Alpha King of the Underworld

Julian’s POV

I can feel my powers flaring up inside me again.

Mila’s eyes move over my body and it only makes me crave her when her hazel eyes nearly turn black.

My wolf gasps

It is strange that he seldom do this.

“Mate.”

No way. She is a human, but

My control snaps and I stomp over to the bed and climb over her.

I move onto my knees so I can get rid of her clothes as well. When I pull the jacket she’s wearing open, there is a small area of fabric from her ruined shirt covering her.

One good pull and the ruined fabric comes off, exposing her fully to me.

Days ago...

Mila's POV

“Where is it? I know this isn’t everything!”

My stepmom has been shouting since the second I walked in and even though I’ve told her multiple times that I’m not hiding any money, she doesn’t believe me.

Of course, that’s not entirely true. I have been hiding money from her. The tips I’ve made during my time working has been going into a jar hidden in my room. It’s the money I use for school, and I will never hand it over to her. Going to school is the only thing that will help me get out of this place. Even though I’m technically an adult, I don’t have anywhere to go yet. My father set money aside for me to go to college, but not enough to cover housing and food, which is why I still live at home.

Living at home means putting up with this woman and all the venom she spews my way. I’ve kept my mouth shut and taken everything she’s thrown at me, both figuratively and literally, just so I can go to school and not be homeless. I was honestly shocked when she didn’t kick me out after dad’s death. It was clear she had no love for the idea of being a mom, and I can’t blame her since she was only fifteen years older than me when she and my dad met. She is the definition of a gold digger, and even though she tried several times to convince my father to send me away, he never allowed it.

You might think it’s because he couldn’t part with his only daughter, but you would be wrong. See, the reason he got along so well with this woman was because they agreed on one thing. They didn’t want me. Still, I provided the image boost a budding politician's needs. Too bad my father didn’t live long enough to find out he lost the race for governor of our twisted city. Nope, he dropped dead one day and no one could figure out why. The rumors were that his body couldn’t handle the change he was undergoing.

See, a few years ago, a series of scientific research buildings were attacked. In an effort to weaken our country's ability to further in the scientific field, several of our research facilities in various parts of the country were destroyed. What these enemies didn’t expect was that the chemicals from those research facilities had seeped into our water supply and has slowly been manipulating our DNA. Last year was the first report of someone showing a hint of supernatural abilities. Then another and another until suddenly, there were people with abilities popping up all over the place.

My father was one of those people, only the change didn’t agree with him. The power literally ate him alive from the inside out and killed him. I have no doubt that if he had achieved full transformation, he would have used whatever power he was blessed with to hurt others. He was that kind of monster. People with abilities were either feared or envied, and he would have made sure people feared him.

I, on the other hand, have tried hiding my ability for as long as I can. My ability would have me locked up and used until there was nothing left of me. The ability to heal is a gift everyone would want to take advantage of, so I don’t use it…ever.

“Are you listening to me?” My stepmom’s high pitch screech snaps me back into the present and I lower my eyes to the floor.

“Yes. But I’m telling you the truth…” I risk looking up at her.

She’s a beautiful woman, but underneath is a monster.

“…I don’t have anymore.” I finish off my reply, only to feel a sharp pain across my cheek.

It isn’t the first time she’s done this, but this time feels different. A second later, I realized why. Warmth moves down my face and I lift my hand to feel what’s causing the sensation. When I pull my hand back, I see the red blood on my fingers. Startled, I pull my hand back, my heart racing. The vivid red of my blood stains my fingertips, stark against my pale skin.

A dark image flashes into my mind, but I push it away. That is a memory I never want to revisit.

I quickly shake my head, forcing the haunting image away. This isn't the moment to let the past consume me.

I take a deep breath and steady myself.

“You are no longer the vulnerable person you used to be. You are stronger, capable of defining your own worth and creating your own happiness.” I murmur to myself.

That's what my therapist told me last week when I was consulting online.

“See what you made me do? You make me so angry and then I’m forced to hurt you. If you would stop lying to me, then I wouldn’t get so upset.” She says with a huff and crosses her arms over her chest like a pouting child than an aggressor.

I watch her but don’t say a thing. What could I say?

As she stands there, arms crossed over her chest, I can't help but see a glimmer of vulnerability in her eyes. The cycle of hurt runs deep, and perhaps, just perhaps, I can find a way to break it.

“I have some things I need to finish before school tomorrow,” I say and move to walk past her, but she grabs my arm hard.

“We’re not done here.” She hisses at me.

Her hand squeezes tighter and I start to feel a whole new kind of warmth. See, it wasn’t just my dad and me who gained an ability. My stepmom did too, and hers was the ability to burn anything she touched if she wanted…including me.

“There isn’t anything else I can say that will make you believe me.” I point out and I bite back the whimper I want to release from the feeling of my skin burning under her touch.

“I will find that money Mila, and when I do, your punishment will be the worst you’ve ever felt.” She releases my arm and I can see the red of her fire slowly fading away from the palms of her hands. “Get away from me.”

With a sharp twist, she turns on her heels, leaving a whirlwind of frustration in her wake. I stand there, trembling, as the echo of her threat reverberates through my mind.

Once the tension dissipates, a wave of relief washes over me, mingling with the residual fear.

As her figure becomes smaller in the distance, my facade crumbles, and I allow myself to release a silent sob. My arm is throbbing and when I look down, I see an angry red hand shaped mark branded on my skin. It didn’t reach too far into my skin to cause severe damage, but it’s enough to scar and cause incredible pain. It’s just another to add to my collection of marks I already have.

I could have healed myself many times, but I never have. Revealing my ability would be catastrophic; she'd never let me leave this house if she knew. And that's not a life I'm willing to accept.

No way am I letting that happen!

I take in a few shaky breaths before I head for the stairs and jog up to the second floor. My room is the smallest one on this floor and as far away from all the other rooms as it could possibly get.

Out of sight, out of mind, right?

I walk quickly to my room and head straight to my dresser where I keep all the supplies I need to treat the burn. Once I have it all, I set everything on my side table and flip on the lamp. It’s bright enough to let me see my wound, but that’s about it. I carefully set up my supplies and slowly put creams on the burn before wrapping it in special gauze.

Did you know you can’t use just any bandage on burns, otherwise it can cause further pain?

I didn’t, but I learned that lesson the hard way.

Once I’m done, I grab the duffle bag sitting next to my bed and continue to stuff a few things inside. My burn kit being one of them and a few new notebooks and pens for taking notes. I move to grab my phone charger and see a text waiting.

Scott. The sight of the familiar name sends a shiver down my spine, and a chill of anxiety snakes its way through my veins.

It's him again, the relentless pursuer of my peace.

He won’t leave me alone! No one will.

I begged my dad to let me change my number, but he refused, and I have been hounded with messages ever since that day three years ago. The pain from that day has never properly healed thanks to the constant messages I receive reminding me of who I am in this world.

A lier…pathetic…and far worse.

He orchestrated a symphony of deceit, turning everyone against me, his toxic influence lingering even after all these years. He's carved a permanent mark on my psyche, a shadow I can't escape. Why can't he just move on? Why does he persist in haunting my every moment?

I spare myself the torment of reading his message, opting to toss my phone into the bag instead. The only reprieve I can find is in sleep – a temporary sanctuary from the barrage of negativity that life seems to throw my way. With a sigh and a glimmer of hope for a calmer tomorrow, I pull the duffle bag's zipper shut.

Winter semester awaits, promising new beginnings and a chance to escape the relentless ghosts of my past.

The piercing sound of my phone alarm breaks the silence of the morning, jolting me awake from a restless sleep. With a groggy hand, I reach over and fumble to silence the obnoxious noise. The room is dimly lit, casting long shadows on the walls. As the remnants of sleep fade away, a heavy realization settles in my chest—I need to leave before she wakes up.

Reluctantly, I throw off the covers and slide out of bed, trying not to disturb the peacefulness that still lingers in the room. My movements are swift and purposeful as I hastily put on my clothes.

Ten minutes later, I find myself standing at the bus stop, the chilly morning air nipping at my exposed skin. The events of last night replay in my mind like a broken record, haunting every thought. Unable to resist any longer, I unlock my phone and open the text message that had arrived during the night—a message that fills me with a sense of dread and regret. My stomach churns, and I clench my fists, fighting the urge to hurl my phone onto the pavement.

Just as despair threatens to consume me, a loud slam echoes through the air, tearing my attention away from my swirling emotions. I turn towards the source of the commotion. A girl, her voice fractured by sobs, confronts a guy, her tear-streaked face filled with anguish.

"I can't believe you, Julian! How could you do this?" her voice trembles, a mix of anger and hurt.

Julian, seemingly unfazed, lets out an exasperated sigh. He was unmoved by the storm he has stirred. The demeanor exudes a weary detachment. "I've told you countless times, Sarah. We were just a hookup. It doesn't mean we're in a relationship."

Those words, seemingly casual, strike like a bolt of lightning. My own memories, long suppressed, surge forth like a relentless tide, flooding my senses with humiliation and pain. The sensation of being used and discarded with callous indifference rears its ugly head again.

In a moment beyond conscious control, I find myself striding toward them. The fire within me, ignited by my own past wounds, propels me forward. It's not just about me anymore.