Chapter 1 Amalie

Amalie

I wanted to die. Well, that’s not entirely true. I wanted out for me and my pup. I wanted out of this hellhole that my ‘family’ had put me in. You see, seven years ago, my family decided that I was not worth the trouble.

They had decided that I no longer needed to be in school. So, I had been forced to drop out during my sophomore year. I was a fifteen-year-old dropout, but not by choice. My family had then decided that since I was no longer going to school, I would clean and cook for them. I was now their live-in maid. After all, they thought since I would stay home, I could do housework.

The cooking and cleaning wasn’t terrible. I loved to cook before it became my job. My grandmother had taught me when she was alive. She had spent hours showing me how to prefect recipes and create my own. Grandma Rose had taught me how to wield a knife, both in the kitchen and in my daily life, not that we told anyone. It was our secret. The cleaning wasn’t bad either, as long as my family decided not to be vindictive for the night and trash the house. Day to day chores gave me a routine and time to myself.

No, the worse part, was no one remembered me or cared about what happened to me. I up and disappeared and no one cared. This allowed my family to keep me locked away. They would beat me, as no one could see the bruises. Verbally as well, since I did not matter. I had never been sexually assaulted, thank the moon goddess.

There had been one close call by my dad’s younger brother four years ago. But in a very rare act of kindness, my father had stopped his brother from touching me. He had then told me, that he would find a buyer when the time was right. This gave me pause as he had plans for me in the future. But as the days ticked by, I realized that he would never let me go. We were stuck in this hellhole.

We, being my niece and I. My perfect, younger sister had gotten pregnant by her boyfriend two months before she turned eighteen and found her fated mate. The boy had said that the pair were fated mates. He had ‘charmed her’ into sleeping with him and he had then gotten her pregnant. Two months later, she turned eighteen and found out that they were not mates. Mellisa’s fated-mated rejected her on the spot upon learning that she was pregnant. Devastated, she had begged our parents to take care of her pup. Their solution, because they did not want to give up their grandchild, was to have me take care of her.

Mellisa had given birth to a baby girl. Said girl was given to me to take care of. No one had given her a name before handing her to me. So, I named her Rose. She became my little Rosebud. Rose was three now.

Four years spent alone and three with my pup. Three of the best but also worst years of my life.

Rose was supposed to be starting school next year. I doubted that my parents would let her go. I had hoped that they would let her so she could have a few hours of freedom. But it was a pipe dream. The only time she was allowed out of the house was for a pack function. My parents would threaten her to keep her inline as they went to the pack house. My sister would pretend to be the doting mom. While I was left at home, praying to the goddess that my pup would come home soon, safe and sound.

My favorite memory of Rose was the first time she called me mom. I had cried and hugged Rose so tightly. She laughed and continued to babble mama. Rosebud had no idea how much joy she had caused me. She just continued to babble mama to me and smiled.

My worst memory was of Rose calling me mom in front of my sister. Mellisa had started to scream at the pair of us. Instinctively, I wrapped Rose in my arms and shielded her from my sister. Her screaming alerted our parents. They came and demanded to know what was happening. Mellisa screeched that I was turning her child against her. My mother had yanked a crying and terrified Rose from my arms as my father dragged me down to the basement. The beating I got should have killed me. The only reason I survived was because of Beren.

Beren, my wolf, my wonderfully proud and stubborn wolf. She is the other reason I survived as long as I did. I knew most werewolves lost their wolf if they were unable to shift. That or their wolf would go feral, forcing the human to go mad. A werewolf needed to shift regularly. We had only been able to shift a few minutes when there was a pack meeting. It was enough to hold off the madness or Beren from going dormant.

We needed to get out of here.