Being the pariah of the pack isn’t easy—in fact, it sucks! But such is life… at least for me. My name is Gypsy, but everyone calls me Tramp. It’s not like I had any say in the matter, but if your father kills the Alpha then runs away and leaves his only daughter behind at the age of six, this is what happens. I’m the outcast.

The new Alpha, Greg, took pity on me and gave me a home and a job as his personal slave for the past ten years. I not only work for him, but also his bitchy wife Ciara and their spoiled asshole son, Hunter, and of course, anyone else that is in this pack.

I don’t blame my father for leaving me behind. My mother died giving birth to me, but my dad stayed for me. He didn’t kill himself, which usually happens when your true mate dies. No, my dad was strong enough to survive. I know deep down he’s still alive somewhere. My intuition is usually right.

“Tramp, my breakfast is cold. Make me a new plate.” I scurry to the stove just before Hunter can kick me. He’s really strong and guaranteed to leave a bruise. He’s 22, and the bitches in this pack think he’s hot. I don’t see it.

“Yes, sir.” That’s the only thing I’m allowed to quietly say. Speaking gets me a slap or a punch, depending on who it is. I remake his omelet and quickly serve it to him. I take the old one away and scrape it into a white grocery bag. I plan on eating it later, but it looks like trash to them.

After cleaning up breakfast, I sneak the bag with the rest of the trash outside. I watch around me as I scarf down as many bites as I can before I actually get to the bins. It’s not often I get to eat so well. I wipe my hands and swallow everything down before returning to my duties.

I clean the entire four-story hotel-sized pack house every day. I get one break a day at 4 PM for my meager dinner of Spaghetti O's and bread before I cook for everyone else. It’s a lot of cooking because it’s buffet style. I usually have help in the kitchen because someone screwed up in training. Today, it’s Peter and Holly. Peter is the only person I actually get along with. He’s a bit of a klutz and screws up a lot. “What did you do this time?” I ask as I look at the shiner he’s sporting.

“Hey, Gypsy. I got in the way as Alpha was giving a demonstration. You get me for a week.” It sucks for him, but it’s good for me. Sometimes, I think Peter does it on purpose. People in our pack make fun of him because he’s 23 and on the scrawny side, which is really uncommon for werewolves. Even my wolf is bigger than his. He’s like an older brother to me.

“Stop talking, Tramp. Just get busy, so I can get the hell out of here.” Holly hates me, surprise, surprise. She’s in her early 20s. It’s rare for her to get kitchen duty. She’ll do as little as possible, leaving me to do most of the work. She’ll do just enough that Alpha Greg will give her a nod of approval. I focus my attention on loading the chickens into the rotisserie. I’ll also be making fried fish filets along with side dishes. I’m thinking mac and cheese and mashed potatoes. We always have hotdogs and fries available for the picky pups.

“Well, if you want my help, get me what I need," Holly squawks at me. I give her a nod and wash my hands before finding veggies for a side salad. She can at least handle that. She wouldn’t dare screw up dinner; Alpha doesn’t mess around when it comes to food. Also, Alpha Greg knows I can cook, so if it’s bad, it’s because someone else did something. People have tried in the past and gotten severely punished.

“What do you need me to do, Gypsy?”

I point out a 50-pound bag of potatoes to Peter.

“If you could peel and rinse the potatoes, I’ll work on the meat.”

He grabs the bag and tosses it onto the counter.

Once the chickens are in the gigantic rotisserie oven, I manage to slip next to Peter while I work at the stove. “So, what did Holly do to get in here?”

Peter gives me a side smirk, “She was screwing Beta Hunter, and she ended up being late to training.” I roll my eyes. Gross. Oh, did I mention that Hunter is the pack beta? It’s a weird set up. In our pack, the Pine Ridge pack, the Beta is the next Alpha in line. I think they just do it because they like the power. His Grandfather was the Alpha that my dad happened to kill. It used to be different when the packs were widespread.

Peter and I finish making dinner, and Holly sets everything out, so she can be seen working. Peter and I clean up, and he walks me to my room. I live in a shed outside of the pack house. I don’t go to school, so I read as much as possible. Alpha Greg doesn’t care as long as I get my work done.

“Are you getting excited?” Peter asks as I open my door.

“Excited about what?” I turn on my little lamp and fan. I only have the two outlets from an extension cord, so my fan is my favorite luxury. It can get pretty toasty in the summer here.

“Duh, Gypsy. Your birthday is coming up.” He plops down on my mat that I call a bed.

I forgot that my birthday is soon. I guess this one is of some importance because when you turn 17, you can find your mate. Considering there are only two packs, the chances of finding him are pretty high. Him being happy to find me? That’s a different story. “Oh, yeah. Not really. I just hope whoever my mate is doesn’t reject me in front of everyone.”

Peter shakes his head. “He would be an idiot.” I cock my brow at him which earns me an eye roll. I’m stick thin and sickly looking. I can’t fight, and I’m the pack disappointment. Peter knows I’m right. “Just because of your past? So what. Mating is different. Your mate won’t care. He won't be able to resist the mate pull.” Peter stands up and stretches. “I better get back before my parents wonder where I am.”

I give him a hug, “Wouldn’t want to be seen with the Tramp.” He squeezes my body as tight as possible in retaliation for my jibe.

“You know better than that. Brat.” He kisses my head and takes off.

As soon as Peter is gone, I douse the light and lock up. I strip down and shift into my light gray wolf. I do this every night. It’s the only way I can get clean. I run the three miles to my secret spot. It’s a cave hidden behind a small waterfall just on the edge of our territory. Not even Peter knows about my sanctuary. Most people wouldn’t be able to fit in it, but I’m small enough. I keep my toiletries here along with a few small treasures, trinkets from my parents.

I shift back to my petite human form and wash under the waterfall. I work shampoo through my short straw-colored hair and rinse it out. I slip back into my cave and follow the short narrow trail back to my little hollow. It’s much cooler and far less crowded in my cave than in the shed, so I spend as much time here as possible. I never worry about trespassers because no one comes over here; it’s too close to the border, to the other pack boundary. I actually think my cave is out of our territory, but what do I care?

I brush my hair and think of the other pack. I’ve actually thought about asking them for refuge, but the whole instant death thing keeps me here. The other pack is the Canyon Ridge pack. They are our sworn enemies. We have a treaty with them. If anyone from either pack steps foot in each other’s territory, it’s a death sentence. It’s the only way to prevent all-out war. Our packs have fought for territory in the past. They’re the only other pack left after the forest fires wiped out all the forests. Werewolves need the forests for protection and to run freely.

Our Alpha welcomed the refugees from those unfortunate packs into ours. Once my father killed Alpha Edgar, his son Alpha Greg took over.

Alpha Greg is powerful. At 46, his body is still incredibly strong, and he doesn’t look a day over 30. It’s the werewolf genes. We age slower than humans and heal twice as fast. Werewolves also have excellent hearing, sight, and sense of smell. That’s how I’m able to see inside my cavern.

The refugees think Alpha Edgar was so great for coming to the rescue, but deep down, I know it’s not that simple. I know because my dad wouldn’t have killed him without a reason. Besides, there wasn’t a generous bone in his body, just like his son and grandson. Alpha Greg treats the refugees differently than the original members of the pack. He’s so strict with them while the original members get away with so much more, unless they do something obvious and in front of a group. He has no problem throwing around the younger guys in training. He doesn’t let the girls train at all.

I get my daily yoga in, then shift to my wolf and head back to the shed. No one is around, and I slip inside silently. I let out a breath and relax into my mat.

I wake up to Hunter slamming my door open first thing in the morning. “Get up, Tramp. Mother wants you now.” I’m not a morning person. Before I can stand, Hunter grips my hair and pulls me up into a standing position.

I hold back any cry of pain, but reply with a simple, “Yes, sir. Where can I find Luna Ciara?”

He lets go of my hair and shoves me toward the door. I slip on my torn shoes in two seconds flat, but I still get a slap across the face. “Do not speak my mother’s name, you filthy, conniving whore. Get up to my mother’s room now.” I give him a soft bow and rush to the Luna’s quarters.

I softly knock on the door to her suite and wait for a response. “Get in here and clean up this mess.” She leaves the room without even looking at me.

I slip inside and quickly kneel in front of what appears to be a broken flower vase. Flowers are mingled with the decorative glass, and the carpet is wet. I use my oversized shirt like a basket and carefully collect all of the pieces. After discarding the mess, I shampoo the carpet, then organize the shelf that the vase fell from. All this before starting breakfast for the pack, and it’s only Monday. I have a long week ahead of me.

Peter’s reminder of my upcoming birthday begins to make me more and more nervous as the week progresses. It’s not his fault. He didn’t know that I purposely forgot my birthday. I’m not looking forward to being humiliated by the one person that can cause me more pain than even Hunter and Alpha Greg. No, I’m not looking forward to being rejected. No one wants me. Maybe Peter would accept me, but he’s more of a brother than a soulmate. Yeah, that would be weird. I let out a breath and finish putting away the last of the freshly washed dishes.

Peter had to rush away, so I don’t even stop at the shed. I head straight to my cave. It’s such a lonely existence. My wolf hates that I’m almost always alone. My heart stings at her ache for company. Just once, she would love to run with another wolf. She looks forward to finding our mate, but I have to remind her that it’s a lost cause.

I wash up and go inside my cave. I pick up a handful of pebbles and toss them at the wall in boredom. My birthday is tomorrow. Goddess, I’m so scared. What if my mate doesn’t reject me, but instead turns me into his personal slave? Rejection would be better. I shake my head trying to clear the bad thoughts and toss a rock.

My aim goes wild, and the pebble clatters into a crack I’ve never really noticed before. I furrow my brows and check out the little opening. I squeeze through and wind up in what looks like a man-made tunnel. I know these caves aren’t mined, so I have no clue why a tunnel would be here. I know I can’t stay here. If I’m caught here, I’ll get lashings for sure. I swallow and quickly get back to my shed before anyone notices I’m gone.

I lay awake with two things on my mind. One: my birthday and meeting my mate tomorrow, and two: where does that tunnel lead, and why is it there? The tunnel doesn’t feel right to me. I wonder where it goes and more curious, who built it?

I toss and turn but remember that my morning duties are fast approaching, so I force my brain to think about anything but tomorrow. I wish my dad were here. He’d know what to do about both my birthday and the tunnel. I miss him so much. I remember the fun, happy times as a little girl with him. I was his precious gem. I was everything to him. My mind focuses on my cheerful memories, and I fall asleep.