||ON HOLD||
Peyton Diétrich was an outcast.
He was abused and bullied by his packmates, and he fell far off the notch of being a strong, self-assured Royal. He thought no one could ever love him, especially the person he had become after the incide...
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"Duuude! You gotta give Larisa a raise, this shit is delicious!"
I grimaced at the man before me, tomato sauce littering his grinning lips. It was disgusting. You could see pieces of lettuce stuck between his teeth, and you got food on his white T-shirt; stains of grease falling all the way down to his khaki pants in large beads.
How could I be related to this caveman?
"I'd rather shut your mouth and not talk while chewing..." I muttered under my breath, appetite far blown into the wind. How hard was it to pick up the cutleries and not make a mess? The goddamn spinach-stuffed salmon could probably be found in the walls (that, mind you, were at least ten meters away from the table).
Every single family dinner was the same.
My brother threw me a glare from the other side of the table, his pitch-black eyes measuring me with a not-so-subtle threat, "I'd rather spit on your fancy ass–"
He started, pointing at me with a chicken rib in his bare hands like a gun. I mean, if anger issues were a person, it would be him. Fortunately for the sake of basic manners, my dad cut him off.
"Do not talk like that in this household, fucker."
Scratch the basic manners.
And meet my family. We had my brother, Ronan. He was quite the character, though I guess you could find something positive about him if you looked long enough. He was pretty much the perfect cross between our dads. Muscular like Leonel, but short like Ezekiel. He had a really tanned skin tone and dark features, his hair rich brown and eyes almost identical to his royal-blooded father.
He was one hell of a pepper, a standard mold for a young alpha. You couldn't get away from pissing him off, nor was it that hard to begin with. Always ready to pick a fight, and never ready to take responsibility.
Immature, but popular.
Then you had my dads. Ezekiel was the small omega that you could only describe as... irritable. His temper was non-existent, and just like his second son, he was quite vulgar. He was as pale as I was, and we also shared the same glacial eyes. He'd seem brute and hot-headed at first glance, but deep down he was a gentle parent that had fun messing with his kids.
Leonel on the other hand acted somewhat like an adult. He was usually pretty calm and laid-back, though Ronan was a special case. That 19-year-old could make anyone's blood pressure skyrocket.
My parents looked like complete contraries, but for some reason, they fit better than any other puzzle. Both of their features were as dark as the night, but Leonel was like a boiling hot storm of sand, and Ezekiel like a chilly mountaintop. Personality-wise they often clashed together, though it never broke them. They were the strongest people I had ever seen.
