He was a different kind of torment, a storm I couldn’t escape. Every time he saw me, his face twisted into something dark, something feral. I looked too much like her—like Gloria, his angel, his lost love. My sister’s memory haunted him, and every time he laid eyes on me, it seemed like he wanted to tear me apart just for existing.
One afternoon, I was in the main hall, mopping the floor near the long, heavy table where the warriors took their meals. I kept my head down, my hair falling around my face, hoping to remain invisible. But I could feel him before I saw him—Alpha Lucas. His presence was like a pressure in the air, thick and heavy.
“Stop,” he commanded, and his voice cut through the room like a blade. My hands stilled, the mop slipping from my grasp.
He was staring at me, his eyes cold and full of loathing. “How dare you stand there with her face?” he growled, his voice low, like a rumble of distant thunder. “How dare you breathe with the face of my Gloria?”