Natalia’s P. O. V

The constant, monotonous ringing of the old analogue alarm clock permeated my light sleep. I groaned as I slapped at it to turn it off. Groggily, I got off my thin mattress and walked the short distance to my bathroom, if you could call it that anyway.

All the tiles were loose and stained. The metal tub and shower were completely brown with rust. The mirror was cracked and hung loose. The sink had mould growing in the drain and was grey.

I would clean the rancid bathroom if I could but my pack denied my request for the cleaning supplies I so desperately needed. They also refused to give me a new towel; bar of soap, sponge, toothbrush and tube of toothpaste when I’d requested so I had to borrow from their huge stock. Unfortunately, I couldn’t use that method to solve the problem of my bathroom since they check my living area every month.

I brushed my teeth and took an ice cold shower, all the while careful not to touch anything longer than absolutely necessary. After I was done, I rushed back into my attic room, wrapped in my towel. I dried my waist length brown hair and got my clothes- a grey, baggy, long sleeved shirt and loose trousers that hid my body well- out of my crimson duffel bag that was constantly packed.

I turned to stare at my reflection in the cracked full length mirror.

For as long as I could remember, no one other than my mother had ever seen the true colour of my eyes. When I was almost four, she bought me green coloured contacts and taught me how to put them on then told me never to remove them. I changed them periodically but nobody had ever seen me without them.

It was the same thing with my hair. She dyed my hair brown and bought loads of brown dye then told me never to let it fade.

Snapping out of my funk, I hung my towel on the door of my ever empty wardrobe, tied my hair in a high ponytail, put my sneakers on and jogged down the stairs with trepidation. I walked to the kitchen, doing my best to avoid the unlikely people that might be up at 4:30am.

The kitchen, unlike my bathroom, was pristine. It had all the most up to date kitchen appliances necessary and the storage room had dozens of every ingredient needed.

I cracked my knuckles and got to work. By 7:46, I’d made bacon, omelettes, ham sandwiches, turkey sandwiches, custard, oatmeal, orange juice, fruit salad, protein shakes, you name it, I probably made it and enough to feed an army of 284. By 7:54, I’d set the table. By 7:58, I’d finished my breakfast of fruits and water that I was forbidden to have and by 8:00, I was standing in the shadows of the corner farthest from the double doors to the enormous dining room. At 8:01, my rowdy pack burst through the doors.

I watched in bemusement as my pack fought over mundane things and the Slut Squad picked at their veggie salads.

All heads, except mine, bowed as the Alpha walked into the room. Daddy dearest, Clark Lightwood, was 5’ 11’’ and had puke green eyes (they were truly puke green- no exaggerations) and thinning brown hair that was already mostly grey even though he was only 37. Behind him was his successor. Harry Theodore Lightwood was all muscle and no brains. He was 17 years old, 6’ tall, shared his mother’s blonde hair and our father’s puke green eyes and had a rarely used brain that could produce a C minus at best- I was talking very good situations.

A trait he and his twin sister got from their mother.

Mrs Tiffany Helena Lightwood was the mother of the leader of the Slut Squad, Brittany Penelope Lightwood. Both Brittany and her mother were blonde, shared the same icy blue eyes, skinny as sticks and dumber than them.

The Lightwood family took their seats. Clark at the head, Tiffany to his left, Harry to his right and Brittany on Harry’s left.

I despised them with every fibre of my being.

All activity resumed once the Lightwood family started eating and by 8:32, the food was all gone, with the exception of five plates of barely touched salads, and the noisy barbarians filed out, probably to do some last minute studying and homework.

Using the werewolf speed they didn’t know I had, I cleared the table, washed the dishes and cleaned the kitchen counter. By 8:47, I was getting my bag from the empty cupboard I always hid it after doing my homework the previous day and was stepping out through the back door in the kitchen.

I ran the distance to school and was there in three minutes. I was early.

My school, Lightwood High, was mixed with 68% of its population werewolves and 32% humans.

I walked to my homeroom class. I was 15 and a senior with a bunch of stupid 17 and 18-year-olds but they didn’t know that. They all thought I was 17 even though I was shorter than most of them. If they knew, the bullying would get worse.

I’d always had a photographic memory. My lowest so far was an A. I would be in university if my pack would let me.

The idea of running away teased my mind.

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While I was lost in my thoughts, I bumped into someone and fell on my butt.

I looked up and saw the faces of my worst enemies-Brittany and Harry.

Unlike the members of my pack, I felt no urge to submit to them. No involuntary bowing of my head, no avoidance of eye contact, no loyalty…

Only hate.

I got up, picked my bag up and moved to walk past them.

Brittany pulled on my ponytail and forced me to turn around.

“How dare you?!” she screeched. “You’re an omega and you have the guts to make eye contact with me and my brother? We’re the Alphas!”

Harry chimed in, “Get on your knees and beg for forgiveness”

My green coloured eyes met his, “No”

A crowd had gathered around us and gasped at my actions.

As an omega, you didn’t made eye contact, you bowed your head, you did whatever was asked and you never spoke back.

But I was the Alpha’s daughter- illegitimate or not.

“WHAT DID YOU SAY?!” came Brittany’s shrill reply.

My face remained impassive as I spoke, “Wow Brittany, I didn’t know you were going deaf already. I said no.”

She was struck speechless.

I used their preoccupation with disbelief to push past them and walk to my class just before the bell rang.

I had no illusions… they would want to make my day miserable.

*after school*

It was Tuesday and I felt good as I took my time walking back to the house. I’d gotten all my homework right and was done with my promotional exams- the results were already ready. The questions had been easy to answer.

When I walked into the kitchen, there was a note on the fridge.

Omega,

We’ve gone out to celebrate the Lightwood twins, Callum and Andrea’s birthday eve. Prepare the house for their party. It’d better be great or you’ll be sorry.

I crumpled the paper and tossed it in the bin then got to work. I retrieved the party supplies from the basement and cleaned the guest rooms, lounge, common room, dining room, game room and family room. I mixed the cakes then hung the decorations as it was baking. I prepared the food and set them on the food and refreshment tables. After I was done, I went to my attic room and finished my homework.

Afterward, I thought of my mother- of the six years I’d known her. We shared most of our features- slim waist, pert nose, full lips, big almond shaped eyes, thick midnight black hair but hers was naturally blonde around the tips (she was voluptuous and I had yet to find out if I shared that trait with her since I wasn’t done growing) - and there was only one major difference. Her eyes were a calm ocean green while mine swirled with the colour of the embers of a flame.

The sound of the front door opening and closing interrupted my train of thought. I went downstairs and was met with the noise of my pack. Before I could turn to go back upstairs, Kylie, the Slut Squad’s second in command, girlfriend of Harry and my former best friend, spotted me.

“Omega, you’re here, how convenient. I was just telling my boyfriend how you would love to serve us at his birthday party, seeing as you put so much effort into the decorations.” She batted her fake eyelashes.

Green eyed Kylie Jane Adams was a short 5’2’’ at 17. She was originally a brunette but had dyed her hair blonde in order to fit in with the other members of the Slut Squad. She was also the very distant cousin (they had no blood relations and were practically unrelated) of the soon to be Beta, Callum Jacob Howling. Callum was 17, brown eyed, brunet, 6’ tall, muscular and acted as stupid as the rest of them even though I knew he wasn’t.

Harry intervened on Kylie’s behalf. “You will serve at our party.”

He’d used his Alpha voice but it had no effect.

I stared at him impassively.

He stalked closer, “Are you deaf? I said you will serve at our party.” I took a step back and nodded my head.

He wasn’t done yet.

“What was that mutt? Cat caught your tongue?”

Harry’s punch to my gut was so sudden that it knocked the air out of me.

I lunged for him but was held back by Callum and Gerald John Canis- the Delta of the pack.

Brittany pulled her hand back and slapped me. I strained against the thugs holding me. Kylie let go of Harry’s arm and joined in.

The cowards all took turns holding me back so that everyone could have a go at me. The blows blurred together in a stream of beatings and it was all I could do to stay conscious and not cry out. I refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing me crying, weak or unconscious.

When they lost interest in me, the cowards restraining me let me go and I collapsed to the floor.

The walked out laughing, at my expense, and left me there at the base of the stairs in a fetal position.

After what felt like an eternity, I picked myself up and limped up the stairs to my attic room to tend to my wounds.

After a quick survey, I concluded that I had a black eye, a broken arm, two broken ribs, a seriously bruised stomach, four thin, long gashes down the right side of my face and a sprained ankle.

The pain fuelled my hatred for the Lightwood pack.

Especially the Lightwood family.

Even though Clark Lightwood was my biological father, I never considered him as my dad. To me, he was just a sperm donor- nothing more.

As I patched myself up, I thought about an encounter, not unlike this one, that I’d had with the sperm donor on my 13th birthday.

He’d beaten me to near death and would have raped me if not for my Physics teacher, Ms Gina Charles.

The memories brought a feeling of loathing so violent that I had to stop and control my breathing. This is what they did to me last year and the year before that and the one before that.

This is what they’d done to me on every one of the high ranking wolves’ birthdays after my mother disappeared.

The hatred for all the residents of this house in high school and above burned brighter than ever.

I was close to the edge; all it would take was a little nudge.