DAPHNE
I jolted awake with a strangled gasp. My body jerked upright as if I had been ripped out of something dark and suffocating.
My heart thundered painfully in my chest. Cold sweat clung to my skin, my vision swam, making me unable to tell where I was. I whimpered, covering my lips with one hand and holding my hair with the other while praying that I had truly escaped the clutches of that hooded man and that goddamn book.
The nightmare always followed the same storyline. A book always appeared from nowhere; the old leather-bound journal followed me everywhere I went, and every effort I made to ditch it proved futile. No matter how many times I swore I hadn't seen it before, there it was again, waiting and calling me.
As always, I finally caved and tried to open it, but every time I did, a tall man cloaked in dark woolly clothes appeared from the shadows, snatched it out of my hand, and burnt it to ashes.
Without fail, he laughed, sneered at me, yanked my hair, and said, "Remember," he told me, voice smooth and terrible. "Everything you did was for the good of the pack. You must complete what you started." And then he would dunk me in what could be described as indescribable darkness and pain, forcing me to yield the power I held to him.
Most times, I woke up screaming, but today the nightmare felt even more tangible. All my senses screamed that I should run. It was increasingly feeling like I was running out of time, and the cloaked man was very close to appearing in real time.
I pressed my palms into my eyes, breathing hard, trying to shake the image. My room came back into focus slowly. I looked around, breathing heavily. My sheets were twisted around my legs, damp with sweat, and the thin mattress beneath me creaked as if it were even tired of carrying my weight.
I swung my legs off the bed and sat there for a moment, letting the dizziness pass. Nothing about that nightmare made sense. I was twenty-five years old, bone-tired, and already behind on life. I wasn't part of a pack. Only rich wolves belonged to packs. Influential ones. Wolves with bloodlines and money and power. Wolves whose names mattered.
I was a lone wolf. Worse, I was an omega.
In our world, omegas weren't even treated like proper werewolves. Our wolves were muted and repressed. They existed only in our minds and instincts. We couldn't shift or access the raw strength others flaunted so easily. We were cheap labor.
My wolf stirred weakly, as if sensing my distress, but she didn't speak. She rarely did. When she did, it was usually a whisper of discomfort or warning.
Suddenly, a shrill voice sliced through the thin walls.
"Daphne! Are you dead or just lazy? You're late!"
I flinched.
"Shit," I breathed.
I scrambled to my feet, grabbing the first clean-ish clothes I could find: a faded sweater, leggings stretched thin at the knees. I didn't bother checking my reflection. I already knew what I'd see: dark circles under my eyes, hair pulled back too tightly because it was the only way to keep it out of my face, skin too pale from exhaustion.
I yanked the door open and nearly collided with Madam Calder.
She was a large woman with a perpetual scowl carved into her face. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and her eyes shot daggers as they raked over me.
"Do you have any idea what time it is?" she snapped.
"I—I'm sorry," I said automatically. "I didn't hear my alarm."
"Of course you didn't." She scoffed. "Omegas never do anything right. Get moving. There's work to be done, and I'm not paying you to stand there blinking like an idiot."
"Yes, ma'am." My jaw tightened, but I nodded.
She turned sharply and waddled down the stairs, muttering under her breath about useless help and wasted money. I followed every step heavier than the last.
The workhouse smelled like bleach. Rows of buckets lined the walls, mops leaning crookedly beside them. The floors were already wet from the early morning scrub, but that didn't mean we were done.
"Daphne!" one of the other omegas whispered when she saw me. "Moon above, you look awful."
I managed a weak smile. "Good morning to you, too."
Lina stepped closer, her brow furrowing as she studied my face. "Did you sleep at all?"
"About… three hours," I admitted.
Her eyes widened. "Again?"
"She didn't let me go until after midnight," I said quietly. "Then she found dust on the shelves and made me redo them."
"That woman is going to work you into an early grave," another omega muttered. "You need to get out of that room."
"Move out," Lina added gently. "Work from outside. You'll get your autonomy back."
I let out a soft, humorless laugh. "With what money? I can barely afford soap. Rent might as well be a fairy tale."
They exchanged knowing looks.
"You know she's docking your pay on purpose, right?" one of them said. "She does it to keep you stuck."
I shook my head. "Let's not start this again."
They shook their heads in pity.
"You need to find a way quickly, or she'll be the death of you," Lina said finally.
"Ugh," I groaned. "Forget my predicament and find something else to yap about."
Lina chuckled and said, voice dropping conspiratorially. "Well, in that case, I have something that might interest you. I heard about a new job opportunity in town."
"So you heard about him too?" someone gasped.
"Hear about who?" I asked, raising my brows.
"The billionaire," she replied, eyes shining. "Zade Forrester."
I froze. For some reason, that name sent a chill and thrill down my spine. It felt as though I'd been transported to a time and place I could not recognize
Emotion began to well up within me, and a streak of tears ran down my face, bringing me back to reality. I decided there and then that I wanted nothing to do with this person, whoever he was.