CHAPTER 001: Camila's Struggle

The sharp pain that cut through her sleep woke Camila with a jerk of her body.

“Get up, you slut!” The mean voice of Annabel was heard in the air, and her foot hit Camila on the side.

She gave a gasp as the pain ran through her body. She was still dazed and confused, and she attempted to gather herself together, but the shock of the kick had dragged her out of the depths of sleep into a nightmare of waking. She had been sleeping in a sleeping bag, huddled in a corner of the cave where she had been able to get a little peace. The chill had crept into her bones, but the little warmth of her body heat had provided her with just sufficient comfort to fall asleep.

But now the sadistic awakening of Annabel had ripped that comfort asunder with a knife.

Camila groaned, and a hiss came out of her as she rubbed her side where the kick had struck. The sleep had still made her body heavy, but the tightness in her chest, the feeling of dread, was waking her up more quickly than the pain.

“What do you want?” Camila glared, and narrowed her eyes on Annabel. She could still see the sneering face of her stepsister, though her vision was still dim at the edges. The evil look in the eyes of Annabel was something that had become too familiar with the years.

Dad wants to see you, Annabel said, tossing her hair back and rolling her eyes as Camila had just requested her to do something.

“Why?” The voice of Camila broke a little, but she endeavored to make it sound natural, to resist the shaking of her words.

Do I appear to be your maid? Annabel hissed. “Go ask him yourself!”

And so Annabel turned on her heel, and walked briskly toward the cave entrance.

Camila looked where Annabel had been, and her heart beat faster in her breast. Her hands were wet, and her throat dry. She didn’t want to go. She did not want to confront him, her father, Mateo, the Rogue Alpha. But there was no choice. It was not as though she had anything to say about it.

The hold of Annabel on her arm pulled Camila out of her mind. “Come on. I am no longer waiting till you look decent.

“Wait! Can't you see I’m almost naked? I need my robe!” Camila objected, and tugged her nightgown nearer to her, but Annabel was not paying attention. Her hand clenched on the arm of Camila, and pulled her to the bonfire, where the men were seated. Camila can feel her heart beat in her chest, quicker and quicker, and with each step she is brought nearer to the gathering.

The mean laugh of Annabel resounded. Well, perhaps you had better be nearly naked to what is coming next.

The breath of Camila stuck in her throat. The cold in her spine ran through her body as she felt fear curling up in her stomach. She was aware of what her father would do--he would put her in the limelight again. A toy for his entertainment. And it would not be different this time. She was not delusional about her father.

Her body was merely a chess piece, something he would play with when he wanted to. Nothing more. She had been taught that at a very tender age.

Three days had passed since she was taken out of the orphanage where she had spent most of her life and was in his clutches. The orphanage was a sort of temporary suspension of the harsh reality of her blood. But now that she was in the power of Mateo, she was a captive again, in his kingdom of barbarism and conquest.

Her father had lost his life full of pride of being a leader of a pack after betrayal and exile. He had been a proud Alpha warrior, who was bent on establishing himself as the Alpha of the pack of his mother. However, when that failed, he revolted, took his family along and raised an army of rogues. That was the way they got here--out of civilization, into this cave, which was his headquarters.

Camila didn’t want any of it. She never had. She only had to escape, to live her life without the dark ambitions of her father. But now she was at his mercy, and his mercy was never merciful.

"I'm not guilty of anything!" The voice of Camila went up, yet as the words came out of her mouth she knew Annabel did not care.

Her voice was nasty and Annabel drew Camila closer to the fire.

"You’ll see. You will, Annabel said, with a wicked grin that made Camila shudder.

When they came to the clearing, the heart of Camila sank. Mateo was there--sitting on a big stack of wood in the middle of the bonfire. At least twenty men sat round him, and their eyes were fixed on her as she was dragged forward by Annabel. Her body tensed. This wasn’t new, not for her. But to-night... it was different. It was a stuffy air, as though a storm was brewing.

His eyes were cold and unfeeling on Camila. She still recalled the dimmest pictures of that night. Her mother had died when she was only six years old- in an attempt to shield her against an assault on their home. A pack of wolves had attacked their camp, and in the confusion her mother had thrown herself over her. The final thing Camila recalled was that her mother had bled into her hands when they were together, concealed beneath her dead body.

Her father had always accused her of the death of her mother. He had been so angry, so bitter. He told her that her mother died because of her fault. The shame of that charge had plagued Camila over the years. She had never been able to get rid of the feeling that somehow her survival had cost her mother her life.

“What took you so long?” The voice of Mateo was deep and commanding. Camila flushed, and her hands shook.

Annabel pushed Camila. She fell and almost tripped over her nightgown. Her knees struck the muddy ground and she felt the pain run through her body.

The tone of Annabel was mocking. “Look at her, Dad. She wanted to be sexy, and she made me wait till she put on her best nightgown. See how she would have liked to show her body to the men here.

It was even more difficult when she tried to protect herself. But she didn’t respond. There was no point. It was wise to say nothing, to leave her father to think what Annabel would say to him. Her heart was beating in her chest, but she would not be afraid. It was always easier that way.

She rose slowly, and looked full at her father. It wasn’t bravery. It was survival. I heard you to-day playing with one of my men, Mateo snarled. Not here. Not now.

You summoned me, Father, she said, her voice firm in spite of the panic that was churning within her.

They pulled her roughly to a tree, and they had iron on her.

The men who laughed at her only increased in volume and their laughter reverberated in the night. She opened her mouth to say it was not so, but before she could utter a word two of his men seized her arms. Her body fought with the ropes, in vain. Her feet were lifted off the ground, and she was lifted up, with her arms over her head, and bound to the tree with heavy, inexorable ropes.

“Let me go!” Camila screamed, and her voice broke as she fought the ties.

You think you can get away with it? She couldn’t break free. She couldn’t fight them.

“We’ll shift, Camila. Give me control, Serenity, her wolf, said in her mind.

Camila’s heart dropped. She would have liked to move, to loosen the knots, but the ropes were too tight. The men who surrounded her were too powerful. She could not get away with them in this way.

It was hot and stuffy, and Mateo stood in front of her, the whip in his hand. "I'm sorry, Camila."

Just leave me not, Camila said, and shut her eyes. The tears that stung her eyes would not flow. Not now. Not in front of them.

The voice of her father broke through her mind. She would feel the fire burning her flesh, the looks of the men who were drilling into her, and the weight of her father on her shoulders.

The whip crack cut through the air and Camila felt her heart stop. She had heard what her father could do with that whip, and she was terrified at the pain that was coming. But she refused to cry. She would not grant him that gratification.

Camila did, and her stomach knotted.

She smelled it, tasted it in the air. Would Camila live through the night?

Camila shut her eyes, and awaited the strike. She did not know how long she could continue the pretense, how long she could live in this hell.

But she had no choice. She couldn’t afford to give up. Not yet.

The voice of her father was heard once more. “Turn around, Camila.”

Or was this the breaking of the thread she had so long feared? The whip was coming. She smelled it, tasted it in the air.

The crack was repeated, and all was black.

Would Camila survive the night? Or was this the cracking of the knuckle she had so long feared?