Chapter 1 - Cecelia
I sigh as I lift another white sheet from the basket, whipping it out to straighten the creases before flinging it over the line. As I’m about to secure it on the rod with a wooden peg, I notice a faint, yellow stain in the corner in the shape of a sunflower.
Absentmindedly, the tip of my index finger skims the outline of the stain, tracing the shape of a flower meant to symbolize hope and new beginnings. For a brief moment, I imagine that I can find that hope for myself, even if I’m doing the most monotonous task known to the Lunaris Pack.
Another heavy sigh escapes my lips, a faint smile lifting the corners as I shake my head at my unfathomable ability to see the bright side of things.
Besides, the stain probably points to another werewolf’s busy night before they threw the sheet in the communal laundry basket to wash away the evidence of a passionate night with another.
It’s not like that’s something I’d want for myself.
Ever again. Opening my legs for a male werewolf, only to be dismissed or ridiculed for the act, isn’t at the top of my to-do list. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt ripped off my body as if I didn’t even have enough honor to remain decent.
As an omega, I’m bound to the lowest rank in the hierarchy that dictates the benefits I’m permitted to enjoy, of which there are very few.
I’m not even allowed to question my low standing in the pack.
I just have to accept it and pretend that I enjoy being a domesticated she-wolf who does the communal laundry.
Even though no one is watching now as I pick up another damp sheet from the basket, I plaster a fake smile on my face, the way I would in front of the other members of the pack.
It’s something I have to do to stay out of trouble.
She-wolves can be mean, and they’ve never failed to remind me that I’m supposed to smile and be grateful that I’m still alive with a roof over my head.
It’s more than any half-breed is deserving of, and they’ll never stop reminding me that I have to earn my right to live with every sheet and item of clothing I have to wash with my own hands.
It’s as if they purposely soil their socks just to make my job harder than it already is, the dirt as impossible to scrub away as it is to get the stain off my name.
“Cecelia!” a cheery voice jolts me out of my routine daze, and I turn my head in the direction of a hummingbird with the only face I find pleasant in Nightmist.
“Donna!” I chirp back, my smile quickly turning from forced to genuine as my best friend skips over with free, light steps, like a fairy floating forward.
Her sparkling brown eyes catch the April sunlight and twinkle with her broad smile.
Even her hair catches the sun, the crown of her head glowing with traces of red.
Her warm presence is what truly sparks my hope, my ease, my comfort during the harshest times, and I throw the sheet back into the basket to free my arms for her delightful embrace.
“What are you doing here?” I ask when I pull back, our arms still tangled from the hug, neither of us wanting to let go. “I thought you had classes…”
Donna giggles lightly. “I have the day off, and I thought we could spend it together.”
“Well, I don’t have the luxury of an off-day,” I also giggle in response, but my tongue is laced with the contempt I feel.
Unlike Donna, I’m not allowed to attend the local college, even if those my age fought for their rights to mingle with the humans while keeping their identity as werewolves hidden.
The uprising that happened a few years ago stemmed from the werewolves’ drive to achieve more in their lives than just exist within the confines of a pack.
There was a need to live a more fulfilled life with true purpose, and they demanded that they be allowed outside the restrictions of the Nightmist border.
The freedom they fought for was something a hybrid could never enjoy, and that’s why I’m treated more like a slave than one of them.
As a hybrid, I can’t be considered trustworthy enough not to reveal my identity to the humans and get our supernatural world discovered.
“Oh, come on, Cece!” Donna insists as she grabs my arm when I’m about to go back to my task. “You can slip away for a little while. No one’s gonna care.”
“Trust me, Agatha is gonna care,” I chuckle dryly, rolling my eyes at the thought of the pack center’s manager, who’ll use any opportunity to start a smear campaign against me.
One that the elders will probably lap up, because they have nothing better to do than hang onto their authority as if it’s slipping through their fingers.
The uprising, when the younger wolves voted in favor of attending college classes like normal youth, was already enough to shake the foundation that had been standing firm for decades, and the elders seemed troubled by the cracks left behind.
As the only hybrid in the pack, I’m the easiest target they have, like a punching bag that never tires from all the blows I receive.
In some ways, the act of caring what Agatha thinks is calculated, just so I don't get into any trouble.
The last thing I need is to find myself under scrutiny for another round of punches if they discover I didn’t hang up all of today’s washing.
“That old lady is on the brink of becoming blind!” Donna squeaks, waving a dismissive hand through the air, even as she helps me hang the rest of the washing on the line.
She might vocalize her defiance, but even she knows better than to make a stand on her own.
Her peers were only able to get a pass to go to college because they stood together. None of them will stand to defend me.
I’m their punching bag, too, when they need to let off some steam.
“Then why are you helping me?”
“Because”—Donna blows out a breath through puckered lips—“I’m clearing your conscience so you can enjoy the beach with me. I know you won’t do that unless you’ve done your chores.”
“Donna…!” I wail disgruntledly. “I’m serving lunch today.”
“So are three other wolves, Cece,” Donna insists with a pout, but she catches my frustrated sigh and relents, “Okay, we’ll be back before lunchtime. I promise. I don’t want you getting into any trouble because of me.”
“Thanks,” I say as we continue to hang the laundry. When we’re done, Donna picks up the basket, and we both make our way to the laundry room, where I remove my apron and hang it behind the door.
“I should probably go inside and check that I’m not needed,” I say, pointing to the main pack center.
Donna grabs my wrist, shaking her head firmly. “And risk you being caught up with some other chore that isn’t in your job description? Not a chance! You’re leaving now.”
As Donna pulls me out of the laundry room and redirects us toward the forest, where a gathering of trees separates the village from the harbor, I giggle and allow myself a moment to breathe.
Not as rigid as I usually am since Donna is around, I follow her lead as she transforms into wolf form at the ingress of the woods just behind the pack center.
My shift is more pathetic and ungraceful than hers, my bones cracking with audible squeaks as if my gears aren’t lubricated enough.
The transformation is painful, too, the distending of my limbs forcing me to ride out the unforgiving torture with a mild squeal that falls from my wolf muzzle, my furry face contorting in anguish.
Donna knows the drill by now and waits for me with patience I’ve never experienced from anyone else.
Even though I’m riddled with torment, I’m able to whimper my appreciation before giving her a curt nod to let her know that I’m ready to make the run toward the beach.
The only true freedom I taste is when I’m running in wolf form, even if my bulkier, smaller body makes it difficult to run as fluidly as Donna does in her agile wolf form.
While the crisp air blows through our fur, and the tiny wisps of saltwater splatter across our faces from the harbor, I try to keep up with Donna.
I envy my best friend, but not in a savage way, and not because she has a better body than I do. She’s never made me feel any different, and I’m grateful that she accepts me for who I am.
But she’s freer than I am, and that’s the part I can’t overlook about our differences. Where she’s free-spirited, I’m more reserved. I have my rank to blame for the way I am and how the pack sees the Morales family name as a stain on their squeaky-clean pack honor.
I’m considered an dishonorable member of werewolf society because my mother was a human woman.
When I’m faced with the pack’s bitter contempt, I mentally chastise my deceased werewolf father for ever falling in love with an ordinary human.
The product of true love was a desolate hybrid subjected to the brutalities of a wolf pack that could never accept her.
The only thing preventing me from being exiled is a pack law that dictates that no Lunaris Pack member will be cast out unless caught committing treason.
That’s the only thing that keeps a roof over my head—being the daughter of a werewolf.
But that’s how my father died; he was accused of committing a crime against the Lunaris Pack long after they’d allowed us to stay on Lunaris soil.
It’s the only reason I’m still here, some innate loyalty to a wolf pack that hates me makes me want to clear my father’s name of the crimes he was convicted of, crimes I know he wasn’t guilty of.
But I’ve been struggling with that, since I’m the only hybrid in the pack, a useless omega who’s only good for doing chores.
Donna, on the other hand, enjoys the luxuries of being the great-granddaughter of an ex-alpha of the Lunaris Pack. Her fall from grace was only her grandfather’s inability to win the alpha trials, but it never stopped the Rivera family from enjoying some perks in the pack.