Straying Echo: Fighting to Escape an Obsessed Alpha

POV: Echo

It was already 3pm when I dumped the last of the dirty linen down the laundry chute, swiping away the sweat that was dripping from my brow. Wasting no time, I began to make my way to the kitchen, knowing I needed to be there right away.

Rushing down the hallway, I made it to the stairs, seeing no one else around. Unfortunately, one of the last people I want to see is walking up the stairs. Embry is the Alpha's mate, making her the pack's Luna, and she is the sister of the pack's current Beta. She was a gorgeous she-wolf, but too many years of being doted on as a high-ranking wolf had turned her into a nightmare that was impossible to please.

Irritatingly, she noticed me at the same time I noticed her, making it impossible for me to slip back down the hall and out of sight. Embry narrowed her eyes at me, flipping her long blonde hair over her shoulder and narrowing her eyes as she stormed over to me. "What do we have here?" She sneers, propping a hand on her hip.

With a deep breath to keep myself calm, I bowed my head and stared at the floor. I know that with Embry, silence is usually better than answering her. But looking down like that also meant that I didn't see her move until her backhand knocked me off my feet.

"I asked you a question!" She growls, just loud enough to be heard over the ringing in my ears. I tried to blink away the blurriness from my vision, focusing on making the room stop spinning. It has been too many days since I've eaten, and it's been all I could do to stay on my feet up to this point.

"Sorry, Luna." I choked out, eyes glued to the floor. I still had to make dinner, and if I planned on eating this week, I couldn't allow my strength to falter now. She pouted for a moment, and I knew she'd been hoping for a little more resistance from me. Sighing as though disappointed, she turned to leave. I didn't move a muscle, trying not to give her any reason to turn back toward me.

"Pathetic." She chuckled as she crushed my fingers under her heel on her way past. A pained hiss flew from my lips as I clutched my hand to my chest, assessing the damage. Her high-heeled boot had broken at least one of my fingers!

While we werewolves heal more quickly than normal humans, several factors play a key role in the speed of a wolf's healing. First being that an unshifted werewolf does not heal as quickly as a werewolf who can shift, as their wolf isn't as strong before their first shift. The second factor is a wolf's general health both prior to their injury and during the healing process.

That is where my problem lies, in both my status as an unshifted werewolf and in my poor physical condition. If I were to put it bluntly, I have simply suffered too many injuries and missed too many meals to rely on my werewolf genes to heal me sufficiently right now.

With a sigh, I pull myself to my feet, swaying as I try to regain my balance. I knew I needed to keep moving, so I took several steadying breaks before I headed down the stairs, rubbing the bruise that was already forming on my cheekbone.

Once I reached the ground floor, I glanced across the dining room before darting from the bottom of the stairs to the kitchen door once I was sure it was empty. I stop only to peer through the doorway and make sure the kitchen is clear of wolves before making my way into the room.

Thankful that no one was around to bother me, I swiftly moved to my personal med kit and pulled my well-worn finger splint from the top. I tuck the little kit into my back pocket for safekeeping, as within it are the only first-aid supplies I may use.

Carefully inspecting my broken finger, I note the odd angle of it before I grab and pull it straight with a grunt. Then I splint it with an efficiency learned over many years of treating my own broken fingers and toes.

With that taken care of, I carefully pull out the ingredients for dinner. I usually make enough breakfast and dinner for about 30 wolves, most of whom live in the twelve-plus rooms in the pack house. There are also a handful of wolves that own their own houses on pack land who also come to the house for dinner. They are mostly mateless wolves and warriors after late training sessions or those coming and going for patrol shifts.

The pack house is a massive three-story mansion, with the alpha quarters taking up almost two-thirds of the third floor. The other third being beta quarters, with a handful of guest rooms for visiting alphas from other packs between them.

A group of paid maids make the beds, put away the clean laundry, daily sweeping and mopping on all three floors, dusting, and other general household chores. The responsibilities that the maids have decided they don't get paid enough to deal with fall to me.

The pack considers me to only be useful enough to strip their rooms, cook, serve, and clean up after their breakfasts and dinners, and set out and put away the grab-and-go lunches. That and washing, drying, and folding all the laundry for the entire pack house, as well as the spare clothes left by the treeline wolves who shift back and are without them.

I frowned as I put together the massive pot of beef stew, my broken finger aching from the work. I get to work filling the massive pot with pound after pound of beef, potatoes, carrots, gallons of water and beef stock, seasonings, and enough slurry to thicken it to perfection.

My arms shake as I give it the final stir, my stomach grumbling in protest. Even though I made the dinner, I would not be eating until later, and only if I was permitted. This evening, however, the delicious smell of dinner cooking was a genuine test of my self-control. I'd made this meal a thousand times before, and never had I struggled so much with my self-control as much I did this evening.

I remember when I was younger and more impulsive, I would sneak bites of food here and there as I cooked meals. It wasn't worth it though, as Embry and the future Alpha would always pin me to the wall and shove their fingers down my throat until I threw it all up.

Frustrated, I shook the memories from my mind, pulling the last pan of buns from the oven and tipping them onto the cooling rack. Once the buns are cool, I fill the bread baskets and top up the butter dishes before placing them at regular intervals along the dining hall tables.

When I return to the kitchen, I fill the large tureens with stew, placing a ladle in each before carrying them out. The table had to be set up before I returned to the kitchen, where I washed the dishes from cooking dinner, wiped the counters, and monitored the dirty dish bins in the dining hall. As each bin filled, I replaced it with an empty one and then scrubbed the dishes from the hall.

By the time everyone finished eating, and I'd washed the last dish and wiped down the tables, I was dragging my feet heavily. I'd hoped that fresh buns and a hearty thick stew would put the pack members in a good enough mood that I might eat tonight, but I'd had no such luck.

Tears pricked my eyes as I thought of the sight I'd walked into at the end of dinner with a cringe, as multiple pack members had worked together to toss what little food was left straight into the trash. They had watched me with smirks on their faces as I'd watched in silent despair as my only hope for food was dumped.

Pushing the memory back, I took one last glance around the kitchen, making sure everything was perfect before I headed to the basement door in the corner. There is another door at the bottom of the stairs, with several locks placed strategically around it.

Glaring at the offending metal, I pushed the door open and made my way to the tiny bathroom on one side of the basement. Tucking my med kit away after using the toilet, I quickly switched over laundry and beeline to my bed. I collapsed on it heavily, asleep before my head even hit the pillow.