Slave To The Alpha

Her bare feet padded across the hard ground as she ran with all her might. The leaves in the vast forest hindered her sight, but she pushed them aside, desperate to escape. Her eyes were red and swollen, her cheeks puffy from crying nonstop for what felt like an eternity.

"Thief! Catch that thief!" she heard the head guard shout behind her, and the sound of approaching footsteps grew louder, all heading in her direction.

It was unfair-she hadn't done anything. She had been framed, but who would listen to her? She was nothing but a slave in the castle, her status even lower than that of the Omegas. She hadn't committed any crime, yet she felt the sharp sting of injustice pressing down on her. Her body ached from hunger, and her head spun as she was deprived of food all day. She would have been dead by now if the head maid hadn't helped her escape from the dungeon.

She had lived a miserable life from the very beginning. She didn't even know the identity of her parents. All she could remember was the time spent in the orphanage. She was only six when the orphanage was ambushed, and most of the children, including herself, were kidnapped. Some were sold off to places unknown, but she had ended up in the Shadowcrest Pack, the strongest werewolf pack in existence.

She treaded with caution, knowing that even the slightest mistake could cost her life. The Alpha of the Shadowcrest Pack was said to be the strongest Lycan alive, rumored to come from an ancient werewolf bloodline. She had heard of how he ruthlessly took lives-he was even called the devil by those who feared him.

She spotted a small hole in the ground, covered by a tangle of leaves. She was sure she could fit inside. Without hesitation, she jumped in, quickly covering herself with the leaves. She pressed her palms to her mouth to quiet her breathing, hoping the guards wouldn't hear her.

"Where did that filthy rat go?" she heard the head guard yell. Her heart raced even faster.

"She shouldn't have gone too far, sir. She's a human, after all," another guard said.

"Search the perimeter. She's wanted dead or alive," the head guard barked. The guards quickly scatt imb ered, scouring the forest for her.

She huddled in the small hole for more than an hour, trembling with fear. She knew there was no escape. Sooner or later, they would find her, and when they did, the punishment for the alleged crime would be brutal-dragged to the gallows, where her head would be severed from her body. She didn't want to die-not like this. She was only 21. Her life couldn't end in such a cruel and unjust way. If only they would listen to her, but it was her word against that of a woman from higher society. Who would believe her?

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, she felt the coast was clear. She cautiously emerged from her hiding place, her body sore and bruised. Her feet, raw and bleeding from running barefoot, ached with every step. She had no shoes, no protection, just the tattered remnants of the clothes they had given her.

She moved slowly through the dense forest, searching for a way out, a means of escape. 

But then her feet suddenly halted, and her heart skipped a beat when she heard footsteps approaching. She quickly darted behind a large tree, covering her mouth with both hands to suppress the sound of her breathing. The footsteps grew louder, drawing nearer. This was it-she would be caught, and her life would end right here.

She heard the person move closer, and just when she thought she was done for, she heard the footsteps fade. Her heart raced as relief washed over her. But her exhaustion soon caught up with her, and tears began to flow again. What was the point? Could she really hide forever?

She sighed, tired and defeated, and began to emerge from her hiding place. But just as she stepped out from behind the tree, her head collided with something hard. Her eyes widened in panic, and she quickly turned to run, but strong hands gripped her tightly, yanking her back and slamming her against the tree. Cold sweat broke out on her skin as she felt a pressure around her neck. His fingers tightened, and she gasped for breath.

Her heart raced in fear. She had thought it was the head guard, but when she looked up, she saw a man with a mask-tall, lean, yet with a broad chest. The mask left his eyes exposed, and she found herself caught in the depths of his ethereal gray gaze. It was rare to find someone with eyes like hers. His stark red hair was tousled as though he had run his fingers through it repeatedly, giving him a wild yet controlled appearance. 

Could this be the one? Was he the one who would end her misery-filled life?

"You really have some nerve, little girl," he said, his voice calm but menacing. She could tell that this situation was far from calm. His eyes raked over her body as if trying to read her soul, and she instinctively tried to break free from his hold. 

He exuded an overwhelming darkness, and she knew that if she wasn't careful, he could drag her into a place much worse than the one she had escaped from.

She was exhausted-exhausted from running, exhausted from the constant fear, and tired of explaining herself. Why should she keep trying when she knew no one would listen?

"I'm not a little girl," she said, glaring up at him, trying to summon what little defiance she had left. She was sure he was one of them-one of the heartless werewolves who killed humans as if they were nothing. He would kill her too, and she had no doubt about it.

His deep chuckle only made her shrink back further. Who was this man? Why did he seem so different from the others?

He finally released her neck, his fingers slipping away as he took a step back to assess her. His eyes lingered on her, as if drinking in her appearance.

"Glare at me one more time, and these gorgeous orbs will be the last thing you see," he said calmly, his voice laced with a dangerous threat. She wasn't foolish enough to miss the warning in his tone. He wasn't joking. She quickly lowered her eyes, a chill running down her spine as goosebumps rose on her skin.