Chapter 1: Sophia P.O.V

I wasn’t like any of the other pretty and naturally athletic werewolf females of the pack. I didn’t inherit the perfect lan and low body fat like them in their cute tiny sports bras and size two jeans. On some bad joke from the moon goddess, I had huge boobs, and I was closer to a size eight or ten when it came to jeans. Not that you would ever see me wearing them.

Naturally, I was the most hated female werewolf in the pack because of my family's stellar reputation and my giant stain on that reputation. I was born into the Beta family of the Crescent Moon pack and to make things even worse because of the hate I received. It would be almost guaranteed that I would be fated to or married off to some pompous asshole of a werewolf, Alpha, or Beta. I was different and the differences from your pack make you a clear outsider.

I hated how much I was disliked over my body type. It’s not my fault they all had small B-cup boobs with tiny waistlines and washboard abs, especially while they avoided training, especially when they could thank the werewolf metabolism for that one. While they avoided training like the plague, I had to attend every training session and watch what I ate just for the faint outline of my abs, other girls stuffed their faces constantly while I suffered with eight small meals. To sum everything up, I was a chubby girl with rich socialite parents and perfect siblings.

The girls of the pack enjoyed covering themselves in the most expensive makeup and newest fashion trends, including the shortest and tiniest pieces of clothing that they could find while they tried to seduce our triplet Alphas. I spent most of my time working out or working at the pack library that I had opened with my own money and taking care of my baby sister, Emma.

Typically, I can avoid the pack training with everybody if I stick out the morning training with the Gamma of the pack. I would say pack training would be easier if the females weren’t keen on wiping out any female competition for the position of Luna. The Gamma is a total iron fist type of werewolf since he had taken over for our previous Gamma around ten years ago. I was just a little kid when the Alpha’s had taken over along with the Beta and Gamma. My older brother, Oliver, is the Pack Beta and has his hands full, normally serving not just one Alpha but three.

Mom was Luna's best friend and Beta to the pack. She hates so much about me that I lose track sometimes, but at the top of the list, she hates that I’m not willing to put as much effort into my appearance as her. I get it, we are a high-ranking family, but when the hell would I even have time to do my makeup and curl my hair in between high school classes, training, work, and spending all my time with Emma? Maybe if I wasn’t so busy killing myself trying to keep her youngest daughter safe from our father, I might just have a little bit more time to work on my “ratty” hair and “dull” face.

Our life isn’t horrible, not really. Did our father always have a raging temper and was our mother always too eager to please her mate? Of course. He is her mate though. I can’t hold that against her, at some point it’s almost out of her control how her wolf responds to her other half. However, Dad’s anger and Mom's eagerness have seemed to triple or skyrocket in the last few years since the birth of my sweet and very innocent little sister, Emma. I think they were hoping for a boy, another boy who could show the strength of the pack, but instead, they were stuck with two girls and only one son.

I remember the days leading up to her birth, when my brother and I started to receive physical punishments more often for actions that we never actually committed. Eventually, our father got more creative because of our fast healing, so then he started doing the lashings. They were a creative way to help us remember his “teachings”.

The day my sister, Emma Rose, was born and came into my life, I felt an instant need to pull her from my mother’s arms and my father’s gaze and protect her life, the fragile and beautiful child she is. She has always been extremely beautiful with very bright blue eyes and white blonde hair with the cutest giggle I have ever heard. When she cried as a baby, it only ever received two reactions from me, breaking my heart or making any “teachings” worth her beautiful cries. That was almost six years ago now; I was almost eleven.

Oliver and I had the same hopes at that point. I know it was wrong, I knew it was wrong even then to put so much pressure on a baby, but we had hoped that the addition of Emma would give my parents the daughter that my parents felt I had robbed them of with my birth and existence. I was okay with that outcome, as long as they loved and treasured her instead of beating her down and destroying any form of pride that she could have developed.

Like most of my hopes, that one died a gruesome and fast death as well. No, that day never came. At the age of eleven, I became a mother to a baby that my mother and father never wanted, not really. My mother enjoyed the pride and paparazzi of the pack and the happiness the pride felt from the existence of another beta- female. In the short term, they might hate that we could marry high-class werewolves, but that union would also bring the strength and gifts from another pack, making our pack stronger. My mother always enjoyed the gifts and attention that she received from being pregnant, according to my brother. Oliver said it was the same when I was born, she would pet and rub her stomach all day, talk sweetly to Dad and the pack about the beautiful gift the moon goddess had blessed her with, then dump me onto my brother.

Now, the three of us take care of each other while Mom and Dad play their parts with the pack. They smile lovingly and mask their hatred for us while they walk through all the shops in the pack and make love-sick eyes at each other. They spend most of their breakfast at the Alpha’s house, guilt-tripping the young Alpha over the murder of their parents so that they will be given breakfast at Alpha’s house. Like they don’t have enough guilt over losing their father and Alpha? New’s flash, that was their fucking dad. If anything, our father should feel guilty for choosing mom over their Alpha. Dad’s whole position as the beta was designed to help protect and support the Alpha in charge and at the moment when it counted, he saved Mom instead.

The pack was attacked, and our previous Alpha was murdered almost ten years ago. It still gives me goosebumps just thinking about how everything and everyone had to change and adapt so quickly when the rogues attacked us and killed the alpha.

Alpha’s death changed my life forever. It changed my family. We went from a family that smiled at the crowd and screamed at each other behind the comfort of closed doors to absentmindedly forgetting that each of us existed outside the home. Mom has a bigger temper now, she yells or screams at me every single time that I pull out a pair of workout gear or leggings while simultaneously telling me I am her biggest mistake and wishing I had never happened. Our father spends his time punching and beating Oliver and me because of some stupid childish mistake that our little sister made, but we never blame her. How could we? She made a childish mistake because she is a fucking six-year-old child. Mom throws bottles of alcohol at Dad or the wall behind him while they have a screaming war with each other. Luckily, the beatings don't stay long and we all have werewolf healing abilities.

Today is three days from my birthday, specifically one of the most important birthdays for someone who is a werewolf. Today marks exactly three days till my birthday and the day that my wolf will be showing herself, and we will get to meet. I rubbed the hours of sleep out of my blue eyes and grabbed my iPhone, sitting on the bed next to me. I’m a creature of habit, my phone always goes next to my pillow so my ears will bleed from the alarm going off, and I will finally get up.

The blaring of my alarm was the first thing I heard this morning. I groaned, looking at the time. Of fucking course, I slept through my early alarms this morning. I rolled my eyes and sighed. I rolled out of bed quickly and winced. Yesterday’s beating is taking longer than usual to heal with my werewolf and I being at odds with each other and with my birthday being just a few days away. I went to my bathroom and looked in the mirror. I looked horrible with black and blue bruises covering my body.

“I need to cover these up..” I whispered to myself, while I took in the pain I was about to put myself through. My frowning face instantly changed with the sweet pitter-patter of my little sister's feet on the floor. The only reason I looked like this today was because Emma is a six-year-old and made the “terrible” mistake of knocking over a drink at the dining table when the Alpha’s were coming over today. Oh, fucking no!

A child under the age of ten acting like a fucking child, who would have thought. Dad’s temper was worse than it had been in a while though, he was more chaotic and less disciplined with his punishment.

My body shivers from the memory of how he stared back at us. The way his eyes blackened while his wolf took over, his brutal and calculated hands pinned me to the table while he wrapped the silver chains around my wrist and then around the chair. The burning of every nerve fiber in my body as the silver burned into my skin.

“Get her out of here.” I croaked, begging Oliver to see the bigger picture. I watched as his eyes glossed over for a minute before my big brother returned, and I watched as he listened even though he was in charge. Dad would never find peace in the pain he wanted for Emma. She wouldn’t be able to handle the level of pain that he wanted to inflict. He needed somebody that looked like her, and I was the only other female besides my mother, and she would never take his punishment.