Ellie’s POV

"Don't come near me! Or I'll . . . I'll kill you!" Brave words like these erupt from my mouth but my body shudders in my disheveled clothes, and I raise my hands to the scissors and shout a warning at my cousin Alex. However, he grins sententiously and presses closer to me, not believing that I, who has always been submissive, would really dare to defy him.

"You are making this game interesting. Come on, dear sister . . ." Disagreement resurrects within me. If we are kids, it will be a game. But we are not. After I fell asleep, exhausted from my chores, Alex snuck into my room to fondle my bottom, and although he often leered at me, I never thought he would actually dare to do that.

I see the want in his eyes, but they are not lovely. His lids are almost shutting off, like the wings of a butterfly. He just wants to be satiated. Looks at me like a meal for his satisfaction. It makes me want to throw up and I clutch tighter on my little defensive weapon. So the moment he lunges at me, I close my eyes and thrust the scissors at him.

I feel contact and cannot help but open my eyes. I catch his eyeballs widen in surprise like ostrich eggs, no more in expectant pleasure, as I stab him in the shoulder, and when he takes a small step back with a frown, he ends up accidentally tripping over clutter on the floor and his body falls backwards. The back of his head hits the table and he suddenly stops moving.

My body begins to calm down. The scissors aren’t in my grip anymore. I take tentative steps forward, more afraid that Alex might just be faking his fall. He could be quite cunning at times. When I get to stand beside him, I see the knife lodged halfway; crimson color making a full moon around the puncture site.

I prod him with a leg until I am convinced he has really passed out. Then I am not calm again. My hands frantically attack my hair, I am uncomfortable and my heart beats like a mad drum. Fear invades me. What do I do? Since my parents died, I was adopted by my aunt and uncle, and after successfully getting my parents' inheritance, they showed their true faces, beating me at every turn and giving me all the chores.

I had become a waif to them and to Alex here, some tool he wished to use as a pleasure giver. Sometimes I was driven to the brink. Sort of taking the leap. Then I stopped being suicidal and planned to run away. And looking down at Alex, and his barbaric behavior, I think I might be forced to bring that plan to an earlier date.

I control my fear, bringing myself to my knees and begin to search his pockets. I come up with some money and blue boys. The idiot didn't even have a condom. I know he will not forgive me when he wakes up, or if he wakes up. And my aunt and uncle, they must have a way to catch me, so I must have a strong backer.

The next thought which convulses within my mind is where I would run to, but I quickly think of him, Austin, the Alpha King of the werewolf world. My father had been his loyal gamma warrior, and shortly after, my father was killed in the line of duty. Then my mother died of a sudden heart attack, and I always suspected that their deaths had something to do with the Alpha King.

I really didn't know why then and I sure as hell don't now. All I know is that I have to find a way to get King to keep me, sort of like an adoption without papers and signatures, even if he is rumored to be bloodthirsty and warlike. In any case I cannot stay here; in my uncle's house any longer. I have no better choice now.

I grab my savings and my backpack, whatever scrap I have been able to keep during my thralldom and I let myself out of the house without bothering to look back at Alex. I put on the hoodie and walk briskly towards the town.

I acquire a map of the suburbs from a store, look up the Alpha King's palace and cannot find it. It is not listed as a place. The gray area is represented by one name: Outskirts. That sounds like a boundary, I think.

"This should do," I tell myself, folding the map and tucking it into my bag. I walk out of the store and glance at the sky.

The sky above takes the color of cat vomit and I wonder if Alex would have regained consciousness. Not as if I cared, I just cannot imagine what they will do to me if their son actually dies.

I travel for three days, using the map that cost all the money I had on me, mostly on foot and then hitching rides from less caring motorists, who weren't too concerned about my disorderliness.

I take the long road snaking to God knows where. That part is excluded and cut off from the map. I reach a fork on the right, and the road isn't tarred. A wooden signpost reads OUTSKIRTS in red diagonal block letters. This is my destination so I walk down with the evening sun regarding me with heated consciousness.

The palace is too big when I see it, looks like it was sliced off from the Tower of Babel or something, then painted violet. Because in place of workers, there are gamma warriors dressed in jackets and jean trousers that look neater than mine, patrolling the grounds. Maybe the color is a synonym for violence.

I hide around, circling the edifice, the soles of my shoes almost a hindrance to the stealth I need to maintain. My snooping around brings me to an open-air swimming pool, and right there by the bank, I see a man sitting in the water.

He is hardly moving. So could he be unconscious in this position even with his eyes closed? His delicate facial features and bare pectoral muscles are built like the most perfect sculpture. Who is he? Is he a prisoner locked up here by that brutal Alpha King? I need to find out.

"Hello," I whisper in his direction, trying to see if I can catch his focus. He ignores me like I am a roadkill. I amplify my voice again, letting him feel I am a distraction that should be accorded some interest. "Tsk. Hey. This isn't the time for a modeling shoot. If you could at least open your eyes and help a lady out here?"

No reply. The statue man doesn't even look at me. I pace along the bank. "Please, wake up. I really need your help," my voice whimpers like a puppy's.

Then I stop to listen. At this moment, I hear the pit-a-pat of footsteps coming this way. A gamma warrior's voice comes from outside, humming to himself. "Why are they always male?" I say to myself, throwing my hands up.

In panic, I run towards the pool, hoping to immerse myself in it until whoever has seen me leaves. Jumping in, I find out that the pool isn't just water. It's actually full of ice and it stimulates my calf cramps, sinking me to the bottom of the water.

My undercover act disappears as I cry out, "Help … help me! Gollum … help … " I reach out my hand in an effort to call for help towards the prisoner, hoping he would wake the hell up now. He actually does. He opens his eyes and looks at me. His pupils are blood red, like the store paint.

His eyes are like windows and I feel like I can see I’m right where his soul lives. In bloody Hell.

I begin to flail. My body wants to get away from those eyes and emerge from the water at the same time. He doesn't grab my hand. He isn't Jesus. My body submerges, resurfaces; I swallow cold water and my throat begins to fill up.

A memory comes to mind. I remember the rumor that the Alpha King was wounded during the war a few years ago, and since then, whenever his wound attacks him, his eyes are blood red and he will kill everyone who comes near him. Oh my, it is Austin.