I'm the lowest-ranking wolf in existence, so low that you can't even find me in books. My entire existence doesn't make sense to even me. I'm lower than an omega. As I said before, I can't be found in any of the books that explain wolf history, my history—the kind of stuff they made us learn in school. And yet, I'm different. Not in a good way. I don't have a wolf, no voice in my head, and no bone-cracking shift when I turned sixteen.
I did get claws and speed, although not as fast as an actual wolf. I have a sensitive nose, too, and could be considered stronger than normal humans. I can heal faster, but much slower than a wolf.
My entire existence felt pathetic. Both my parents are werewolves, but rumors spread that my mom had an affair with a human and got pregnant with me. My father was mad, pissed even, but he couldn't leave his mate. I was another story. I wasn't his, they said. I think deep down my father knows I'm his daughter. But he listens to the rumors, too—he's too much of a coward to accept a dysfunctional daughter. By the time I turned sixteen, I had endured emotional and physical abuse so severe that when I still couldn't shift, they labeled me completely useless.
I already smelled like a weird human, which didn't quite fit in, and now everyone was convinced that I was one.
I was kicked out at sixteen and had to take care of myself. I can't even call myself a rogue, because they're strong, and most live in their wolf forms. And, just in case you forgot, I don't have one.
I found myself homeless at sixteen with no survival skills or wolf to protect me. So, I made the smart decision: I went to live with the humans since I was already labeled one.
My journey was hell. It seemed that even nature was trying to kill me. I ate poison berries, fell into a hole that took me a whole day (24 freaking hours) to crawl out of, and was bitten by something when I took a shower in the lake.
I just wanted to give up, but I couldn't. I was badass—well, at least I felt badass after surviving what felt like decades in that hellhole of a forest. But the Moon Goddess wasn't done messing with me. Of course, I was attacked by a rogue who almost took my hand and broke my leg before shifting into his human form and trying to rape me.
Luckily, before he could get to that, the sadistic fuck decided to reveal just how much of a sadistic fuck he really was by stomping on my already broken leg. The pain alone from his vicious steps was enough to drive anyone mad. That's when I lost it. As if I wasn't already messed up enough.
Before you start to think I shifted, I didn't. But I did kill that bastard.
My claws came out, and I rid the world of his disgusting balls that kept dangling in front of my face. He fell to his knees, and I crawled my bruised, broken, tired body onto his and ripped his throat out. I kept going long after he was dead. Blood was everywhere. It was my first time killing. I'd never hunted before. I'd never spilled blood before. After all, I'd never really had to.
When his nasty blood dried on my skin, I just sat there, crying in disgust. How could they leave me? How could they abandon me? They didn't even have to love me, but they had to keep me safe. I'm not safe.