Sealed Wolf's Fury

SCARLETT

The harsh buzz of my alarm tears me from the only place I find peace—my dreams. I slam my palm against the clock, silencing its persistent wail before it can draw unwanted attention. For a moment, I lie still, savoring the last remnants of sleep before reality crashes back.

Another day in hell.

I drag myself to the cracked mirror hanging on my wall—a fitting metaphor for my fractured existence. My copper-red hair hangs in tangled waves, marking me as different even in this small way. Dark circles shadow my eyes, testament to another night of restless sleep. The White Moon pack's insignia on my faded uniform mocks me—a symbol of belonging I've never truly felt.

The morning bell tolls across the compound, and panic seizes my chest. I'm late. Again.

"Damn it!" I hiss, fumbling with buttons and laces as I transform from night to day. My fingers tremble as I hastily braid my hair—the distinctive red strands that have earned me as much scorn as my weakness. I splash cold water on my face, hoping to wash away the exhaustion that clings to me like a second skin.

I sprint through the corridors, my heart hammering against my ribs. The laundry room awaits—my assigned station for today. As an Alpha's daughter, I should be training with the elite, learning leadership, preparing to stand beside my brother in pack governance. Instead, I sort dirty clothes and scrub stains from sheets.

The door to the laundry room creaks as I push it open, and every head turns toward me. My stomach drops when I see Wren standing by the sorting table, her perfectly manicured nails tapping impatiently against the wood.

"Well, well," Wren drawls, her lips curling into a cruel smile. "If it isn't tardy Scarlett, gracing us with her presence when half the morning's already gone."

I lower my eyes, a submissive gesture that burns my pride every time. "I apologize for my lateness."

"She speaks!" Wren exclaims with theatrical surprise. "And here I thought perhaps you'd finally lost your voice along with your wolf."

Snickers ripple through the room. The wolfless jibe—always their favorite weapon.

"I'll make up the time," I offer quietly, moving toward the mountain of linens awaiting my attention.

Wren steps into my path, her honey-blonde hair gleaming under the fluorescent lights. Everything about her screams power—from her confident stance to the mate mark visible at the edge of her collar. My brother Quentin chose her, and she never lets anyone forget it.

"Do you think time is all you're wasting here?" she asks, circling me like a predator. "You waste space. You waste resources. You waste the very air we breathe."

My chest tightens, but I keep my expression neutral. Show nothing. Feel nothing. Survive.

"The sheets need to be bleached and pressed for the visiting dignitaries," I say, attempting to redirect her focus.

Her hand shoots out, grabbing my chin with bruising force. "Look at me when I speak to you, Scarlett. Or has your brother's blood thinned so much in your veins that you've forgotten basic respect?"

I meet her gaze, hating the tears that threaten to spill. "I respect the Luna's position."

"But not me," she hisses. "Never me."

She releases me with a shove that sends me stumbling backward. My hip collides with the sorting table, pain blooming across my side.

"Get to work," she commands. "And since you seem to value sleep more than your duties, you'll forfeit meals today. Perhaps hunger will teach you punctuality."

My stomach growls in protest, already empty from yesterday's similar punishment. I say nothing as I gather soaps and brushes, filling basins with scalding water that reddens my skin on contact.

The other workers give me a wide berth—association with the pack disappointment is a risk none can afford. I lose myself in the mindless rhythm of scrubbing, rinsing, wringing. The steam rises around me, a momentary veil from watchful eyes.

"I heard she tried to shift during the last moon ceremony," whispers a young wolf named Talia to her companion. "Collapsed in front of everyone. Couldn't even form a paw."

"Quentin should have sent her away years ago," her friend replies. "What Alpha keeps a wolfless sister in his pack? It's an embarrassment."

Their words slice deeper than they know. The memory of that night—my thirteenth birthday, when every wolf child comes into their power—remains a festering wound. Standing in the sacred circle under the full moon, feeling nothing while others around me transformed. The collective gasp of horror. My father's face, twisted with disgust before he turned away.

"Scarlett!" Wren's voice cracks like a whip. "Are you daydreaming again?"

I jolt back to the present, realizing my hands have stilled in the water. "No, Luna Wren."

"Then why is half the basket still untouched?" She strides toward me, her presence filling the room despite her petite frame. "Perhaps you need motivation."

Before I can react, she upends the basket of clean linens I've just finished, scattering them across the wet floor. Mud from her boots smears across the white fabric as she deliberately steps on each piece.

"Oops," she says with mock innocence. "Looks like you'll need to start over."

Something dangerous flickers in my chest—a spark of defiance I usually suppress. "Why do you hate me so much?" The words escape before I can stop them.

The room falls silent. Even Wren seems momentarily stunned by my audacity.

Her recovery is swift and terrible. "Hate you? Oh, Scarlett." Her laugh is brittle ice. "That would require you to matter. You're nothing but a reminder of weakness in a bloodline that should be strong. A defect. A mistake that breathes."

She leans closer, her voice dropping to a whisper meant only for me. "Quentin keeps you out of pity, but even his patience has limits. One day, you'll find yourself beyond our borders with nothing but your pathetic human strength to protect you."

The threat isn't new, but it still chills me to the bone. Rogues don't survive long in the wild. Wolfless rogues don't survive at all.

"Now clean this mess," she commands loudly for the benefit of her audience. "And when you're done, the Alpha's quarters need attention. Every surface should shine before the council meeting tonight."

She turns to leave but pauses at the door. "Oh, and Scarlett? If I find a single spot or smell even a hint of your scent lingering in our rooms, you'll sleep in the kennels for a week."

The door slams behind her, but her presence lingers like a toxic cloud. I kneel on the wet floor, gathering the soiled linens with trembling hands. A single tear escapes, falling onto the fabric—one more stain to scrub away.

"Fragile, wolfless Scarlett," someone mutters, just loud enough for me to hear.

I continue my work in silence, my back aching and fingers raw. By midday, the laundry gleams with unnatural perfection. Every sheet is pressed, every uniform folded with military precision. I've scrubbed the floors until my knees are bruised and my nails are split.

For a moment, I allow myself to feel a flicker of pride in my thoroughness. It's a small victory in a war I'm destined to lose, but I cling to it nonetheless.

The door swings open, and Wren returns with two of her friends. Their eyes scan the room, searching for flaws. Finding none, Wren's expression sours.

"Impressive," she says flatly. "Almost as if you're trying to prove your worth."

She approaches the neatly stacked piles of fresh linens. With deliberate slowness, she pulls a vial from her pocket and uncaps it. Dark liquid—wine or perhaps ink—drips onto the pristine white sheets, spreading like blood in water.

"What a shame," she sighs, feigning disappointment. "It seems you've ruined the council's bedding. How careless of you, Scarlett."

My vision blurs with unshed tears as I watch hours of work destroyed in seconds. The other workers avert their eyes, some shifting uncomfortably, but none dare speak in my defense.

"Clean it up," Wren orders. "And when you're done, report to the Alpha's quarters as instructed. The council arrives at sunset."

They leave, their laughter echoing down the hallway. I sink to my knees beside the ruined linens, a sob catching in my throat.

This is my existence—an endless cycle of humiliation and labor. The daughter of an Alpha, reduced to less than an Omega because I lack what they value most: power.

I gather the stained sheets with mechanical movements, my mind retreating to that quiet place where pain can't follow. I imagine a different life, one where I'm valued for my mind rather than mourned for my missing wolf. One where my red hair isn't a mark of shame but simply a part of who I am.

But such dreams are dangerous. Hope is a luxury I can't afford.

As I begin again—washing, scrubbing, rinsing—I remind myself of the truth that keeps me moving forward each day: This won't be forever. Someday, something will change. It has to.

Until then, I endure. I survive. I remain Scarlett Corvus, the wolfless daughter of an Alpha line, a living reminder of what happens when strength fails and nature makes a mistake.

The pack's burden. My brother's shame. A ghost among wolves.