Accidentally Saving the Alpha Prince

Amelia

For 18 years, I've lived under the torment of Headmistress Crane at the orphanage, but today feels different. Soon, orphans like me will be sold to werewolves, turned into their human pets.

I’ve planned to escape more than once, and each time, Crane’s watch over me has become even stricter.

I carry the slop from the basement out of the orphanage that has been my home for almost eighteen years. I make sure to slump over my bucket and shuffle my feet under Director Crane’s scrutinous supervision.

My punishment is meant to make me suffer not only the physical demand of carrying such heavy buckets up from the basement into the troughs for the pigs but also mental anguish: the disgust of knowing what I’m carrying in each of these endless buckets that I go back and forth to fill and refill.

Blood, skin, teeth, hair, nails, and other body parts, all my responsibility to clean off the basement floor and walls, all of them tortured off my fellow orphans for one reason or another in this prison werewolf society calls a Home for the Forgotten.

But I forget nothing.

I remember every child who has ever bullied me. I remember every punishment laid down by Director Crane. I remember every step and door and window in this suffocating building.

I remember every exit and road that leads anywhere but here.

So I drag the buckets along the courtyard ground, looking for all the world like this most recent punishment is the one that finally broke my spirit. I need this final plan to work because if I’m still here in a few days when I turn eighteen, I will be subjected to the disgusting practice werewolves call Mercy, where suitable eighteen-year-old humans are selected by werewolves to be their pets.

That’s all this orphanage is: a grounds for grooming human children into eventual “pets”.

In this world ruled by werewolves, we have no say in who our masters become. We are merely commodities awaiting sale, knowing that most pets end up as nothing more than corpses to be disposed of.

I’ve played my part of hopeless orphan so well that by the next day, during my Showing where Director Crane parades me to be bid on by werewolves, she doesn’t even bind my wrists. She leaves me unbound on the bench outside her office while she negotiates my final contract with the werewolf who won.

Director Crane peeks out at me quickly, smirking smugly at my despondent demeanor full of despair. Then she closes the door for a more private conversation.

And I take off.

As quickly as possible, I make it through the back door, counting on the orphanage’s rigid schedule that dictates everyone should be inside right now. Yet two kids my age bolt upright from the ground as I race through the courtyard. I pray in vain that they’ll pretend not to see me, but these are the director’s favorites – and they gain her favor by helping her control the other orphans.

“Amelia’s escaped!” Zella yells automatically, and my stomach drops. I reroute in their direction, slamming her to the ground and covering her mouth, warning her to stay quiet.

But Julius takes up where she left off, yelling for Director Crane, a satisfied smile on his face. It’s only moments before the director is towering over all three of us.

“Well done, Julius,” she approves, grabbing my arm painfully and hauling me to my feet. “Grab the other children and meet us in the basement.”

When all the Home for the Forgotten children are gathered in a circle around me and the director in the basement, she orders me to strip.

“Never,” I spit. “I will never bow to a traitor against humanity selling her own kind in exchange for the approval of werewolves.”

Director Crane orders Zella and Julius to pin me down and rip my clothes – an order they indulge greedily. The director then whips me with a thin leather strap, one I’m not unfamiliar with. I can tell by the sting that she’s only leaving small cuts that will heal in a day or two.

Which means she still plans to sell me and doesn’t want to lower my value.

I don’t know how much time passes before Director Crane seems to tire and finally lets up. “I encourage anyone who wishes to suffer the same fate as Amelia to try running away,” she threatens.

As the rest of the kids file out of the basement, Director Crane lowers her beautiful face that conceals the horrors within, speaking quietly so only I can hear her.

“I may be limited in how much I can mark you outwardly before your new masters come to collect you on your eighteenth birthday, but let’s see you try to escape in the next few days under the weight of starvation.” She grabs my jaw in her clutch, forcing me to look her in the eye as she hisses. “Attempt this again, and I will send you to the werewolves as a slave.”

That night, Zella and Julius come to find me where I’ve been left to starve. I groan as much at the sight of their presence as from the cramping of my empty stomach.

“Let’s see, what was this?” Zella mocks. “Escape attempt number two-hundred-and-thirty-seven? You really are getting good at failing, aren’t you?”

“Wow,” I answer, “I’m surprised you can count that high.”

“You’re nothing but trash,” Julius adds, ignoring my jab.

“Unlike us,” Zella continues. “In three days, the werewolf VIPs will arrive, and we’ll be selected as their lovers.”

Even in my hunger, I have enough energy to roll my eyes. “You know that’s not true. You’ll be nothing more than pets like the rest of us.”

“Liar!” Zella yells, and to my surprise, she actually starts beating me. I honestly didn’t think she had it in her.

But then Julius joins her, and all I can do is curl up in a protective ball until Director Crane appears and pulls them off me.

“She’s not worth it!” Director Crane admonishes. “The werewolves will be here any minute. Go get yourselves cleaned up for your first round of Showings!”

Zella and Julius glare at me as they leave my room, Director Crane on their heels. “Director Crane,” I call. “Wait, please.”

I’m delighted by the way my dry throat involuntarily cracks, making me sound even weaker.

“I’ve realized my mistake,” I promise. “I won’t try to escape again. Even if I wanted to, I’m too hungry and weak to get anywhere.”

She only arches an eyebrow in my direction.

“Please,” I repeat, “let me help the other kids prepare for the Showing. Some of them are my friends. It would be nice to say goodbye.”

I lower my gaze submissively, allowing my body to go slack in exhaustion.

“Fine,” Director Crane finally snaps. “I suppose someone will need to brush the girls’ hair.”

I stand, following her to the Preparations Room. She leaves me at the door as she heads to welcome the incoming werewolves.

The second she’s out of sight, I sprint for a side exit into the forest.

Honestly, the fact that Director Crane continues to trust my lies after every escape attempt is the most human part about her.

Now that I know Zella and Julius keep an eye on the courtyard when Director Crane is occupied, I’ll have to map out a different route for my next escape attempt. I’ll need a little more time to prepare before I actually leave, but at least I can plan my path while everyone is distracted.

I disappear into the forest to plot the best route from here, so focused on making sure I’m not being followed that I trip over something in my path. I fall to my hands and knees, looking over my shoulder to see it wasn’t a root or a rock I tripped over but a man.

I freeze at the sight of all his blood, the unearthly pallor of his skin, and his gaping wounds. Instinctively, I turn around to help him, amazed by the force of his sharp cheekbones and strong jaw that cut an imposing presence, even splattered in blood.

I wonder if he’s dead, but then his eyelids flutter open. Even in his unfocused haze, his amber irises are breathtaking beneath long, dark eyelashes. It’s like stumbling upon a work of art that has been slashed to pieces.

“Help,” he moans.

“I’m here. I’ll help you,” I promise as I study his injuries, prioritizing the worst wounds first.

“Thank you,” he whispers, then seems to lose consciousness.

Wolves howling in the distance catch my attention, and I turn in the direction of approaching footsteps. This man is probably a human slave who’s being hunted, I realize.

And I wonder if Fate disrupted my last escape attempt to lead me here, to a fellow human who needed to be saved, too.

“Come on,” I urge him, forcing him awake as I quickly pull him to his feet. “Let’s go.”