Chapter 1- Sienna
Shivering, I rub my arms as I walk home from the club I work at. Snow settles on the ground, and it gives the illusion that there is beauty in this city. That is a far cry from the truth on this cold, bitter night. This city is not safe at night, ruled by King Rehan. He’s a Lycan, and a frightening one at that. Humans like me were mere pawns to him. However, I dread when his son Prince Xandros takes over.
I’ve heard the whispers of his depravity, and he sounds worse than his father. Creatures that used to live only in horror movies and storybooks. Choose this time to come out and play. And I don’t mean to play cards or play ball in the streets. No, they have more monstrous ideas in which they play. They play with their food and hunt their unsuspecting prey; that is their idea of fun.
So walking through the deserted streets, I’m extra vigilant. My house is on a derelict street that runs along the forest that borders the city. The only light is by the burned-out house next door, its faint orange light flickering in the darkness. Glancing around, goosebumps rise on my arms, and my neck prickles with the feel of being watched. I pick up my pace, trying to slow my heavy breathing, which is making smoke clouds in the icy, chilled air.
I never used to do late shifts, always ensuring I was home before dark. Yet with my uncle’s debt hanging over my head and the threat that comes with it. I’ve been pulling extra shifts. Finally, it is paid off. I just hope he hasn’t skipped on another for me to cover.
Seeing the house come into view, I slow, dreading having to enter the old, dilapidated weatherboard house. The paint is peeling, the windows are cracked, this place has more cracks, creases, and wrinkles than Mrs. Morris’ face, and that old witch is past a hundred.
Climbing the porch steps, my boots crunch on each step, the holes in the bottom of my boots filling with ice-cold snow making my teeth chatter. Carefully, I dig my keys out, trying to make as little noise as possible, praying my uncle has passed out or, if I’m lucky, has dropped dead, so I don’t have to look at his evil face again.
The old door, which is barely held on by the flimsy bent hinges, creaks open, and I curse under my breath before popping my head inside the door. The old box TV is playing with no sound, and I thank whoever’s watching over me that he wasn’t awake when I first come in to shake me down for my tips.
Stepping inside, the stench of stale beer and cigarettes lingers in the air as I creep in the front door. The horrendous stench reaches my nose, and I fight back the urge to cough or gag, maybe both. I hold my breath, hoping not to wake him, and my grip on the old rattling brass handle shakes. I used to sneak in the back door, but it’s now boarded over from repeatedly being kicked. There is always someone looking for Uncle Sven. He’s a ghastly man, despicable, and, unfortunately, my only family.
Ten days and I could finally leave this place, or so I hope. I’ve been saving my tips for two years to buy my ticket out of here. My ticket is only a fancy way of saying I’ve been saving up to pay the seekers to smuggle me out of the city via the old tunnel system that was used when the war broke out. Humans used it to flee, not realizing it made them sitting ducks when the exits were blocked off.
It is now heavily guarded. So my so-called ticket holds no guarantees, but it’s worth a shot because my future options if the decision is left to the king, won’t be so bright given who my parents were. The last thing I want is to be herded to the castle on my 19th birthday and reprimanded for my parents’ crimes all over again. Leaving me in my uncle’s care for all these years is punishment enough.
Closing the door and creeping into the living room, I spot my uncle passed out drunk as usual, beer bottle dangling precariously from his fingertips as he slouches on the couch. Once, he could have been considered handsome, but time has not been kind to him, and he is anything but. His stained white shirt stretches over his massive beer gut, his thick hair graying, and just like this house, lines, and creases mark his face.
The filter on his smoke creates a horrendous stench as it burns. Hopefully, the bastard sets himself on fire and saves me from having to listen to incessant whining about how raising me has ruined his life. Locking the door, I grit my teeth at the sound of the lock clicking in place.
Every floorboard is written in my head like a blueprint on which floorboards are safe and which ones creak. However, the beer can was not part of the blueprint in my mind as it crunches under my boot. I cringe, glancing at him. He huffs, the cigarette falling from between his thin lips onto his white-stained shirt.
I try not to laugh as I sneak to the stairs taking them two at a time when I hear his frantic slapping and whiny ass voice as it burns through to his flesh. The glass coffee table that is littered with cans rattles as I reach my bedroom door. I suck in a breath and step in, only to stop in my tracks. My room has been upturned, the drawers strewn across the floor, and my clothes scattered everywhere. Even the mattress leans against the window. No!
I blink back tears daring to look at the corner where my chest of drawers has been knocked over and pulled apart. My stomach sinks, and I race over to it, ripping it out of the way to find the floorboard where I kept the box containing every cent I have now empty. I pull the last five-dollar bill out, the only thing remaining, and it is barely recognizable since he’s burned it.
Hearing a deep, menacing chuckle, I turn my gaze to find my uncle leaning against the door. A beer can in his hand. “Did you think you could hide money away from me!” He yells.
“That was mine. You had no right to go in my room.”
No right? This is my f*cking house, you ungrateful brat.”
“That I f*cking pay for; I pay the bills, not you. I am the only reason there is ever food in cupboards or the fridge. The power is on because of me!” I scream at him. I had been saving my tips for two years while I paid his debt off. For two years, I have put every spare bit of cash I’ve had in here. And it’s all gone. That was my ticket out here, and he stole it.
“Well, I owed Mal. It’s fine. He’ll let you pay the rest off.” He says with a shrug.
“You piece of useless shit!” I yell at him in a fury. He’s pushed me too far this time, but that outburst seems to push him over the line, too, because he tosses his beer can and storms into my room. I shriek, jumping to my feet, and narrowly escape his hand that reaches for my hair.
However, he doesn’t miss his mark a second time as he twirls around when I run for the door. His fingers tangle in my hair, and he rips me backward. My head bangs loudly off the mahogany-stained floorboards. I groan, opening my eyes only to see his foot coming toward my face. Quickly, I roll, his foot stomping the ground where my head was before I turn, kicking his bad knee. He grunts, dropping to the ground, and I snatch my bag from the floor and race for the door.
His ear-piercing screams yell at me to stop so he can kill me because that will really make me want to go back. My boots thump loudly as I race down the stairs; before jumping when I am near the bottom, I rip open the door and through it, only to stop dead in my tracks.
Now what? I think, trying to catch my breath, yet I can hear him making his way after me leaving me no other option than to leave the porch and the safety it offers, which is little to none. But my chances are better inside this house than out of it, yet inside is an ass-kicking I don’t wish to stick around for.
Sucking in a breath, I tug my hood up to shield myself from the icy breeze and hope nothing is lurking in the shadows.
