A Warm Meal

I pull myself away from the freezing porch, my numb fingers wrapping tightly around my arms. The yellow school bus is gone, and with it, the fleeting warmth of the morning. The house feels like a tomb again. I make my way straight to the communal bathroom, carrying my meager breakfast tray. I cannot even eat in my cramped room anymore without the suffocating walls closing in on me. The heavy wooden door clicks shut behind me. I slide into a narrow stall, lock it, and force the cold food down. Survival is a habit I cannot break.

Once the plate is empty, I push out of the stall and walk to the cracked mirror above the sink. I look up. The reflection staring back at me belongs to a stranger. I study the hollow dip of my cheeks, the dark circles under my eyes, and the lifeless set of my jaw. I cannot recognize the bright, joyful girl I used to be. The sheer weight of my isolation crashes down, heavy and suffocating. A violent wave of nausea hits my stomach, making my vision blur.

I slap a hand over my mouth and run back into the stall, dropping hard to my knees. I grip the porcelain rim, gagging. My throat spasms. I stare into the dark pit of the toilet bowl, waiting for a painful release, waiting to empty the dread from my system. But nothing comes. My body just dry heaves over and over. The world wants me to suffer the sickness without any of the relief.

I collapse backward, sliding down the metal partition until I sit on the dirty tile floor. I am too drained to care about the grime soaking into my clothes. A thin layer of cold sweat coats my forehead. My skull throbs with a vicious ache. I am so tired. Not just physically, but deep in my bones. It is a suffocating existence. The hostile glares of the pack members, Alpha Titus’s impossible rules, the Luna’s cruel smirks. I am not part of this pack. I never have been. Surrounded by people who feel at home with their families and mates, I am just a ghost haunting their halls.

My thoughts spiral backward into the dark waters of my past. Do they ever think about me? Do they regret casting me out? Just one simple phone call from them would let me sleep peacefully through the night. I have spent endless, agonizing nights staring at the ceiling, wondering how my life would have turned out if they had simply believed me.

But the bitter truth always claws its way to the surface. It does not matter what they believed, because I proved them right in the end. I could not control my own body. I could not control my wolf.

I was so arrogant back then. So blindly confident in my strength that failure never even crossed my mind. The fault is entirely mine. I placed myself in this living hell because I was not smart enough. I should have planned two steps ahead. The shame and guilt wrap around my throat, strangling the air from my lungs.

I tilt my head back and hit it against the wall. *Thump.* Just hard enough to feel the dull pain drown out the memories. I am trapped. The heavy current of my past mistakes drags me under. Living like this feels pointless, but some twisted part of me feels I owe this penance to the Moon Goddess. Giving up would be too easy. Giving up would be weak. I choose to fight this dreadful battle every single day, even when the task becomes unbearable.

Tears spill over my lashes. I bury my face in my hands, crying silently into my palms until my chest aches.

The main bathroom door swings open.

My breath catches. I freeze. I quickly wipe my wet face on my sleeves, scrubbing away the evidence of my breakdown. I leave the empty tray resting on the back of the toilet and step out. I walk straight to the sink and splash freezing water onto my face, desperate to depuff my red eyes.

The stall door behind me opens.

She steps out. I recognize her instantly. She is one of the Northern high commanders, the fierce female warrior I assumed was the Beta’s mate. I freeze, a wet paper towel crumpled in my fist. I consider pretending to wash my hands again, waiting for her to leave. But she does not move toward the sink. She stops and studies my face. Her gaze is sharp, careless, and unnerving. She dissects my expression without a hint of hesitation.

I cannot handle the scrutiny. I force a quick, trembling smile, toss the towel in the trash, and bolt for the door. I leave my tray hidden in the stall. I slip out into the corridor and press my back against the cold stone wall, pacing in a tight circle so I do not draw attention.

A minute later, the female commander strides out, marching straight toward Alpha Titus’s office for their morning meeting. The moment she turns the corner, I dive back into the bathroom, snatch my tray, and hurry to the kitchens to dump it in the wash bins. I let out a shaky breath. I have work to do.

Hours blur together in a haze of chores. By the time the midday meal arrives, the canteen is packed with hungry wolves. I stand near the edge of the serving area, holding a clean plastic tray against my chest.

Suddenly, the heavy double doors swing open. The low murmur of the room dies instantly. The Northern high commanders walk in, their heavy combat boots echoing off the tile. I quickly step backward, moving entirely out of the serving line. I glue my eyes to the floor, freezing in place. Alpha Titus demands absolute submission from the omegas, and these visiting Northerners command terrifying respect.

The heavy footsteps grow louder. They stop right next to me.

"You can go first, girl," a voice rumbles. The accent is thick, rough around the edges, distinctly Northern.

Startled, I lift my head. My eyes dart up and crash straight into the gaze of the Northern Alpha. My breath hitches. His dark eyes lock onto mine with a gravity that makes my chest tighten. I panic and tear my gaze away, snapping my attention to the man who actually spoke.

He stands a few feet away. His hair is a striking shade of ginger, and his eyes are an unnatural forest green. They are beautiful, but every instinct in my body screams at me to run away from those green eyes. He has a wiry build, his slim skeleton wrapped in dense, fibrous muscle. His facial features are bizarre—his jawline sharp, his mouth ending in a pointed curve that turns his smirk into something almost gruesome.

"I'm happy to go after you," I reply quickly, forcing a small, polite smile. I glance over my shoulder at Alpha Titus for validation. Titus gives a curt nod and turns his back, heading straight for the food.

The ginger-haired commander tilts his head, studying me like a puzzle. He shrugs his lean shoulders. "As you wish."

He steps forward to grab a tray, followed by the rest of his group. All except one.

The Alpha of the North lingers behind. He stands tall, a silent mountain of a man, watching me. I gather my courage and meet his eyes again. The air in the room suddenly feels too thin to breathe. The raw power rolling off him is suffocating. I immediately drop my gaze back to the scuffed floor tiles. Why does he keep looking at me? Is it just my broken imagination, or is he actually studying me?

I stay rooted to my spot until the entire Northern table has been served. Only then do I step up to the counter and grab a tray for myself. The pack maids behind the buffet line shoot me dirty looks. As I slide my tray down the metal rails, I stop. Nestled under the heat lamps, shoved slightly to the side where the pack members wouldn't easily grab them, are three plates. They have been deliberately warmed up.

I blink, confused. I look down the length of the buffet line. Standing at the very end, near the exit of the serving area, is the Northern Alpha. He is waiting for me to face him.

Our eyes meet. Slowly, deliberately, he gives a single nod. The warmed plates are mine to eat.

A sudden, fluttering warmth blooms in my chest, chasing away the bitter chill of the morning. I look down at the steaming food. I bite my lower lip hard, fighting a desperate battle to contain the massive smile threatening to break across my face. It has been so long since I ate a hot meal.

I eagerly reach out and pull the warmed plates onto my tray. A pack maid glares daggers at me, but I ignore her completely. The rich, savory scent of the warm food hits my nose, and I nearly jump in sheer happiness.

I step away from the buffet, lifting my head. A dumb, grateful smile is plastered across my face as I scan the crowded canteen for an empty table. Before I can spot a seat, my gaze lands directly on his face again.

I suck in a sharp breath. My chest expands. The wide smile on my lips instantly softens into something shy and uncertain. Luckily, I find a small table facing the wall, far enough away from the Alpha of the North to give me the illusion of safety. While I am forever grateful for the warm food, his sheer presence still makes me quiver.

I sit down and immediately dive into the food. I devour the first half of my plate as fast as I can, shoveling the bites into my mouth before I even finish chewing. The heat spreading through my stomach is heavenly. Once the frantic hunger fades, I force myself to slow down. I try my best to savor the rest. I chew every single bite deliberately, enjoying each of them as if it were my last. I had genuinely forgotten how good real food actually tasted.

I scrape my fork against the empty porcelain. Feeling a strange prickle on the back of my neck, I unconsciously look back over my shoulder.

Across the massive dining hall, two sets of eyes are locked onto me. I find the ginger commander’s forest green eyes tracking my movements, as well as those deep, black eyes of the Alpha.

Worry begins to settle in my stomach, replacing the warmth of the food. *Had I done something wrong?*

The ginger commander notices my reaction. He instantly shifts his green eyes back to his own table.

But the Alpha’s eyes remain fixed squarely on me.

His unwavering gaze holds mine across the sea of noisy pack members. He tilts his head slightly and offers me another slow, reassuring nod. It is as if he is silently telling me that everything is okay, not to worry.

My breath hitches. I turn back around, staring blankly at my empty plate, my mind racing. A shiver travels down my spine. I press my hands against the table, wondering at times if that powerful man can somehow read my thoughts.