Marked By Fate

The alarm screamed like it had a personal vendetta against me. A shrill, relentless wail that refused to quit. I groaned, my hand flopping around in the dark, smacking the nightstand until my fingers found the stupid clock and silenced it. Sweet, merciful quiet. Thank the Moon for small victories. My eyes stayed screwed shut, my body plastered to the lumpy mattress like I could melt into it and disappear forever.

I didn't need to open them to know it was still dark outside—no one in their right mind was up at this hour unless they were insane, suicidal, or, like me, stuck with omega duties in the Alpha's house.Five in the morning. Every damn day. No exceptions.No wolf. No status. No future. Just me, Selene, scraping the bottom of the Silver Claw pack's hierarchy, smiling through the dirt they kicked in my face.I lay there for a minute, staring at the ceiling I couldn't even see in the pitch-black. The air was cold, stale, carrying that faint smell of old wood and something heavier—like dreams that gave up and died years ago.

The heater wheezed in the corner, fighting a losing battle. It hadn't worked properly since I was a kid. My room wasn't much better than the heater: a glorified closet with four bare walls, a rickety dresser that leaned like it was drunk, and a cracked mirror I avoided like the plague. Why bother looking? I already knew what I'd see—nothing worth noticing.

If you're wondering who I am, fine, here's the rundown. I'm Selene. Three days from turning eighteen. Five feet of unremarkable, with sleek black hair that never behaves, hazel eyes that don't do that sparkly thing people write poems about, and a face that only registers when someone's looking for a target. My wolf? Never showed up. Not a whisper, not a claw, not a hint of fur. In a pack like Silver Claw, that makes me less than nothing.

A walking punchline. The kind of girl who gets shoved into lockers, has her lunch tray "accidentally" dumped on her, or gets tripped in the halls just because someone's bored. They whisper about me like I'm deaf.Spoiler: I hear every word.My mom's gone. Died when I was too young to hold onto more than fragments of her—soft hands, the faint floral scent of her perfume when she hugged me, the way she hummed lullabies when she thought I was asleep. She was warmth, the kind that sinks into your bones.

I miss her in a way that's hard to explain, like a piece of me got lost with her.Dad tried to fill the void for a while. He really did. But then he met Lilian, a human, which is rare in our world of claws and hierarchies. I braced myself for her to treat me like everyone else did—like I was a stain on the pack's reputation. But she didn't. She loved me, not out of pity, but like I was hers. She brought light back into our house, made it feel like more than just a shell of memories. Then Rhea came along—my little sister, eight years old now, all giggles and toothy grins, like the world hasn't had a chance to break her yet.

She's everything I'm not—bright, hopeful, untouched by the pack's cruelty. She looks at me like I'm her hero, like I'm worth something.I'd burn this whole damn world to ashes before I let anyone hurt her.I dragged myself out of bed, every muscle in my back screaming from that rock-hard cot. Dressing in the dark was second nature—same worn jeans, same faded shirt, same tight braid to keep my hair from being a liability.

I'd learned the hard way how to dress for survival, not attention. Move quiet, stay small, don't give anyone an excuse.I crept through the hallway, avoiding the creaky floorboards. Lilian didn't deserve to be dragged into my early-morning misery, and Rhea needed her sleep. She had a field trip today, some big adventure she'd been buzzing about for weeks. I promised I'd try to get home in time to hear every detail, assuming no one decided to use me as a punching bag first.Outside, the cold hit like a slap, sharp and mean.

The sun wasn't even thinking about rising—just that eerie blue haze before dawn, the kind that makes everything feel like a ghost story. My breath puffed out in clouds, and the path to the Alpha's house stretched ahead like a sentence I couldn't escape. Up the hill, past the guards who didn't bother looking at me, through the servants' entrance like the nobody I was.

The Alpha's quarters were a different world—stone walls, gleaming glass, floors that smelled like money and power. It was the kind of place that screamed you don't belong here. But I still had to scrub every inch of it like my life depended on it. Because, let's be real, it kind of did. Kitchen counters, dining room tables, polishing the staircase banister until it shone, cleaning bathrooms for people who wouldn't even spit in my direction unless it was to make a point. That was my morning routine, day in, day out.Miss a spot? Forget it. They'd make sure I paid for it.

Sometimes with words—sharp, cutting ones that stuck like splinters. Most times, it was worse. A shove. A slap. A fist when they were feeling extra generous. They liked keeping me bruised and quiet. It made them feel big.By the time I was done, my shirt clung to me with sweat, my hands were raw and red, and the sun was finally crawling over the treetops, like it was as reluctant to face the day as I was. But my morning wasn't over. Oh no. I still had to drag myself to Silver Claw High, where the real fun waited.School was a battlefield disguised as a classroom.

Half the day was normal stuff—math, history, whatever. The other half was pack training, where everyone else got to shift into their wolves, run drills, and practice moves I'd never be able to do. I sat in the corner, scribbling notes, watching them leap and snarl and shine while I stayed invisible. Or tried to. The teachers didn't care about me, and the other students? They made sure I knew my place. Fake smiles, sharp claws, and endless reminders that I was less than the dirt on their shoes.

"Selene!" a voice called as I stepped into the courtyard, my boots crunching on the gravel.I froze. Damian. Of course it was him. The pack's golden boy, all charm and cruelty wrapped in a pretty package. His voice was a warning, a promise of trouble I didn't have the energy to dodge today.