~~{CHAPTER 1}~~
“Worthless mutt! Watch what you’re doing!”
A heavy boot slammed into Aurora’s ribs, sending her sprawling across the stone floor of the great hall. Pain exploded through her side as broken plates clattered around her, food splattering her threadbare dress. She curled inward, arms protecting her head, but the kicks kept coming.
“Pathetic. Can’t even serve a simple meal without ruining it.” The warrior’s voice dripped with disgust. Laughter rippled from the long tables where the rest of the pack feasted.
Aurora bit back a whimper, fingers scraping at the mess. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words automatic, worn smooth from years of use. She pushed herself up, ignoring the sharp sting in her side, and reached for the largest shards.
Another kick flipped her onto her back. This time it was Beta Harlan, his lip curled. “Look at her. Eyes on the floor where they belong, omega. You’re lucky we let you breathe the same air.”
She kept her gaze down, as always. Meeting their eyes only made it worse. Blood trickled from a cut on her palm where glass had sliced deep, but she clenched her fist around it. Pain was familiar. Pain meant she was still alive.
“Clean it up faster,” a female voice snapped. Selena. Her sister’s silk skirts brushed past, close enough for Aurora to smell the lavender oil their mother rubbed into her skin every morning. “The elders are watching. Don’t embarrass the Blackwood name more than you already do.”
Aurora’s throat tightened. She didn’t look up at the golden-haired beauty who shared her blood but none of her shame. Selena’s laughter joined the others as she returned to the head table, where their parents sat like royalty. Alpha Blackwood’s booming voice carried over the hall, praising his eldest daughter’s latest hunt. Mother’s soft murmurs of pride followed.
No one praised the girl scrubbing their filth from the stones.
Aurora worked in silence, her knees aching against the cold floor. Each piece of shattered porcelain felt like judgment. Another failure.
Another reason she deserved the curses they whispered behind her back. The weakest wolf in Crestmoon history. The reason the pack’s luck had soured. The curse that walked on two legs.
Her hands trembled as she piled the mess onto a tray. A shadow fell over her.
“Disgusting,” one of the younger warriors muttered, spitting near her fingers. “Can’t even shift properly. What use is an omega who’s more human than wolf?”
The words cut deeper than the glass. She had tried—Moon Goddess, how she had tried. Nights spent alone in the woods, begging her body to change, to run, to be anything other than this. But the shift never came fully. Just bones that ached and a hollow feeling where power should have lived.
She finished clearing the floor and stood on shaky legs, tray balanced carefully. The hall seemed louder now, every laugh a knife. She kept her head down as she moved toward the kitchens, but a hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.
“Running away so soon?” Selena’s grip was iron beneath velvet. She smiled for the crowd, but her eyes were cold. “Mother wants the silver polished before the King arrives. Try not to tarnish it with your filthy touch.”
Aurora’s heart stuttered. “The King?”
Selena’s smile widened, sharp as a blade. “Yes. King Kael Draven himself is coming for inspection soon but we don't know when. Try not to exist too loudly while he’s here. Wouldn’t want him seeing what a disappointment our family harbors.”
The Lycan King. Aurora had only ever heard stories—stories of a ruler so powerful his aura could drop an entire pack to their knees.
What would he think of a broken omega serving at the edge of his empire?
She nodded quickly, pulling her wrist free. The cut on her palm burned as she clutched the tray tighter and slipped away. The kitchen was a little better. Servants sneered as she passed, but at least they didn’t kick her. She dumped the broken plates and grabbed the silver polish, settling into the corner alcove where she wouldn’t be in anyone’s way.
Hours blurred. Her fingers worked the cloth over fork after fork, the repetitive motion almost soothing. The cut kept reopening, staining the cloth, but she didn’t stop. Stopping meant thinking. Thinking meant remembering the way her father had looked at her on her sixteenth birthday—not with hope, but with something close to hatred.
“You should have never been born,” he had said that night, voice low so the pack wouldn’t hear. “Everything went wrong the day you drew breath.”
She had believed him. Still did.
A strange warmth brushed her skin then, faint as moonlight through clouds. Aurora paused, glancing toward the small window high on the wall.
The moon wasn’t even full yet, but for a second the silver light seemed to reach for her, curling around her aching ribs like a gentle hand. The pain eased. The cut on her palm stopped bleeding.
She blinked hard. Hallucinations now? Another sign of how broken she was.
“Get back to work, girl!” The head cook’s voice cracked like a whip.
Aurora hunched lower, polishing faster. The warmth faded, leaving only the familiar chill. Just her imagination. Like the dreams that came every night—flashes of another life where she stood tall beside a dark-haired man with eyes like storm clouds. Where power flowed through her veins instead of shame. Where someone looked at her not with disgust, but with longing.
Foolish dreams. She was Aurora Blackwood, the cursed omega. Servant. Burden. Nothing more.
By the time the feast ended and the hall emptied, her hands were raw and her body screamed. She slipped out the back entrance with a bucket of scraps, meant for the pigs but usually ending up as her own cold dinner. The night air bit at her skin as she crossed the courtyard. Stars wheeled overhead, and that strange pull tugged at her chest again.
She ignored it.
A group of warriors lounged near the gate, passing a flask. One of them spotted her. “Hey, freak! Come here.”
Her steps faltered. She kept walking, eyes on the ground.
“I said come here.” Rough hands grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. The bucket flew from her grip, scraps spilling across the dirt. “What’s the matter? Too good to greet your betters?”
She shook her head, heart hammering. “No, I—”
A fist connected with her jaw. Stars burst behind her eyes. She tasted blood.
“Pathetic,” the warrior growled. “Can’t even take a hit. No wonder your own family treats you like garbage.”
Aurora curled on the ground, arms over her head, waiting for the next blow. It never felt like enough. No matter how much they hurt her, it never quite matched the emptiness inside.
“Enough.” A new voice cut through the night—Selena again, but softer now, almost concerned for the watchers. “She’s not worth the effort. Father says we need her to be functional for the King’s visit. Let the little omega crawl back to her hole.”
The warriors laughed but backed off. Footsteps retreated.
Aurora lay there for a long moment, tasting dirt and blood. Slowly, she pushed herself up. Her side throbbed. Her face swelled. She gathered the spilled scraps with numb fingers and limped toward the small shed behind the main house that served as her room.
Inside, she sank onto the thin pallet, staring at the sliver of moonlight cutting through the cracks in the wood. Tomorrow will be the same. And the day after. And the day after that.
Unless the King came.
A bitter laugh escaped her cracked lips. As if someone like King Kael Draven would notice her.
As if anyone ever would.
She closed her eyes, the strange warmth returning like a whisper against her skin. For just a second, she let herself imagine what it would feel like to be seen. Really seen.
Then she shoved the thought away.
Dreams were dangerous… And omegas like her didn’t get to have them.
