I drain the last of my bourbon, the fire of it sliding down into the pit of my stomach, where dread already smolders. Then I set the glass down harder than I mean to, earning a sharp glance from Grandfather Charles. I don’t return it.
Instead, I rise to my feet, nodding once at Elias. “I’ll leave at first light. I won't be returning to Girdwood until I've found her.”
A hush falls over the table, the weight of my words sinking in. The elders exchange looks, but no one stops me. Because they all know the truth—until I find her, none of us can rest.
And neither can I.
Chapter 2 - Willow
Bare feet hit the ground, cracking twigs, crushing dry leaves with every step, the tips of my toes bruised and scorching hot as if I've been at this for hours.
My heart pounds with adrenaline coursing through my veins, allowing me to bask in the liberating feeling of running freely. I've often dreamt of this moment, fantasized about escaping, as if I have the freedom to be so optimistic.
Running through the woods now, I'm aware that this is probably just another dream. I've long given up hope that my feet could ever tread the earth so freely, my ankles metaphorically shackled to the small village in Seward.
That's not where I'm running in my dream, the lean pine trees richer than those in the Seward forest, and missing the frosted tips on the swaying branches from the winter snowfall in Alaska.
I'm racing through a different place, a different timeline, a parallel reality in which I'm free enough to feel my face lift in a smile that curls my lips.
I lift my eyes toward the sun just as a dark cloud steals the warm light, springing out of nowhere and stopping me in my tracks. My vision narrows as my eyes flit around, carefully calculating, until a dark whiff of smoke bellows out from behind a nearby tree, knocking me over as a treacherous screech rings out.
My eyes fly open in panic, only to meet the dusty ceiling of the hut, the hanging light softly swaying as if something’s knocked into it. Taking a deep breath, my hand goes to my forehead, and I touch the bead of sweat caught on my brow.
What the hell was that?
What started as a dream had quickly turned into a nightmare and startled me out of sleep just as my alarm rang on the nightstand. Groaning, I pull myself together and shut off the annoying alarm, turning my face into my pillow and letting out an inaudible scream, too afraid to make any real sound that might garner unnecessary attention from anyone who might be walking past my hut.
As a wolfless omega, I need to stay under the radar to protect myself from being the Blood Claw punching bag.
It's that little mission that fills me with determination to start my day without stirring up any trouble, like being late to the pack center, where I have chores to complete. If I'm going to stay out of trouble, I need to be on my best behavior.
My heartbeat finally slows down, allowing me to slip out of bed to start my day. I shake off the unsettling feeling from the nightmare that woke me, not wanting to dwell on haunting visions when my reality is much more dreadful. Perhaps it's why my fingers tremble as I fill my cupped palms with cold water to splash on my face—I'm dreading the day ahead, as I dread every day since I arrived in Seward and became Blood Claw's prisoner.
The little freedom and peace I have between the rounded, stone walls of the hut have been disturbed by the nightmare, leaving me unnerved, my fingers still trembling as I change into a fresh set of cotton clothes and hang my apron over my neck. Frowning, I pause for a moment to observe my hands, my eyes tracing the lines on my palms as if they form a map that will lead me to freedom.
Chuckling bemusedly, I dismiss the thought as quickly as my front door comes crashing in, reminding me that freedom is a luxury I don't have.
“Willow Barker,” a male voice chimes in a condescending tone that churns my insides, “are you ready for your morning?”
“Y-yes, Dax,” I respond timidly as I quickly step out of my bedroom, keeping my eyes lowered to the unpolished floor and Dax's equally unrefined shoes.
“Atta girl,” he chuckles as he grabs my arm with calloused fingers that nearly pluck my joint from the socket. Wincing, I bite my bottom lip to hide the pain of being dragged out of the hut like the prisoner I am.
That's what being in Blood Claw feels like—I'm a worthless slave who made the simple mistake of running away from the pack I was born into, in search of greener pastures. I'd practically signed my soul away when I crossed Blood Claw territory and claimed to be a wolfless omega without a pack to call home.
Blood Claw seized the unique opportunity to turn me into their slave and occasional punching bag, their tongues vile and dipped in disdain.
That was five years ago, and Blood Claw will never allow me to leave. Dax is one of the newly appointed alpha's groupies, and he's been tasked with keeping watch over me, as if my life here is more precious than anyone is willing to let on.
It's just that the alpha and his troop wouldn't want to lose their slave, or the pair of hands that does all the chores for the pack. It's not because my life is valuable, and Dax makes sure to remind me of this as he pulls me toward the pack center, spitting phlegm at my feet.
“Alpha Grant wants to see ya tonight, so make sure ya finish work ‘fore six. Don't be late, yeah?” he warns as he kicks in the back door of the pack center that leads into the laundryroom. Mountains of clothes and linen lie untidily on the floor underneath the tap, waiting for me to wash them by hand.
“Alpha Grant wants to see me? Why?”
Dax deliberately pushes me inside so that I'm stumbling on my feet until I catch myself at the stone basin. I also catch the sinister glint in his eyes as he smirks sadistically at me, highlighting dimples on his cheeks that are far from appealing.
“Don't get too excited, Barker. You're still the runt of the litter. This isn't some special invite or something,” he scoffs sardonically. “I'll bet the alpha just has more work for ya. I'll be here at six, sharp, to get ya.”
