The Banquet of Scorn

Thalia POV

"Hey, freak. The chef is looking for you," a cruel voice sneers behind me.

I halt my steps, my muscles tensing. Cormac blocks the narrow hallway, a nasty smirk twisting his features. He is a vicious pack member who beat me to a bloody pulp just a few months ago, simply because I rejected his unwanted sexual advances. He left me discarded in the freezing cold to die that night. I still have no idea how my broken body survived the bitter frost.

"Dickass," I growl, refusing to cower before my abuser.

His eyes flash with fury at my defiance. He lunges forward, his heavy hand clamping down on my hair. He yanks my head back, slamming my shoulders against the drywall. As he raises his thick fist to strike my face, survival instinct takes over. I drive my knee upward with brutal force, slamming it directly into his balls.

Cormac's eyes bug out of his skull. He releases my hair and doubles over, loud curses of pure agony tearing from his throat. Taking the opportunity, I spin on my heel and sprint away toward the kitchen before he can catch his breath.

I push through the heavy swinging double doors.

"Where the fuck were you? Move your ass!" Chef Burl screams the second my boots hit the tile. "Dinner isn't going to cook itself!"

The large kitchen is in a state of chaotic overdrive. Sizzling pans pop, and thick steam clouds the warm air. We must prepare a massive feast for tonight. The rush is due to the early arrival of Alpha Kaelen and his spoiled daughter, Cleo. They are visiting for my brother Ronan’s anticipated inauguration as the new alpha next week.

A wave of deep-seated disgust hits me at the mere thought of those two guests. Alpha Kaelen is an insufferable, creepy Lycan from a neighboring territory who makes my skin crawl. He tracks my every movement, staring at me with predatory intent. Cleo is just as nauseating. She is maneuvering every possible angle to become Ronan's chosen mate and future Luna.

"Get to the prep station!" Burl snaps again, shoving a heavy cutting board toward my chest.

For five grueling, back-breaking hours, I don't stop moving. I prepare huge batches of fresh pasta, roast seasoned meats, and whisk desserts until my arms burn. The intense heat of the kitchen drains my failing energy. When Burl turns his back to check the ovens, I manage to sneak a few meager bites of the leftover meal just to sustain myself, chewing fast and swallowing hard.

The swinging doors open again, shattering my brief respite.

Darla, the beta female, strides into the kitchen. She scans the stainless steel counters, her eyes locking onto my face. Years ago, those brown eyes held genuine motherly love and warmth for me. She used to sneak me sweets and take me to the playground when my own mother said no. Now, they harbor nothing but cold disdain.

"Bring out the food in ten minutes," Darla snarls, her tone dripping with venom. "And I command you to leave the dining hall quietly immediately after."

She spins around and exits the kitchen without sparing me another glance.

With the reluctant assistance of the omegas, I load up the heavy silver trays and push them into the grand dining hall. The low chatter dies down as I step into the light. Hostile, piercing glares drill into my skin from the entire pack, making the air thick with tension.

"Wine, girl," Alpha Kaelen demands from the head of the long table. His dark eyes dance with a sick, predatory amusement as he watches me approach his chair.

I grab the vintage bottle, keeping my posture rigid. I lean in to pour the dark red liquid into his crystal glass. The second I am close enough, Kaelen's large, rough hand shoots out and tightly grabs my ass. His thick fingers dig into my flesh.

Utter disgust churns in my stomach. I forcefully jerk my body away from his vile touch, nearly sloshing the expensive wine over the rim of the glass.

I lean down, my face inches from his ear. "Touch me again," I hiss quietly, my voice laced with a dangerous warning, "and I will make a massive scene. I will scream 'pedophile' for the entire hall to hear."

Kaelen freezes. He searches my eyes, recognizing the unyielding resolve shining there. He knows I am not bluffing. His expression twists, glaring at me with pure venom, but he strategically pulls his hand back and backs down.

I step away, my pulse hammering in my ears.

"Thalia!" Cleo shrieks at the top of her lungs, shattering the tense quiet of the room. She shoves her dinner plate away, the ceramic scraping harshly against the wood. "I am allergic to mushrooms! You are worthless! Why do they even let a freak like you cook?"

The whole table goes dead silent. Cleo glares at me, expecting me to cower in shame. Refusing to be publicly humiliated without retaliation, I flash a sarcastic, mock-apologetic smile.

"My deepest apologies," I say smoothly. "Let me take that plate away for you."

I reach out and grab the edge of the hot dish, but as I pull it toward me, I deliberately execute an 'accidental' spill. I dump the hot plate of steaming mushroom pasta directly down the front of Cleo's chic, expensive white dress.

The dining hall erupts into chaos.

Cleo screams in utter outrage, looking down at the greasy, ruinous mess covering her silk gown. She leaps up from her plush chair, her face flushed with fury, and slaps me hard across the face. The stinging crack echoes through the vast room.

Without a microsecond of hesitation, I square my shoulders and retaliate. I swing my arm back and slap Cleo right back with every ounce of strength I possess. Her head snaps to the side.

Gasps of collective shock ripple through the surrounding pack members at my sheer audacity.

I lean into Cleo's personal space. "Next time you strike me," I warn sternly, locking eyes with her, "I will hit you back twice."

Boom!

Alpha Darius slams his heavy fist onto the wooden table. The silverware rattles and wine spills onto the tablecloth. His eyes flicker with blistering, uncontrollable rage.

"Thalia!" he thunders, his authoritative voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling. "Get out of my sight! Immediately!"

Unfazed by the alpha's booming command, I simply roll my eyes, pivot on my heel, and begin my retreat.

"I don't know why she's still breathing," Vessa, the pack slut, complains loudly as I walk past her table. "She's a cursed freak. She should have been fed to the rogue wolves years ago."

I willfully ignore her obnoxious voice, keeping my chin held high as I near the grand exit of the hall.

"What is going on in here?" a familiar, deep voice cuts through the ambient noise.

I pause near the stone archway. A fleeting warmth blossoms in my chest. My handsome older brother, Ronan, enters the hall. Next to him walks Torin, the beta's son.

For a brief second, Torin's eyes lock onto mine. A sudden, hidden pain flashes in his gaze, an intense emotion I can't quite decipher, before his expression turns cold and hard once again, masking whatever he just felt.

Cleo seizes the moment. She runs toward the doorway, whining dramatically and pointing a manicured finger at me. "Ronan! Look what the Ruinface did to me! She attacked me unprovoked!"

Ronan’s gaze shifts from Cleo's ruined dress to meet mine. I wait for it—for the protective warmth he used to possess when we were kids, the big brother who would shield me from the world. Instead, he only glares at me with hardened resentment. Disgust radiates from his posture.

A sharp, suffocating ache pierces my chest. A vivid montage of our childhood laughter flashes through my mind—playing in the woods, the endless games of catch, the unbreakable sibling bond we once shared. He was once the best big brother to me.

I swallow the heavy lump of grief forming in my throat. I banish the fond memories away. There is no going back to the way things were. I turn my back on the dining hall and continue my retreat up the dark, creaking stairs to my attic room, knowing he now only hates me and blames me for our mother's death.