The stolen Lycan princess

Dust

The howl of the pack towards the moon pierces the night, a haunting serenade that sends chills racing down my spine. I freeze mid-scrub, the tattered rag slipping from my fingers and splashing into the murky water of the big bucket. The sound is familiar, one I dread yet crave, deep in my bones. It calls to something primal within me, I had hoped to join them when i turned eighteen, but it has been ten months now, and I am still wolfless.

“Dust!” The shrill voice of Madeline, the pack’s Luna, slices through the tension. “Are you daydreaming again? Get back to work!”

Swallowing my pride, I force myself to focus on the task at hand. I scrub the floor of the great hall, my knees aching against the rough stone, the chill of the night seeping into my bones. The hall is vast and imposing, its high ceilings adorned with chandeliers made of antlers and the walls hung with tattered banners that tell tales of glory and conquest from the past. I often find myself lost in those stories, imagining a time when I, too, might have been a part of such a legacy. But those dreams are fleeting, and easily crushed beneath the weight of my reality.

This is my life, it has been as long as I remember. I have no idea who my parents are, where I came from. I have asked, of course, but was told to shut up. When I was younger I was allowed to go to school, but I had to work both before and after, so I was alway tired and kinda dirty.

“Dust!” Luna Madeline barks again, her tone sharp as the knife cook uses to slice the evening’s meal. Her gaze pierces me, dark and unforgiving, and I feel the weight of her disdain like a physical blow. “If you don’t finish before the pack return, you’ll be on kitchen duty tonight. And you know how I feel about slackers.”

I grit my teeth, forcing the anger down. The pack has made it abundantly clear that I am nothing but a burden to them, an orphan without a home, a wolfless wretch. I am Dust, the girl who is always dusty, a name that the pack’s has given me, showing their disdain for my very existence. I am the one who watches from the shadows, invisible, while the others revel in their strength and unity.

As I scrub, the bristles of the rag scratching against the stone, I think of the long nights I’ve spent listening to the pack howl at the moon. Their voices rise like a symphony, a chorus of freedom and power that sends shivers down my spine. And yet, here I am, trapped in this cycle of servitude, feeling the gnawing hunger for something more than this bleak existence. I can only dream of what it would be like to feel the rush of wind against my fur, to run alongside them, to belong.

From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of the others as they gather, their laughter ringing like music in the air. They are so full of life, so vibrant, and I feel like a ghost among them, fading into the background. I see the way they exchange knowing glances, how their camaraderie binds them together, while I am left standing alone, invisible. They don’t understand the ache of being an orphan, of waking up every day in a place that is not home, a place where I am seen as nothing more than a servant, a reminder of what they have and what I lack.

“Dust!” Madeline’s voice snaps me back to the present, her annoyance palpable. “Are you even listening? I expect this hall to shine by the time dinner is served. Or else.”

I nod, biting my lip to hold back the retort that threatens to spill from my mouth. I can’t afford to let my emotions slip. I can’t afford to show weakness. I return to my scrubbing, the water swirling around my knees, murky and foul, much like my place in this pack. I can’t let them see the fire that simmers beneath my skin, the rebellion begging to break free. I don’t want to be Dust, the worthless orphan who is always left behind. It is not that I have hope of being something special, I just want to be seen.

As I scrub, my thoughts drift to the night I turned eighteen, the day that should have marked my transition into adulthood. Instead, it was just another reminder of my separation from the pack, the day I stood alone in the corner while the others celebrated their own transitions into wolves. I felt the weight of their gazes, their pity cloaked in disdain as I clung to the shadows. They had all shifted, their bodies transforming into powerful creatures of the night, while I remained a frail girl, an outsider looking in.

The howls echo in my ears, a powerful symphony that pulls at my very essence. I close my eyes, allowing the sound to wash over me, imagining what it would be like to join them, to feel the shift in my bones, to embrace my true self. But as I open my eyes, the reality of my situation crashes back in. I am still Dust, forever wolfless, forever alone.

“Dust!” Madeline’s voice slices through my reverie once more, sharper than before. “If you don’t hurry, you’ll be scrubbing the toilets next!”

The thought sends a wave of humiliation rushing through me, and I push myself to scrub harder, faster. My muscles strain against the effort, a dull ache creeping into my bones. But I can’t stop… this is my life now, a relentless cycle of servitude that leaves no room for dreams or desires.

The flickering torches cast long shadows across the hall, and I can’t help but feel like a silhouette, a wisp of smoke that will vanish if anyone looks too closely. I am nothing but a servant, the pack’s “Dust,” a name that embodies my worthlessness in their eyes.

As I scrub, I can’t shake the feeling of something brewing in the air, a tension that feels electric, as if the very stones of the hall are holding their breath. The howls outside crescendo, a haunting melody that vibrates in my chest, awakening something deep within me… a longing for freedom, a yearning to belong. But I am still here, bound to this life, and the shadows of my existence press down on me like a heavy cloak.

And then, just as I lose myself in the rhythm of my scrubbing, a loud crash reverberates through the hall, pulling my attention away from the floor. My heart races, adrenaline surging as I turn toward the entrance. The heavy wooden doors splinter against the force of an intruder, and I barely manage to step back before they burst open.

Figures shrouded in darkness spill into the hall, their eyes glinting like shards of ice. I recognize them immediately: the Silverfang pack, the sworn enemies of my pack. Panic grips me as I realize this is not an ordinary raid. They are here for blood.