Page 6 of Scarred Savages
Luck, fate, destiny—they all ghosted me years ago. I’m going to make my own life. Far away from the institute and even farther away from Alphas.
I walk past groups of shifters, their voices a symphony of hope and giggles, their eyes bright with dreams I’d long stopped dreaming. They don’t know the drill yet. The first act is always filled with promise; every female is Cinderella before midnight.
“Isn’t this exciting, Luna?” chirps a girl with a bouncy ponytail, as if we’re off to a carnival rather than a mate market.
“Thrilling,” I deadpan.
Tomorrow is going to be a glorious day.
I will have no mate, no pack, but I will be free of the stares, the pity, and the institute.
I will be free to live my life without a male and as far away from this hell as I possibly can.
“Breaking news,” a female anchor drones as a group of girls huddle in front of someone’s phone. “Political rising star Conrad Clawford will give a major policy speech tomorrow.”
I roll my eyes.
An entitled, idealistic, elite, pretty boy telling us how to live our lives.
The anchor goes on about Conrad, gushing, “At just 28, he’s become the most influential voice in wolf politics. Expectations are high for this young alpha to take over his father’s party leadership.”
The headmistress swoops in, snatching the phone and fixing us with a withering glare.
“Ladies,” she snaps. “Need I remind you of proper decorum? Form a line. Now.”
We scramble to obey.
“Do you know what happens to females who can’t follow simple instructions?” Her gaze lands squarely on me. “They find themselves shipped off to the Northern District.”
A collective gasp ripples down the line.
The Northern District. I shiver at the thought. A wild, lawless territory where savage wolves roam free, where feral packs live beyond the reach of civilized wolf laws. The kind of place mothers whisper about in hushed tones at bedtime:
“Be good, or the Northern wolves will come for you.”
“Is that understood?” She asks, her smile sharp and practiced.
“Yes, Headmistress Gray,” we chime in unison.
Even the most rebellious girls straighten at the threat. The Northern District is the ultimate deterrent; effective on everyone.
Everyone except Marcy.
That privileged twat.
She and her little pack of spoiled princesses whisper just loud enough for me to hear.
“Something smells bad,” her voice dripping with false innocence.
You’d think they’d get more creative with their insults, but it’s always the same.
I ignore them.
Headmistress Gray had added new vitamins to my regimen, claiming they would help my scent. This was a last-ditch effort to attract a potential mate.
Guess they weren’t working.
The doors swing open, revealing our so-called future—or lack of it.
