The Slip of the Tongue

The adrenaline from the training yard still hums under my skin as I shepherd the children away from the violence and into the relative safety of the packhouse. The hallways are packed. I keep the kids close, steering them through the chaotic sea of unfamiliar Northern warriors. We finally make it to their room. I draw the bath, scrubbing the grime of the day from their small hands and knees, keeping my focus entirely on the soap bubbles and the splash of warm water. Once they are dressed in their worn pajamas, I tuck them into their respective beds. The sheer volume of noisy guests downstairs makes the floorboards vibrate, so I pull a wooden chair to the center of their room. Tonight is Bram’s turn to pick the story. He shoves a wrinkled adventure comic into my hands. I read the exaggerated dialogue in hushed tones, doing different voices until his heavy eyelids finally flutter shut. It happens faster than I anticipate. The exhaustion of the day claims them all. I quietly set out their clothes for the next morning, folding the small shirts and pants in neat piles on their dressers. I back out of the room, turning the doorknob slowly so the click doesn’t echo, and ease the door shut.

I turn down the corridor and push through the swinging doors of the canteen. The heavy scent of industrial bleach and floor wax hits me immediately. It’s the same chemical sludge I’ve been using to scrub the endless corridors all afternoon. A sudden wave of light-headedness washes over me. The room tilts. I grab the edge of a nearby table, digging my fingertips into the laminated wood until the dizziness subsides. The toxic fumes from the poorly ventilated supply closet I was forced to clean earlier are clinging to the back of my throat, making my lungs burn. I blink hard, shaking off the fog, and scan the room. There are dozens of new faces, but my eyes traitorously lock onto him. The Northern Alpha.

He sits at a table near the center, commanding the space without uttering a single word. I bite the inside of my cheek. He is undeniably attractive, a raw, dangerous kind of magnetism, but he isn’t the first good-looking wolf I’ve crossed paths with. I haven’t spent years enduring this pack's dungeon-like treatment to suddenly act like a reckless teenager over a handsome stranger. Why is my heart hammering against my ribs just by looking at him? I blame the toxic fumes. They are definitely messing with my head.

I force my legs to move. Most of the pack members have already eaten. I grab a dented metal tray and head for the kitchen serving window. The remaining food is stone cold. I scoop a hardened chicken patty and a lifeless spinach burger onto my plate. It is a familiar routine, one I am entirely numb to. I carry my tray to my designated spot. The canteen layout is strict. Long, sprawling tables dominate the center of the room, while tiny, isolated desks line the far walls. I am forbidden from the center tables. I sit alone at my small desk in the corner, facing the wall.

The noise in the room gradually thins out as warriors finish their meals and leave. I chew the rubbery chicken, washing it down with dry swallows. Soon, my plate is empty, save for a single crisp apple. It is the only decent part of the meal, but the lingering taste of cold, greasy spinach is coating my tongue. I need water to cleanse my palate before I can enjoy it.

I push my chair back and walk over to the beverage racks against the kitchen wall. Usually, my water bottles are kept on the middle shelf, perfectly within reach. But with the influx of Northern guests, the lower shelves have been stripped bare. The only remaining bottles are pushed to the very back of the highest tier.

I stretch my arm up, rising onto my tiptoes. My fingertips brush the smooth plastic, but I can't get a grip. I drop back onto my heels, letting out an annoyed breath. I check the room. Only two tables are still occupied. The Northern Alpha’s group is deeply engrossed in a quiet, intense conversation. Alpha Titus and the Luna have already left the premises. If I climb the rack and accidentally snap a shelf, I can probably bolt out the back door before anyone catches me.

I wedge the toe of my sneaker onto the sturdy bottom ledge of the rack. I haul myself up, keeping my balance precarious. I lunge upward, swatting at the top shelf. My hand smacks the plastic bottle. It tips over, rolling onto its side, but stubbornly refuses to fall over the edge.

Before I can reposition my foot for another attempt, a massive shadow eclipses the fluorescent light above me. I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. I look down. The Northern Alpha stands right beside the rack. He reaches up effortlessly, plucking the water bottle from the top shelf with long, thick fingers. He looks down at me, handing the bottle over with a slow, devastating smile.

Heat rushes to my cheeks, burning a fierce red. Is he mocking me?

"You wanted this?" he asks. His voice is a rich, deep rumble that vibrates in my chest. He has the kind of tone that could freeze a battlefield, but right now, the edge is completely gone. My stomach executes a nervous flip.

I nod, mute, and reach out to take the bottle. I lean in, but the second my fingers graze the plastic, he smoothly pulls it back just out of my reach. I stumble slightly, suddenly hyper-aware of the sheer size of him, the heat radiating off his chest, the scent of crushed pine needles wrapping around me.

"Next time, ask for some help," he commands. It sounds like a piece of practical advice, but the heavy, authoritative weight behind the words makes my wolf stir in submission.

I nod again, my throat too tight to form actual words. My mind goes completely blank under his intense stare. A low, deep chuckle rumbles from his chest, a sound that sends a sudden shiver tracing straight down my spine. He extends his arm and finally releases the bottle into my grasp. I clutch the plastic tightly and immediately take two large steps backward, putting a safe distance between us so my brain can start functioning again.

"Thanks," I manage to say, forcing myself to meet his dark eyes. For a split second, I completely forget the rules. I forget my station. I forget to add his title.

I quickly realize my mistake, waiting for the harsh reprimand, the flash of anger. I have endured too many beatings in the past for forgetting proper titles to assume he would let it slide. But he doesn't snap. He simply maintains that calm smile and gives me a slow, acknowledging nod.

I mentally curse my own stupidity as I uncap the bottle and chug the water. I retreat to my isolated desk in the corner, sinking into the chair. I take a bite of my apple, chewing mechanically. I try to keep my eyes on the wall, but I find my gaze drifting toward his table. Every few minutes, I catch him looking right at me. And when he isn't, he catches me staring at him. I swallow hard, praying he doesn't interpret my lingering glances as a challenge. That is the absolute last thing I need.

There are five people sitting at his table. Their plates are wiped clean, but they show no signs of leaving. One of the Northern warriors is incredibly bulky, his muscles straining the fabric of his shirt. Another man sits beside him, lean and sharp, his posture defensive, like he is actively concealing a weapon. Across from them sits the Beta. He shares the Alpha’s imposing build but carries it with a leaner, more agile grace. His hair is pitch black, catching a faint blue sheen under the lights, matching his dark, observant eyes. Beside the Beta sits a female. Her back is to me, but the elegant slope of her shoulders and the rich cascade of her hair mark her as stunning. She has to be the Beta's mate. They brush against each other constantly, sharing quiet smirks and inside jokes that the rest of the table ignores.

I finish the apple core and gather my trash. I clear my tray and leave it on the metal counter for the night maids. It is time for my final chore. I grab a fresh basket of high-end snacks, bottled spring water, and expensive chocolates from the pantry. Alpha Titus ordered these specifically for the Northern Alpha's quarters. Since his group is still deep in conversation, the room should be completely empty.

I navigate the winding hallways and slip a master key into the lock of Room 108. I push the door open and step inside. The air in the room is instantly different. It smells intensely of him. The crisp, clean scent of fresh snow and sharp pine utterly dominates the space, overpowering the stale packhouse odor. It is distinctly Northern.

I walk over to the polished wooden table by the window and arrange the beverages and snacks. I spot a small notepad and a pen resting by a lamp. On an impulse I can't quite explain, I uncap the pen and write on the top sheet: *I hope you have a pleasant stay in Morven.* I draw a small, crooked smiley face at the end. I tear the sheet off and set it down.

I reach into the snack basket and pull out one of the foil-wrapped chocolates. When I was a little girl, my mom used to hide a piece of chocolate under my pillow. It was a tiny gesture, but it always made me feel incredibly loved when I found it before bed. I want to leave a small piece of kindness behind.

I walk over to the massive, king-sized bed. I lean over the mattress, stretching my arm out, trying to slide the note and the chocolate right into the center under the pillow without actually touching the pristine, fluffy duvet. My boots slip slightly on the hardwood.

A throat clears directly behind me.

I jump, a sharp gasp tearing from my lips. I spin around, my shoulder clipping the bedpost. My heart slams against my ribs with violent force.

He is standing in the doorway. The Northern Alpha.

Panic floods my system. My hands start shaking uncontrollably. I immediately yank them behind my back, hiding the trembling.

"I believe this is my room," he points out. His voice is perfectly calm, but his face holds a conflicting mixture of a slight frown and an amused smirk. He crosses his arms, leaning his massive frame against the doorjamb, completely blocking my only exit.

I nod frantically, my breathing shallow. "Um, yes. I'm so sorry. This morning, I forgot to give you the water and the snacks. I wasn't expecting you to come back this early. I was just leaving. And, um, if you need anything, don't be afraid to ask. I'm here to help." My words spill out in a rushed, terrified babble. I keep my eyes glued to the sliver of open doorway past his shoulder, desperately calculating my escape route. "Once again, I'm sorry, Alpha. This will never happen again."

I keep my head lowered as I rush forward. He shifts slightly, allowing me just enough space to squeeze past. I pull my shoulders in tight, making absolutely sure I don't brush against his chest as I flee the room.

I don't stop moving until I reach my quarters. I quickly strip off my uniform and pull on my worn running gear. I burst out the back doors of the packhouse and hit the dirt trail leading into the woods. I push my legs into a brutal sprint. Running is the only time the chaotic noise in my head silences. The cold wind bites at my lungs, and for a few miles, my mind is allowed to wander.

I force myself to stop replaying my disastrous interactions with the Northern Alpha. I have crossed paths with him too many times today, and in every single instance, I have made an absolute fool of myself. My own pack already despises me. They view me as a clumsy, worthless omega. But the North is known for brutal discipline and flawless obedience. I have shown none of those traits.

I swallow hard, my boots pounding the dirt. I pray he doesn't bring my behavior up to Alpha Titus. Titus would need zero convincing to lock me back in the dungeon. But maybe, just maybe, since the Northern Alpha has already witnessed Titus punishing me on the training field, he doesn't feel the need to pile on. Deep down, a stupid, irrational part of me hopes he actually enjoys my foolishness. He hasn't growled at me. He hasn't bared his teeth or shown any dominance. He just smiles. I shake my head, scolding myself. It’s just my deprived hormones talking, tricking my brain into thinking he finds me entertaining because my body is so desperate for a single ounce of positive attention.

I finish my circuit and sneak back into the packhouse. I hop into the freezing shower, scrubbing the sweat and dirt away. I pull on my threadbare pajamas and crawl into my small bed. I leave my bedroom door cracked open. The hallway light spills a thin yellow beam across the floor. If any pack member comes down here during the night, the shifting shadow will wake me up in time to brace myself.

*

My morning routine begins the exact same way it has for years, except the toxic fumes from the cleaning supplies I stored in my closet have thickened overnight. The poor ventilation in my tiny room traps the chemical vapor. As soon as I stand up, a brutal wave of dizziness crashes over me. My knees buckle slightly. I press my palm against the cold plaster wall, taking shallow breaths until the dark spots fade from my vision.

I make my way to the kitchen to prep the kids' lunches. The light-headedness returns in punishing waves. I have to drop my knife and grip the edge of the metal prep table, lowering myself onto a stool three different times just to keep from passing out.

"What's up with you, pretty face?" a voice sneers from the doorway.

I don't turn around. One of the high-ranking maids leans against the counter, her arms crossed. I wave my hand in a dismissive gesture, refusing to engage.

"She's too busy plotting a way to get into the Northern Alpha's bed," another maid chimes in, stepping up beside her friend. The comment draws a chorus of nasty, mocking laughter from the hallway. "This time, don't push away the blame when it happens."

I keep my eyes locked on the peanut butter jar. I softly hum the lyrics of an old lullaby, 'Under The Mountain', under my breath. The dizziness is actually a blessing right now; the physical exhaustion dulls the sharp sting of their insults. Even my wolf is too drained by the toxic air to pace angrily in my mind. I know the rules of survival in this house. Never talk back. Never defend my wolf. Never defend myself. I learned that lesson through broken ribs and bruised jaws.

Eventually, the maids lose interest. They grab their coffee mugs and scatter to begin their shifts, denying themselves the joy of pouring more salt into my open wounds.

Once the kitchen is empty, I drop my head forward, letting out a long, exhausted breath.

"Fuck me," I whisper softly, cursing this pack, the maids, and the heavy air in my lungs. I am so consumed by my own misery that I don't hear the light footsteps pattering across the tiles.

"Fuck me!" a bright, energetic voice repeats.

I snap my head up. Bram is standing right in front of the counter, fully dressed and bouncing on the balls of his feet. The rest of the kids are still trudging down the hallway, rubbing the sleep from their eyes.

My eyes widen in pure horror. I drop the bread knife and lunge forward, slapping my hand over Bram's small mouth.

"W-hu-d das da mean?" he mumbles against my palm, his wide eyes blinking up at me innocently.

I pull my hand away, my heart doing a panicked flutter. I drop to my knees, grabbing his small shoulders. I look him dead in the eye, pulling my features into the most serious expression I can manage. "It means something very bad. So you cannot say it. Never again. Do you understand me?"

He tilts his head, confused. "Then why do you say it?"

I bite my lip, cursing my own stupidity. I take a deep breath, scrambling for a believable lie. "I was very upset. I heard someone else say it, and I was thinking so much about how bad it was that it just slipped out. I am so sorry you had to hear that." I pull him forward, wrapping my arms tightly around his small body, burying my face in his neck. I have been way too careless these past two days. My defenses are slipping. "It’s a horrible word. Don’t ever, ever, ever say it. If you do, it will make me cry, okay?"

"Okay..." he whispers, his tone dipping into sadness.

I pull back. Seeing his little face drop breaks my heart. I immediately scoop him under the arms, stand up, and toss him onto the plush living room couch. I dive after him, digging my fingers into his sides, initiating a brutal tickle attack.

Bram shrieks with laughter, kicking his legs. The commotion acts like a magnet. Cleo, Jace, and Rhea run into the room. Seeing their brother under attack, they let out battle cries and launch themselves onto my back, trying to pry my hands away to help Bram escape.

"Run, Bram! Run!" Rhea shouts. Her voice is soft and sweet, carrying no real volume, careful not to wake the dangerous wolves sleeping upstairs.

Bram wiggles free and slides off the cushions. The four of them instantly turn on me. Small hands poke at my ribs and pull at my sleeves. I grab them one by one, tossing them gently onto the cushions, trying to separate the ambush, but they keep scrambling back.

The quiet room fills with the sound of breathless giggles and tiny, joyful shouts. The sight of their wide smiles, the way they stick their tongues out between laughs, warms the deepest, coldest parts of my chest. It is a pure, infectious joy. I can't hold back the laugh that bubbles up my throat. For a few beautiful seconds, the abuse, the dungeon, and the Northern Alpha vanish.

"Quick, quick! We can take the monster down!" Rhea commands, pointing a tiny finger at me, fully embracing her role as the pack leader.

"Mhm."

The heavy, deliberate clearing of a throat cuts through the laughter like a blade.

The sound paralyzes me. I freeze on my knees, my hands still hovering over Jace. I pray to the Moon Goddess that it isn’t who I think it is. The kids don't completely stop moving, but they are incredibly perceptive. They see the color instantly drain from my face. They see the raw terror flooding my eyes.

"Enough for today, okay?" I whisper quickly.

They immediately stop playing, scrambling off the couch to sit in a quiet, uniform line on the floor. I slowly push myself to my feet. I comb my tangled hair back with my shaking fingers and turn around.

Standing in the entryway is the highest command of this territory. Alpha Titus glares at me. Behind him stands the Northern Alpha and his men.

I lower my chin, my shoulders curling inward as the heavy weight of humiliation crashes down on me. Alpha Titus’s face is twisted in extreme rage. His jaw ticks.

*Fuck.* It really is my favorite word today. I want the floorboards to rot and swallow me whole. I want to run into the woods and never look back. The public sermon is about to begin.

"Your job is to fucking feed them, Kaia!" Titus roars. The sheer volume of his voice echoes off the walls.

I flinch, but I force myself to take a shallow breath. "Don’t swear, please," I say, my voice trembling. They are just children. They shouldn't be exposed to this aggression. I already messed up with Bram this morning; I can't let Titus ruin them further.

Titus takes a menacing step forward, his eyes flashing with a predatory threat. "Kaia! Who the fuck do you think you are to talk to me like that?" He points a thick finger at my chest. "You are nothing to them."

I turn my head slightly. "Guys, go get your bags and coats," I command the kids quietly. They don't hesitate. They scramble to their feet and sprint down the hallway, vanishing into their room.

Titus watches them leave, a cruel smirk spreading across his face. He turns back to me, perfectly aware that the Northern warriors are watching his display of power.

"The 'nice little family' you think you've made here," he mocks, his tone dripping with absolute venom, "doesn't exist. Stop trying to earn their love. Be thankful you are still breathing. Be thankful you haven't lost this pathetic job yet." He steps closer, invading my space, forcing me to look up at his towering frame. "I wouldn't fuck up if I were you. I don't think your fragile mind can handle losing more people because you can't control your own pathetic self."

I open my mouth to defend myself. My jaw tightens. He glares at me, his eyes daring me to speak. He knows exactly what my comeback would be. But we both know the consequences. If I talk back in front of the Northern Alpha, Titus will beat me until I can't stand.

I snap my mouth shut. I drop my gaze to the floor tiles, swallowing the burning injustice, taking every ounce of his abuse in silence.

"You better start shutting your mouth, omega," he sneers. "This isn't the place nor the time, but I will make your life a living hell if you dare step out of line again. Now go get those runts ready. Because if they miss that bus..."

"They won't be late," I interrupt, keeping my head bowed in total submission.

He scoffs, the sound laced with disgust. "You better be right." He turns on his heel and marches toward his office. The Northern warriors trail behind him in silence.

The moment they disappear, I tilt my head back, staring at the ceiling. I squeeze my eyes shut. I can still feel the phantom heat of their stares. Alpha Titus thrives on this. He loves demonstrating his cruelty to the Northern Alpha, proving he isn't afraid to publicly humiliate and punish the weak.

My chest caves in. Titus is an absolute monster, but his cruel words hit a terrifying truth. I am profoundly, undeniably lonely. I miss the life that was stolen from me. Every single time I get a fleeting chance to feel affection, I cling to it like a drowning woman. But those children hiding in the bedroom? They are not mine. In a few short years, they will present as wolves. They will be taken to the training grounds. They will integrate into the pack hierarchy, and they will completely forget about the omega who packed their lunches. They will leave me behind. Just like she did.

"Kaia! Kaia!"

Small footsteps rush across the tile. Bram slams into my legs, wrapping his arms tightly around my knees. Jace, Cleo, and Rhea are right behind him, throwing themselves at me, creating a tight circle of warmth.

"Are you sad because he said..." Bram lowers his voice to an absolute whisper, "fuck?"

I look down at their worried faces. I drop to my knees, gathering all four of them into my arms, hugging them so tightly my muscles ache. Hot tears prick the corners of my eyes, but I force them back. I paint a bright, reassuring smile on my face.

"I told you not to say it!" I whisper back, nudging Bram's nose with mine. They will leave me. They will forget me. But right here, right in this exact second, I refuse to let Titus's venom ruin us.

"I-I'm sorry," Bram stammers, looking down.

"It’s okay, but you can't say it," I answer smoothly, gently pushing them back so I can look at them. "I just told you that Alpha Titus said a bad word. He is allowed to say it because he is the Alpha. But we cannot, because it is an ugly, horrible word. So we never say the word that starts with F, understood?"

They look at each other, their faces incredibly serious, and nod in unison. They lean in to hug me again, but I quickly stand up and clap my hands, shifting the energy in the room.

"Alright, no more hugs! It is breakfast time, and we have to move super fast today, okay?"

The tension breaks. They all smile and rush to the small wooden table. I pour their cereal bowls with shaking hands. They eat in silence, chewing much faster than usual, eager to escape the heavy atmosphere of the house.

I hand them their packed lunch boxes and help them slip into their oversized winter coats. I adjust their backpacks, giving each of them a quick, fierce hug at the door. I step out onto the cold porch, waving my hand high in the air as they climb the steps of the yellow school bus.

The doors hiss shut. The engine grumbles as the bus pulls away down the dirt road. I stand alone on the freezing porch, my arm slowly dropping to my side. The silence of the morning wraps around my throat like a vice. I am left standing in the bitter cold, stewing in the heartbreaking, agonizing realization that I am utterly alone, and this fragile family I love so desperately is only temporary.