face. It would be so easy. One step forward, a few seconds of weightlessness, and the endless nightmare would finally be over. But every time I lean forward, Nix whimpers. I step back, collapsing onto the tar paper, sobbing until my chest caves in. I refuse to take her innocent life just because I want to end mine. I am trapped in a cage of dark, empty hopelessness.

Sunday arrives, heavy and suffocating. After the chaotic dinner service, I drag the supply cart down the corridor, refilling the small pantries near the guest wings.

I hear the sharp click of high heels on the hardwood floor. Before I can turn around, Luna Helena steps out of the shadows. She grabs my upper arm with terrifying speed. Her perfectly manicured claws extend, digging deep through my shirt and sinking straight into my bicep. Warm blood instantly flows down my arm.

"Cal," Helena hisses, her face inches from mine, her voice a low, venomous threat. "If you tell anyone—and I mean anyone—what you saw in Judd's office, I will kill you."

I stare at her perfect, unblemished face. You too, lady? The Luna of the pack, threatening a teenage slave over her own filthy affair.

Something inside me finally snaps. The fear evaporates, leaving behind a cold, desolate wasteland. She wants to kill me? Fine. Do it.

I reach up and push the brim of my baseball cap up, locking my eyes with hers. The hallway lights catch the vibrant, unnatural violet hue of my irises. Helena gasps, her grip loosening for a fraction of a second at the freakish sight.

"Luna," I say, my voice dead and flat. "It would be a relief. I would welcome death."

Tears of pure exhaustion prick my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. "You clearly do not know, or care, how I am treated by this pack. Your husband beats me for sport. Your son rapes me in the stockrooms. And apparently, your lover wants to rip my throat out too." I step closer to her, ignoring the claws buried in my muscle. "I cannot take any more punishment. I am at the end of my rope. If you murder me right here in this hallway, I will thank you with my last breath."

"I am sorry, Nix. I just cannot do it anymore," I whisper to my wolf. Nix does not argue. She shuts our mind-link, curling into a tight ball in the darkest corner of my mind.

Luna Helena recoils, ripping her claws out of my arm and shoving me backward. "Insolent child!" she snarls, trying to mask her shock with outrage. "You should be on your knees, grateful for your miserable life! The Alpha will hear about this disrespect!"

"I am not grateful for this life, Luna," I fire back, my voice echoing off the walls. "And if you think I should be, you are part of the disease in this pack. If you want to run and tell Alpha Kaelen about my disrespect, go ahead. But I will be more than happy to tell him exactly what instigated this conversation."

Helena freezes. Her face cycles through pure panic, rage, and unfiltered hatred. She glares at me for five agonizing seconds before spinning on her heel and marching away down the corridor without another word.

I stand alone in the empty hallway, blood dripping from my bicep onto the floorboards. I wait for her to come back with guards, but the corridor remains silent. She is not going to kill me directly. She is a coward. She will try to sabotage me. She might try to smother me with a pillow while I sleep tonight, or pay a guard to stab me in the back.

As I wipe the blood off my arm, a chilling realization washes over me. I meant every single word I said. I welcome death. Let her come.