A Brutal Awakening

TAMSIN'S POV

The harsh, bellowing sound of Declan shouting my name wrenches me from an agonizing, fitful sleep.

"Tamsin! Tamsin!"

The yell rattles my skull, piercing through the thin wooden floorboards of the attic. My eyelids peel open in sheer panic as my gaze darts to the digital clock resting on the cracked nightstand. The red numbers glare back at me in the dim morning light, revealing it is already past eight in the morning. Terror surges through my veins, instantly turning my blood to ice. I slept straight through my five-thirty alarm. It is a fatal mistake in this house. My battered body simply could not recover quickly enough from the vicious beating my father delivered the previous night. Every muscle screams in protest as I force myself upright.

Shivering in the freezing attic air, I forgo any thought of a warm shower. I cannot afford to lose another second. I hastily drag an oversized, faded hoodie over my bruised limbs and fresh cuts to ensure my wounds remain hidden from the pack. The rough fabric scrapes against the raw skin of my arms, but I grit my teeth and ignore the sting. I shove my feet into a pair of worn sneakers, ignoring the throbbing pain in my fractured ribs.

I sprint down the narrow stairs as fast as my stiff joints allow. My breath comes in short, ragged gasps. The kitchen is just around the corner. I think I can make it without drawing attention. But right as I reach the bottom step, a heavy leather boot shoots out from the shadows and catches my ankle.

I trip. I crash violently against the hard floorboards, sliding across the polished wood. The impact rattles my skull and sends blinding throbs through my temples. A pathetic, breathy groan escapes my lips. I taste the sharp tang of copper on my tongue. Towering over me is my older brother, Declan. His eyes narrow with a familiar, cruel smirk, tracing the fresh bruise blooming on the side of my face. He relishes my misery, his chest puffing out with arrogant pride.

"Serves you right, bitch. You should watch where you are going. Dad will not be happy when he finds out you were late making breakfast again. You should have had breakfast made and on the table an hour ago. Everyone is down there waiting. They are all starving, and if you do not hurry up, Dad will be even more pissed that you made everyone run late. Now get up, bitch, and make something quick."

Declan does not wait for me to process his commands. Before I can push myself up off the floor, his fingers wind tightly into the tangled mess of my hair. He violently wrenches my head back, forcing a choked gasp from my throat. He hauls me to my feet. His large palm connects across my cheek in a stinging slap that leaves my ears ringing with a high-pitched whine. The sheer force of the blow sends me staggering backward until my shoulder blades hit the hallway wall.

Declan laughs at my helplessness, the sound echoing harshly in the corridor. He wipes his hand on his jeans as if touching me disgusted him.

"Oh, by the way. Once you have done that, you will need to scrub the packhouse until it is spotless. Every single inch needs to gleam. Dad has an extremely important Alpha coming for lunch tomorrow."

He turns his back on me and saunters away into the living quarters, whistling a cheerful tune.

Fighting back tears, I press a trembling hand against my burning cheek. I force my aching body upright and limp into the trashed kitchen to begin cooking for the pack members. The counters are a disaster zone of spilled milk, breadcrumbs, and grease from the late-night snacks the pack enjoyed while I was bleeding in the attic. I pull eggs and thick slabs of bacon from the industrial refrigerator. I throw the meat onto the large cast-iron skillet, letting the sizzling grease pop against my wrists. I work methodically, cracking dozens of eggs into a massive bowl and whisking them until my shoulder burns.

My name is Tamsin Reed. I am the biological daughter of Alpha Gareth of the Twilight Lake Pack. To the outside world, that title might sound prestigious, yet my reality is that of a reviled slave and household punching bag. Tomorrow is my eighteenth birthday. For any normal werewolf, it is a joyous milestone, the day when wolves finally shift and meet their inner beasts. For me, it is just another day of dread. My own shift has been severely delayed because relentless, unchecked abuse has withered my strength down to that of a frail Omega. I can barely summon the energy to heal my broken bones, let alone bring forth a massive wolf.

Ever since my mother was slaughtered by a rogue eleven years ago while shielding my life, my family has systematically destroyed every remnant of warmth in me. She was Luna Marissa Reed, the only person who ever looked at me with love. When she died, my father’s heart turned to stone, and he directed all his rage at the little girl who survived in her place. They have extinguished even the quiet hope of finding a fated mate who might love and protect me. I used to dream of a gentle, handsome mate who would rescue me from this hell. Now, I know better. No Alpha would want a broken, scarred mate, and my father would likely kill or sell me before I ever got the chance to find out.

I finish cooking the massive breakfast and carry the heavy platters into the dining room, keeping my head bowed to avoid eye contact with the glaring pack members. I retreat to the kitchen, scrubbing the grease from the counters and sweeping the floors. I ensure the kitchen is immaculate, the stainless steel appliances reflecting the harsh overhead lights.

Grabbing a single, bruised apple from the fruit bowl, I sprint out the back door and head to school. I pull my oversized hoodie up, wrapping it tight around my head to shield my face and neck. The soft fabric does little to hide the massive purple bruise forming on my cheekbone, made worse by Declan’s heavy hand this morning.

The school hallways provide absolutely no refuge from my torment. I walk down the crowded corridors with my shoulders hunched, trying to make myself invisible. Venomous whispers follow my every step, echoing from the open locker doors.

"Bitch."

"Worthless slave."

"Ugly waste of space."

I ignore the taunts, rushing into my classroom and taking my designated seat in the far back corner near the window. I spend the entire day staring at my notebooks, praying for the hours to pass quickly. The second the final school bell echoes through the PA system, I grab my backpack and sprint back to the packhouse without a single pause. I do not have time to rest.

I spend hours scouring every guest room and common hall in preparation for tomorrow's visiting Alpha. I wipe down the baseboards until my knuckles bleed. I polish the silver decorations lining the hallway. I vacuum the heavy carpets on the second floor, the loud drone of the machine masking my quiet whimpers of pain. My ribs ache with every forward motion. By the time I finish, the sun has dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the packhouse. I turn my attention back to the kitchen to prepare the evening dinner, keeping the meal simple so I can focus on prepping the complicated lunch menu for tomorrow.

The pack eats, leaves their dirty dishes on the table, and scatters to their evening activities. I clear the plates, load the industrial dishwashers, and wipe the dining table until the wood gleams.

Just as I finish vacuuming the very last corridor on the first floor, my father’s commanding roar shakes the wooden rafters, freezing the blood in my veins.

"Tamsin! Bitch, get in here."

A paralyzing chill grips my spine. My stomach plummets to the floor. I switch off the vacuum cleaner and slowly walk toward his study at the end of the hall. My trembling fingers reach out and push open the heavy mahogany door.

The moment I cross the threshold into his office, Alpha Gareth lunges forward. His heavy hand strikes across my face with brutal force. My neck snaps sideways with a sickening pop. I stumble backward, but he does not let me fall. He fists his massive hand into my hair, his grip tight enough to rip the strands from my scalp. He drags my stumbling feet along the expensive Persian rug, pulling me deeper into the study toward his large oak desk. He kicks the office door shut with a loud slam.

"I hear that you were late making breakfast this morning."

Trembling and weeping, I stare at the floor, clutching my stinging cheek. "Yes, sorry, Alpha. I accidentally slept through my alarm."

I hate stuttering in front of him. It only makes me look weaker, fueling his sadistic rage.

Gareth smiles coldly, stepping closer until his massive frame blocks out the light from the desk lamp. "Well, you know this means you get a punishment, do you not? Failure always demands correction."

Tears spill over my eyelashes and streak down my bruised cheeks. "Please, Alpha. Please. I do not know if I can take another punishment so soon."

He stares down at me, his expression unreadable. Slowly, he raises his hand. His fingers caress my cheek with a deceptive, terrifying gentleness, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. I hold my breath, my heart pounding against my bruised ribs.

The gentleness vanishes in a fraction of a second. He draws his arm back and drives three savage punches deep into my stomach.

The air violently explodes from my lungs. I collapse to the floor, gasping for breath, my vision swimming with black spots. Before I can even curl into a protective ball, Alpha Gareth circles me. He draws his leg back and drives his steel-toed kicks directly into my ribs. Once. Twice. On the third kick, the sickening crack of breaking bone echoes through the quiet room. Fresh fractures splinter directly over yesterday's unhealed breaks, tearing through the fragile tissue.

A silent scream tears at my throat. I curl into a tight ball on the floor, wrapping my arms around my shattered torso. For ten relentless minutes, he assaults my defenseless form. He kicks my spine, my thighs, my stomach. Every strike sends a fresh wave of blinding, white-hot pain shooting through my nervous system. I squeeze my eyes shut, praying to the Moon Goddess for unconsciousness to claim me.

Then, he abruptly stops. The sudden silence in the room is deafening, save for my wet, ragged gasps. Alpha Gareth calmly steps over my bleeding body. He adjusts his crisp shirt cuffs, smoothing out the wrinkles, and sits back in his leather chair behind the desk. He picks up a pen and opens a folder to review pack paperwork, acting as if he did not just beat his own daughter half to death.

"Get your sorry body off my floor and get out."

His voice is devoid of any emotion. It is a cold, calculated dismissal.

Dragging myself up with ragged sobs, I press my palms against the rug and force my shaking legs to support my weight. I do not look back at him. I hobble out of the study, the heavy mahogany door clicking shut behind me.

I limp up the main staircase, gripping the banister so tightly my knuckles turn white. I make my way to the narrow attic stairs, ascending into the freezing darkness of my bare room. Shaking uncontrollably, I step into my tiny bathroom. I pull out my worn first-aid kit from beneath the sink. My fingers are slick with my own blood as I peel off my oversized hoodie. I tightly wrap compression bandages around my shattered ribs, pulling the fabric taut to keep the broken bones from shifting.

I crawl onto my lumpy mattress and pull my thin, frayed blanket over my shoulders. I lie in the dark, shivering in the cold air, dreading the impending arrival of the visiting Alpha on my eighteenth birthday tomorrow. The overwhelming agony finally consumes my senses, pulling me down into a dark, heavy silence.