Framed as Pack's Traitor

I learned quickly that pain wasn’t just something you felt. It was something you lived.

Every moment. Every breath.

Pain followed me like a shadow. It clung to my skin like the filth I couldn’t scrub off.

The wounds on my back had barely begun to heal when the real punishment started.

They hadn’t just taken my title. They had taken my right to exist.

---

The packhouse loomed in front of me, warm light spilling from the windows, the scent of roasted meat and freshly baked bread drifting through the air.

My stomach twisted painfully, hunger clawing at my insides.

I hadn’t eaten in two days.

I had managed to survive on scraps before, sneaking into the kitchens late at night, stealing what little I could without being seen. But the moment they realized I was still breathing, they had taken that from me, too.

The pack warriors stood guard at the doors, their gazes cold.

They didn’t have to say anything.

I wasn’t welcome here.

I turned away before they had the chance to throw me down the steps again. The bruises from last time still lingered.

I would not beg.

I would not give them that satisfaction.

---

I scavenged what I could from the outskirts of the village.

Old bread tossed out behind the baker’s house.

I hunted when I could, but my injuries slowed me down. I wasn’t strong enough to take down anything bigger than a rabbit.

Even that was a risk.

Wolves who were caught hunting outside their ranks without permission were punished. And I was already a traitor.

I took what I could carry and made my way back to the shed—the only place I could call home now.

The nights were the worst.

The cold crept in through the broken walls, sinking deep into my bones. My wolf whimpered, desperate for warmth, for comfort.

There was none.

I curled up on the dirt floor, the only blanket I had draped over my shaking form. I listened to the sounds of the pack in the distance—laughter, music, the echoes of a life that no longer belonged to me.

Once, I had been part of that.

Once, I had mattered.

Now, I was nothing.

---

It wasn’t just the hunger.

It wasn’t just the cold.

It was them.

Every day, they reminded me what I was.

A pariah.

An outcast.

A traitor.

I had barely stepped into the village square when something hard struck the side of my face.

The taste of dirt filled my mouth as I hit the ground, my vision spinning.

Laughter rang in my ears.

“Oops,” a sickly sweet voice cooed. “Did that hurt, sister?”

I forced myself to my knees, wiping the blood from my lip.

Ruby stood above me, dressed in fine silks, her golden curls gleaming in the sunlight. She looked like a queen.

And she had everything I had lost.

Cedar stood beside her, his arm draped around her waist, his lips pressed lazily to her temple.

I swallowed the bile rising in my throat.

He was mine.

He had been mine.

But he had thrown me away like I was worthless.

Now he looked at me like I was something stuck to the bottom of his boot.

“Are you still here?” Cedar sighed, feigning boredom. “I thought by now you’d be smart enough to leave.”

“Where would she go?” Ruby smirked. “No other pack would take a traitor.”

The crowd around them murmured in agreement, their eyes filled with contempt.

I could feel their hatred, their scorn.

Once, they had been my family.

Now, they wouldn’t even spare me a kind glance.

Because of her.

Because of the lies she had spun, the web of deceit she had woven so carefully around me.

And because of him.

Because he had chosen to believe her.

Cedar’s lips curled. “She’s like a cockroach. No matter how many times you crush it, it just won’t die.”

Laughter rippled through the crowd.

Ruby giggled, running her fingers down his chest. Touching him like she had every right to.

Rage burned in my veins, thick and suffocating.

I wanted to scream.

I wanted to rip that smug smile from her face.

I wanted justice.

But I had no power here.

No voice.

Nothing.

So I picked myself up, ignoring the pain, ignoring the taunts, and walked away.

One day.

One day, I would make them regret this.

---

I clung to that thought as I lay in the shed that night, staring at the cracked wooden ceiling, my stomach twisting in hunger.

There was only one way out of this.

Only one chance.

The Lycan King’s Selection.

A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. A chance for warriors from every pack to prove themselves, to fight for a place in the Lycan King’s army.

If I was chosen, I would no longer be bound to this pack. I would no longer be the traitor they spat on in the streets.

I would have a new title.

A new rank.

A new life.

But there was a problem. The Selection was two months away.

And I had to survive until then.