Page 9 of Scarred Savages
Resigned, I change into the tiny piece of fabric they call a swimsuit.
It’s white—because of course it is.
White shows everything: every imperfection, exposing the scars that mar my body.
Just as I’m about to step onto the stage, a forceful shove sends me crashing against the cold wall.
“What the hell?” My breath catches as I look up into Marcy’s furious face, her perfectly styled hair framing an expression twisted with rage and something deeper—fear? Desperation?Her eyes, usually bright with entitlement, now glimmer with malice.
“Did you think you could charm him?” she sneers, her voice dripping with venom. “You? The pathetic, scarred reject?”
I push off the wall. “What’s your problem, Marcy?”
“My problem?” she hisses, stepping closer, invading my space. “My problem is that you think you have any chance here. The Alphas are for real wolves, not pathetic, damaged wannabes like you. Look at you. Who would ever want you?”
This prissy princess can’t shatter what’s already been broken and pieced back together.
I meet her glare head-on. “I wasn’t trying to charm anyone, Marcy. Unlike some people, I don’t need validation from a bunch of snobby shifters.”
She scoffs, her laughter sharp and mocking. “Please. We all saw you talking to Alpha Hudson. Batting your eyelashes, trying to make him forget your hideous scars.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s called having a conversation. You should try it sometime instead of just giggling and flipping your hair. Or maybe you can’t handle the thought of not being chosen.”
Her face flushes crimson with anger. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you? With your little quips and sarcastic remarks. Well, guess what? Clever doesn’t get you a mate. Pretty does. And you? You’re about as pretty as roadkill.”
I step forward, closing the distance between us. “You know what, Marcy? I’d rather be roadkill than a shallow, insecure bully who tears others down to feel better about herself. Because at the end of the day, no matter how many Alphas you bag, you’ll still be empty inside.”
Her eyes widen in fury, and for a fleeting moment, I expect her to strike me. Instead, she leans in, her voice a venomous whisper. “Do you think you’re special because you survived a little fire? You’re nothing. You’ll always be nothing.”
I inhale deeply, feeling the familiar burn of anger and hurt, but I channel it into something stronger. They never found my parents’ murderers, the ones responsible for my scars. The authorities labeled it a random act of violence, but I’ve never accepted that narrative. Every time they said accidental, I pictured skull ink and a match.
Standing tall, I hold her gaze. “You’re wrong, Marcy. I’ve survived things you can’t even imagine. And to be honest, I don’t care what you think.”
She frowns before a wicked smile spreads across her lips. “I know why you smell. It’s because your wolf is dead. You’ve suppressed her for so long, you’ve actually killed her. Or better yet, she probably died, incinerated in that little fire.”
I can take a lot.
Nothing fazes me… except that.
I’ve never felt my wolf.
She’s never stirred, not even once.
She stays hidden, locked away.
Deep down, I fear Marcy might be right—that I killed her somehow. Maybe she thinks I abandoned her, that I didn’t want her. Or perhaps she died that night, burning away like the flesh on my legs.
Not a day goes by that I don’t think of her, long for her. I send her my love, hoping she’ll eventually feel safe enough to surface.
Her words hit me hard, and I take a step back, the weight of her accusation pressing down on me. Marcy senses her advantage and moves closer, ready to continue her taunts, but the headmistress’s voice pierces the tension, calling us to the stage.
Marcy shoots me one last glare, pure hatred etched on her face, before storming off. I take a moment to steady my racing heart, then step out onto the stage, lifting my chin defiantly.The whispers and stares wash over me like a tide I’ve learned to navigate.
Across the crowd, I catch Alpha Hudson’s eye as he slips through the ballroom doors. His gaze holds for a beat, unreadable, then he’s gone. But it doesn’t matter.
What matters is that I stand here, defiant, showing them all that I am more than my scars, more than their cruel words.
“Such a shame,” a woman sighs, her voice rising above the murmurs. “She has such a striking face, but those…”
