Chapter 1
River
17 Years old
“Stupid cunt.” The scorn slashes through me an instant before something slams into my back, pitching me forward as I lose balance. Pain flares as my knees crash against the cold floor. The laughter that erupts around me is sharp and shrill, like fingernails on a chalkboard.
I bite down on the inside of my cheek, forcing the sting of my tears back. I will not give them the prvilege of seeing me cry. Not again.
“Worthless,” Jenna crouches beside me, her scent sickly sweet and choking. Her fists knot in my hair and yank my head back until my neck screams. I clench my jaw, my nails digging into my palms as she hisses into my ear. “What makes you think any alpha would ever want you? The best thing you could dois go home and slit those wrists.’’ Her smile cuts wider as she leans closer, her breath hot against my skin. “Just go deeper than those cuts on your thighs; that would do the trick. Then the world would be rid of your pathetic soul.”
My stomach lurches. For a moment I swear she can see the scars I’ve worked so hard to hide; the shame I keep buried deep inside of me. My pulse hammers, not from her words—I’ve heard worse—but from the way a part of me believes her.
Her smile turns sinister as she gives one final jab. One that hurts the worst of all. “Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to console your brother.”
My heart stops beating. How dare she? My sweet brother.
“What’s going on here?” Mrs. Krandall's scratchy voice echoes down the hall, a lifeline too late.
“River fell, Mrs. Krandall. I was just helping her up.” Jenna’s voice drips with innocence. Then lower, for me alone, her nails still biting at my scalp. “Say anything different and I’ll make you pay later. It’s not like anyone would believe you over me.”
“River!” My dad’s voice calling my name pulls me from my momentary nightmare. The one I can’t stop reliving, even though I tried. School sucks. The fucking omegas there taint the institution. I can’t wait to be free of it one day.
“River,” my father’s voice bellows again from the living room, accompanied by the thudding sound of the door slamming shut. The force is so powerful I can feel the house shake. “Where are you, girl?” Anger mixed with annoyance resonates in each word he speaks.
My body trembles as I hastily dry off. I’d finished my household chores early, and had stolen a moment of solitude to shower, something I’m regretting now that my father has apparently returned earlier than expected. It’s Saturday evening, and normally he doesn’t come home until the bar closes.
“Where are you!” he screams again, his alpha dominance radiating through the home, pressing on my chest until my knees want to buckle, every nerve screaming at me to drop my gaze. His putrid scent of gas and brimstone engulfs me, choking me with the hatred held within it. “Answer me, bitch.” His harsh words cut through me, and even though I’m used to hearing them, they still hurt deeply.
I just need to graduate, and then I’m out of here before I turn eighteen. Before I succumb to my first heat.
“Coming, Dad,” I shout, hoping he doesn’t try to come and check on me, or worse, beat me for failing to respond as quickly as he’d like. “Why couldn’t I be blessed with one afternoon to enjoy myself without his abuse?” I mumble under my breath. As much as I want to crawl into the tiny makeshift nest in my closet with my few stuffies, it would only make things worse.
I hate that I didn’t bring any clothes into the bathroom with me. A stupid error on my part, but I wasn’t expecting him home until later. At that point, I planned to have his dinner waiting for him and to be tucked safely away in my room, far from his eyes, content in my makeshift nest. The only time I feel any hint of security is when my brother, Storm, is here. He’s the safety barrier between me and my father, and I’m dreading the day he won’t be here, and I’m left alone with the monster.
I pick up the clothes I was wearing before showering with a grimace and put them back on, hating every second of it.
“I ain’t got all day, girl. Get your ass out here now!”
“Yes, sir!” I shout, grasping the doorknob, steeling my nerves to deal with what I’m about to walk into as I fight the urge to whine.
There’s no false sense of reality here. My father isn’t a loving man. He’s cold, manipulative, and abusive. It’s the only way I’ve ever known him to be. Such a contrast to myself and Storm. I never knew my mother; she died giving birth to me. The onlything she left in this world was her light, seeded deeply within me and my brother. At least that’s where I think it comes from. The only thing I know about her is what Storm tells me. The little pieces he can remember. I’m jealous that he has those memories where I have none.
I wish Storm were here now! But at the same time, I’m glad he’s not. If he were, he’d jump in between me and my father and try to be a buffer as always. Protecting me is second nature to him, and one day I’m afraid it will cost him everything.
Muffled curses erupt from the other room, each word sharp and venomous. They always are. That’s the only language my father seems to know—anger as conversation, cruelty as affection. At least to me and Storm, anyway. But at the bar or to the men at the club where he gambles, I’m sure he’s someone totally different.
The sound of drawers being yanked open and slammed shut repeatedly follows, accompanied by the frantic rustling of papers and the crashing of something heavy hitting the floor. I know that sound. It’s always the same when he’s here. He’s nothing more than a violent chaos that tears through our fragile sanctuary, leaving destruction in its wake.
It's always the same with my father. I shouldn’t expect that today would be any different. Why would it be?
This home that, from all the stories I’ve been told, my mother loved, means nothing to him. She wanted to grow old here. Watch her children become adults and find packs. See her grandchildren visit. My mother wanted to live and die here, in her old age, alongside my father.
I wonder what she would think of him now? If that would still be her dream? Is she rolling over in her grave at the man he has become? Or were we wrong? Are Storm's memories somehow tainted? Molded to make the past seem better than the future?
My heart pounding, I open the door, slowly making my way down the hallway toward him.
“Get it together, River. Just make an appearance. Let him bitch at you about whatever has him pissed off, then get the hell out of there as quick as you can,” I mumble to myself, building up the courage to do what I know I need to.
