Moonlit Bonds Bound by fate Torn by desire

Meg's POV

"Brrr," I shiver in the cold, I hug myself, my thick loose black hair, swirling around me as the frosty air gushes around. The worn thick jacket, I have on will suffice for now but when it snows, I will require a thicker one. Unfortunately for me, this will have to do for now until next week when I have the amount, I would need to make the purchase.

Grinning, I rub my hands together, both in glee and to warm myself up with the friction. I have been saving for this black jacket with a red hood, for almost a year. I think I fell in love at first sight with it and since I am from the pack- White Mountain, the shop owner agreed to keep it for me.

What a kindly old man.

Gazing up from the thick, stumpy tree branch I had settled myself on mere moments before, I take in the view of the green mountains, in the far distance of my residence. But not too far as I can make out the difference between houses and buildings- mostly.

I've rarely been out of our pack's border because it's almost forbidden without permission from Alpha- he's so dreamy. I close my eyelids reminiscing in the memory of his touch. His skin against mine...

My mate. Alleged.

Instantly I force myself to stop that trail of thought. He is my leader, and I must not think about him this way.

And as a lowly hybrid, I must obey his every command, whether I wanted to or not. Heck, even the other higher-ups in werewolf rank could boss me around and I would obey. It's been embedded in us since our existence came about.

Moon Goddess and all that. Don't let me get started on how much I think this Being or Beings despises me- I'd only end up feeling sorry for myself and I loathed pity even when it was my own, for myself.

Watching out into the far distances, especially from a higher height, is my hobby. My favourite. I can close my eyes and not hear chatter from my pack. Or orders being given and or whimpering from my housemates.

My inner wolf is peaceful calm and does not talk much, choosing to remain in the back of my mind most times, rather than surface. We are that weak.

Sneezing because the chilly air suddenly turns frosty-cold, I almost fall off the branch between my legs, my head spinning from the impact. Hurriedly leaning forward, I hug the branch, waiting for the dizzy spell to fade away.

It happened twice in the past four days, and it usually follows with a dim sort of headache. This time, however, I feel nauseous. And a shortness of breath accompanied.

Thinking of what a scene would stir up if I blacked out and didn't return to my house by sundown, I decided to head on back home, fighting the dark clouds inside my head, all the way. I mean my housemates might not notice if I was missing but there is always some other pack member who likes to stir up unwanted troubles.

My housemates all smile dully at me as I whoosh past them. Dully because it's just too much to muster up something you don't feel on the inside. See we might be werewolves, but we are the weakest in our pack- omegas. The runt of the litter. The pack members all treat us with more scorn than dignity because our wolves are almost non-existent.

Meaning it makes no sense we have wolves when we provide nothing towards our pack's strength and only make our pack weak. Our wolves could be defeated by a mere growl from an alpha- some wolves don't even come out and wither away, leaving only the human form.

And sometimes, very rarely, the human vanishes leaving a wolf that cannot morph back to the human self. It's a pathetic life.

And I am one of those- the most subordinated. Omega and branded too.

I recall the time Beta grabbed my arm, grinning as he displayed the needling machine and indigo ink. Later that evening, I cried when I saw what he had tattooed onto the back of my neck and my tears spilt over. It was a horseshoe but instead of both ends going inward, it went outwards.

It was the sign for omega. Weakling.

But that was years ago and it's no use crying over spilt milk now, is there?

We do the labour- not the respected ones, we do the chores- the cleaning up after. We cook, wash, feed the babies, scrub down blood...you know the castaway's jobs that are too degrading for other members of the pack. Sometimes we are spared a few shillings- not actual shillings but you get my drift.

Domestic work.

We have a separate house from the others in the very middle of the pack houses as we cannot protect ourselves, let alone the pack, if under attack. The pack's warriors protect us. The deltas and gammas.

We have no parents or have been discarded by our parents. Most of us barely finish high school and very few make it higher- like the pack doctor. He's omega but he has his own house with his wife and family- still he resides in the middle of our community as he still needs to be protected from attacks. And because of his position in the human world, he frequents with the leaders of our pack.

He is considered an elite.

Not all family is bad however but it's just better this way for us all to live together. So, as to not disrupt others when we need to get up and move at early light.

And everything omegas wear are hand-me-downs. Our clothing might be a bit worn most times, but they are not stained or tattered.

Finishing up my chores, I take a quick shower, feeling so much better than earlier when I abruptly threw up. No warning- just barf.

It's my wolf waking up with my throwing up all over the bathroom floor- again.

Sensing her worry because we are one, I do not want to frighten her more.

Throwing up is a part of life for us. It's been known to affect only the weaker members of the pack like regular humans as our immune system cannot fight off viruses as easily as a normal werewolf could. I mean it's not like I will pick up everything that passed but every couple of years or so, yeah.

Weak and pathetic is what I am. I find myself wondering for the fifth million time; what is the sense of me being alive. I just occupy air that could be used by someone else. Oxygen is pretty vital, you know. My absence might just save the planet.

*

A few days later, upon returning from the supermarket, Mary, one of my housemates, barely looks at me when I almost run into her, and she falls to the dirt floor outside our house. My hands never reached out to grab her because they were tightly clutching my cloth bag that contained the over-the-counter boxes.

I am a wreck at the moment because of what my bag contains. I won't be able to purchase my jacket after all.

She's dressed similarly to me- in jeans and a plain blouse. Hers is pink while mine is white, and both of us donned hand-me-down Addidas white sneakers on our feet. Her hair is beautiful, but she always wears it in a simple bun, and she is ten years older than me. I'd be lying if I said she was beautiful but honestly, she wasn't that bad looking.

Dull, is a more accurate word. And she always seemed uncomfortable.

Instead of shooting something at me along the lines of, "Watch it," as the other pack members would, she apologises to me with her head lowered and then stands up, dusting her behind.

They all do this to me- as if I am better than them. The omegas I mean, not the other pack members.