Alpha King's Mate (Completed)

Chapter 1

Hi, let me introduce myself. My name is Paris Summers, and I am a werewolf. Before you scoff or dismiss the notion as fantasy, let me assure you that werewolves are indeed real. However, we live among humans, concealing our true nature by blending seamlessly into their midst, particularly in school settings.

I stand at a mere 5"4, my 18th birthday fast approaching on Monday, August 15th. Contrary to popular belief, the prospect of finding my mate—marked by my upcoming birthday—does not elicit excitement, but rather a heavy dose of sarcasm. My appearance is defined by long, dark auburn waves cascading around my shoulders, framing silver eyes that some deem unusual, but which my late parents regarded as beautiful. Despite possessing a physique many envy, I am subjected to cruel taunts of being fat, worthless, and worse, by my own packmates.

I belong to the Moon Light Pack, though my status within it is that of an omega—a designation that brings with it the burden of servitude and relentless bullying. Ironically, I was once the Alpha's daughter, until tragedy struck our pack. A vicious rogue attack claimed the lives of my parents, relegating me to the lowest rung of our pack hierarchy. While I have yet to shift into my wolf form, I maintain a connection with her, known as Amethyst.

Today finds me lying in what could barely be called a bedroom—it resembles more of a cell, its bars laced with silver—a grim reminder of my status. Nursing four broken ribs and a fractured arm, I am a testament to the brutality I endure within my own pack.

Allow me to take you back to the morning's routine, where the seeds of my current predicament were sown.

It's 4 a.m. on Monday, July 25th, 2016.

The incessant beeping of the alarm clock fills the room, met with the resounding smash of its demise—a fate it shares with several others this month. Rising from bed, I don attire as simple as it is functional: a black sports bra, matching skinny jeans, and well-worn converse shoes. A quick once-over with a brush tends to my long locks, before I descend downstairs to prepare breakfast for the pack—yet another duty that falls solely on my shoulders.

In the dim light of dawn, I silently set to work, the rhythmic clatter of pans and sizzle of cooking filling the air as I churn out enough food to feed an army. Four hundred pancakes, two for each person, alongside a dizzying array of eggs, sausages, bacon, toast, and waffles. By 8 a.m., the banquet is ready, yet not a word of gratitude is uttered as the pack descends upon the feast.

With a resigned sigh, I begin clearing away the remnants of breakfast, only to notice the absence of our new Alpha, Beta, Gamma, and their entourage. Thirty plates remain untouched, a silent testament to their absence. I dare not confront them directly, but rather silently set aside their meals for later.

Summoning the courage to deliver their breakfast, I find myself met with hostility and disdain—a familiar refrain in my interactions with the pack's leadership. Oblivious to my injuries and struggles, the Alpha's ire is swift and brutal, leaving me battered and broken before retreating to the solitude of my room.

And so, I find myself here, nursing my wounds and steeling myself for whatever fresh torment tomorrow may bring. Such is the plight of an omega—a pawn in the cruel game of werewolf politics.

But despite the darkness that surrounds me, a flicker of hope remains—a glimmer of defiance in the face of adversity. For even in the depths of despair, the light of the moon shines bright, guiding me towards a destiny yet to be revealed.