The cold, unforgiving wind of winter sliced through the thin rags that passed for my clothes. Each gust felt like needles against my skin, but I didn't dare slow down. My hands, raw and blistered from scrubbing the floors of the Lockheart Pack's pack house where the Alpha resided, were covered in frostbite. Pain was a constant companion, one I had grown used to in my new life as a slave.
Since the day I was dragged to this place, I had known no comfort. My bed was a cold, hard floor in the corner of a dank basement. Every morning, I woke up to a list of chores that seemed endless—cleaning, cooking, fetching water, and anything else the pack members deemed beneath them.
"Hey, wolfless," sneered a warrior named Marcus, tossing a filthy rag at me. "Make sure you get every speck of dust, or you'll be scrubbing with your tongue next time."
"Yes," I whispered, my voice hoarse from the cold and constant degradation. I bent down to continue my work, my body aching with each movement.