Before the Scars

TAMSIN'S POV

The jarring buzz of my alarm drags me from a jagged sleep. I awaken with every muscle and joint throbbing in agonizing stiffness. My body serves as a living canvas of the Alpha's merciless discipline. I grimace and carefully push off the thin, lumpy mattress. The broken ribs on my right side scream in protest with every millimeter of movement. I force my legs over the edge of the cot and stagger across the bare wooden floorboards toward the tiny bathroom.

I strip off my blood-stained shirt and step into the freezing attic shower. The hot water pipes do not reach this floor. I am sure the Alpha ordered the hot water disconnected up here on purpose. It is just another daily punishment designed to break my spirit. I stand directly under the icy stream. I grit my teeth so they will not chatter. The frigid water shocks my nervous system. I grab a harsh bar of soap and fiercely scrub the dried blood and crusting grime from my pale skin. The water at my feet runs deep copper before finally turning clear. I tilt my head back and wash the remaining blood out of my matted hair. I turn off the rusted taps, step onto the freezing tiles, and grab a threadbare towel.

I wrap the towel around my waist and walk back into the drafty room. I sit down before my old vanity table. The faded wooden desk is the sole surviving relic granted from my childhood, salvaged from my original bedroom before my life turned into a nightmare. I stare into the spotted mirror. My gaze drops down to my exposed left shoulder. Three jagged, raised scars stretch fiercely across the fragile skin. The deep tissue marks are thick and uneven. I reach up with trembling fingers and trace the raised ridges. The phantom pain flares instantly. My mind pulls back, trapped in the horrific tragedy of my sixth birthday.

That morning had started with pure warmth and light. I bounded down the upstairs hallway and burst into my parents' master bedroom. Sunlight spilled across the thick carpets. I jumped onto their massive plush bed, bouncing the mattress and squealing with uncontrollable laughter.

"Awake! Awake! It is my birthday!" I proclaimed to the room.

My father groaned playfully and rolled over, pulling me into a tight, warm bear hug. "Sweetheart, why are you up so early?"

"Because I am six today!" I yelled, wiggling out of his massive grip.

My father raised an eyebrow, his deep voice rich with paternal affection. "No, that can't be right. You only just had a birthday last year. I could have sworn you are only what? Three?"

"No! Silly Daddy, I am six!" I giggled.

"Nah! Three."

"Yes, six!"

My mother sat up and laughed brightly at the banter between my father and me. "Okay, you two. That is enough. Let's go downstairs and get some breakfast."

We raced out of the bedroom and headed down the sweeping main staircase. The air in the packhouse smelled of rich coffee and frying butter. My eight-year-old brother, Declan, already sat at the long dining table. He shoveled eggs into his mouth. The pack cook turned to me with a wide smile and flipped fresh chocolate chip pancakes onto a ceramic plate. She set four large pancakes in front of me amid the bright morning sunshine. The melted chocolate chips oozed over the edges. I thanked her happily and dug in.

Mum and Dad soon joined us at the table. Once we finished the sweet breakfast, Declan chased me out the back doors. We played tag on the grassy lawn with a few other pack children while the morning passed. I ran until my lungs burned. Eventually, Mum stepped out onto the back porch and waved a hand.

"Time to come in, kids. Tamsin, what would you like to do for your birthday lunch?" Mum asked, leaning against the wooden railing.

I caught my breath and marched up the stairs. "Can we have a picnic in the flower field down by the lake?"

Mum smiled and nodded. "Sure, that shouldn't be a problem." She turned her head as Dad walked out the back doors holding a stack of ledgers. "Honey, are you going to come with us?"

Dad let out a heavy sigh. "Sorry, ladies. I cannot make it."

"But Dad, it is my birthday!" I pouted, crossing my arms over my chest.

Dad stepped forward and rubbed the top of my head. "I know, sweetheart, but I still have important work to do for the territory. Take a couple of perimeter guards with you." He then shifted his gaze to my brother and clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Declan, I think you can stay and help me. It is time you learned pack administration firsthand."

Declan groaned, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "But Dad! I was going to hang out with my friends today."

"Not today. Today you are with me," Dad instructed sternly.

Mum quickly packed a large woven basket full of fresh sandwiches, sliced fruit, and pastries. She pulled our heavy family picnic blanket from the hall cupboard. We met Dad and Declan by the edge of the forest. Mum leaned up and gave Dad a quick kiss, then pressed a kiss to Declan’s forehead.

"Stay alert and be careful out there, both of you," Dad warned softly.

The walk through the lush woods felt magical. I did not spot the guards my father ordered to shadow us, but I felt safe knowing they marched somewhere nearby. Our family’s private flower field sat beside a massive, crystal-clear lake. We had discovered the secluded meadow during a family full moon run. We celebrated all our special occasions right on that shore.

We reached the middle of the field. The breeze blew gently off the water, rustling the tall grass. Mum laid the thick blanket onto the crushed wildflowers. I kicked off my shoes and splashed in the shallow water at the lake's edge.

"Tamsin, dear, lunch is ready," Mum called out.

I sprinted back across the grass and dropped onto the blanket. We ate the delicious sandwiches and drank sweet juice. The afternoon by the lake was fiercely tranquil. Once we finished eating, Mum laid back onto the fabric and closed her eyes. I wandered around the clearing, picking handfuls of unusual, bright red and yellow wildflowers to make her a birthday crown.

The sudden snap of a heavy branch broke the silence.

A low, guttural growl vibrated from the shadows just inside the tree line. I froze in place. The unpicked flowers fell from my hands. I stared into the thick brush. Two blazing red eyes locked onto me. A massive, mangy rogue wolf stepped out of the shadows. Its dark brown fur hung in matted clumps. The horrifying beast reeked of rotting meat and deep decay.

I screamed in sheer terror and bolted toward the blanket.

Before my mother could react, the beast lunged across the grass. It moved with unnatural speed. The monster slammed its heavy paws into my back, driving me deep into the dirt. The weight crushed the air from my lungs. The beast dug its claws into my side, pinning me down. It opened its massive jaws and sank its jagged, yellow fangs deep into my left shoulder.

Agonizing screams tore from my throat. Hot blood spilled down my chest.

An instant later, a sleek light-grey wolf slammed headfirst into the rogue's flank. It was my mother. She struck the beast with ferocious speed, her jaws latching onto its neck. She ripped the monster away from my small body. As the rogue was pulled off, its locked fangs tore my shoulder flesh to literal ribbons.

I collapsed back against the bloody dirt, paralyzed by catastrophic shock and massive blood loss. I tried to sit up to help her, but the searing pain pinned me down. I dragged my gaze across the grass. My mother fought the crazed beast tooth and claw, rolling over the crushed flowers.

A deafening roar shook the earth. An immense black wolf crashed into the clearing. My father had arrived. He charged into the fray and tore the rogue's throat out in seconds. The monster's lifeless body hit the dirt with a heavy thud.

But his victory was utterly hollow.

My father shifted back into his human form, his chest heaving, dripping in rogue blood. He dropped to his knees. My mother lay completely motionless in the center of the crushed wildflowers. Her throat was torn open.

My father raised his bloody muzzle to the sky. He let out a shattered, grief-stricken howl that forever fractured the soul of our pack. Declan ran into the clearing behind him. My brother dropped beside me, gathered my broken body into his arms, and covered my ears to block out Dad's weeping. Dad picked up Mum's lifeless body, and Declan carried me all the way back to the packhouse.

That day completely annihilated my family.

I blink, pulling myself back to the cold attic. Tears trace fresh paths down my cheeks. The systematic abuse against me began promptly on my seventh birthday. Alpha Gareth blamed me for his mate's death. He violently forbade me from ever calling him Dad again. He stripped me of my identity as his daughter, demanding I address him strictly as 'Alpha.' He commanded Declan to treat me as an inferior slave, completely erasing my existence as a sister.

Over the subsequent eleven years, the violence escalated. My birthdays ceased to be celebrations. They became designated anniversaries of terror. Gareth and Declan ensured they carved new permanent scars into my flesh every year to punish me for the Luna they lost.

I shake my head and reach into my worn first-aid kit. I wind fresh tension bandages around my cracked ribs, pulling the fabric tight to stabilize the bone fragments. I rub a dollop of soothing herbal cream over the dark, swelling bruises across my torso and thighs. I pull on a faded shirt, wincing as the fabric brushes my injured back. Catching my pale reflection in the glass one final time, I force a weak smile.

"Happy Birthday," I whisper to myself in the quiet room.

I slip securely out the door and walk silently down the narrow stairs. I enter the massive commercial kitchen long before anyone else in the packhouse awakens. I pull out giant iron skillets and mixing bowls. I cook a massive morning spread for the warriors and pack members. I fry pounds of bacon, scramble dozens of eggs, and stack countless pancakes. The heat from the stove makes my injured ribs throb, but I do not stop moving.

Once the spread is laid out on the buffet tables, I retreat. Standing in the dark shadows of the walk-in pantry, I hold a single paper plate. On it rests a single chocolate chip pancake I secretly kept for myself. I quickly wolf down the sweet cake in the dark. It is my private, stolen birthday ritual. It is the only moment of peace I will get today.

For the remainder of the morning, I work tirelessly. I grab buckets of hot soapy water and heavy scrub brushes. I drop to my knees and scrub the wooden baseboards lining the main hallways. I polish the long banisters until the wood gleams. I dust the crystal lamps and heavy shelves in the formal reception rooms. The packhouse must be immaculate for the visiting Alpha.

Experience has taught me an unforgiving lesson over these brutal years. An Alpha is an unpredictable monster. There is no such thing as a kind leader. My only defense in this miserable existence is to remain invisible. I resolve to finish cooking the elaborate formal lunch, set the table for the intimidating guest, and vanish into the shadows of the attic. I will lock my door and pray to the Moon Goddess that I can avoid any interaction with the visiting Alpha until the stranger finally departs.