Accidentally Saving The Alpha Prince | Read Free Preview
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Chapter 1 — Help
Amelia
For 18 years, I've lived under the torment of Headmistress Crane at the orphanage, but today feels different. Soon, orphans like me will be sold to werewolves, turned into their human pets.
I’ve planned to escape more than once, and each time, Crane’s watch over me has become even stricter.
I carry the slop from the basement out of the orphanage that has been my home for almost eighteen years. I make sure to slump over my bucket and shuffle my feet under Director Crane’s scrutinous supervision.
My punishment is meant to make me suffer not only the physical demand of carrying such heavy buckets up from the basement into the troughs for the pigs but also mental anguish: the disgust of knowing what I’m carrying in each of these endless buckets that I go back and forth to fill and refill.
Blood, skin, teeth, hair, nails, and other body parts, all my responsibility to clean off the basement floor and walls, all of them tortured off my fellow orphans for one reason or another in this prison werewolf society calls a Home for the Forgotten.
But I forget nothing.
I remember every child who has ever bullied me. I remember every punishment laid down by Director Crane. I remember every step and door and window in this suffocating building.
I remember every exit and road that leads anywhere but here.
So I drag the buckets along the courtyard ground, looking for all the world like this most recent punishment is the one that finally broke my spirit. I need this final plan to work because if I’m still here in a few days when I turn eighteen, I will be subjected to the disgusting practice werewolves call Mercy, where suitable eighteen-year-old humans are selected by werewolves to be their pets.
That’s all this orphanage is: a grounds for grooming human children into eventual “pets”.
In this world ruled by werewolves, we have no say in who our masters become. We are merely commodities awaiting sale, knowing that most pets end up as nothing more than corpses to be disposed of.
I’ve played my part of hopeless orphan so well that by the next day, during my Showing where Director Crane parades me to be bid on by werewolves, she doesn’t even bind my wrists. She leaves me unbound on the bench outside her office while she negotiates my final contract with the werewolf who won.
Director Crane peeks out at me quickly, smirking smugly at my despondent demeanor full of despair. Then she closes the door for a more private conversation.
And I take off.
As quickly as possible, I make it through the back door, counting on the orphanage’s rigid schedule that dictates everyone should be inside right now. Yet two kids my age bolt upright from the ground as I race through the courtyard. I pray in vain that they’ll pretend not to see me, but these are the director’s favorites – and they gain her favor by helping her control the other orphans.
“Amelia’s escaped!” Zella yells automatically, and my stomach drops. I reroute in their direction, slamming her to the ground and covering her mouth, warning her to stay quiet.
But Julius takes up where she left off, yelling for Director Crane, a satisfied smile on his face. It’s only moments before the director is towering over all three of us.
“Well done, Julius,” she approves, grabbing my arm painfully and hauling me to my feet. “Grab the other children and meet us in the basement.”
When all the Home for the Forgotten children are gathered in a circle around me and the director in the basement, she orders me to strip.
“Never,” I spit. “I will never bow to a traitor against humanity selling her own kind in exchange for the approval of werewolves.”
Director Crane orders Zella and Julius to pin me down and rip my clothes – an order they indulge greedily. The director then whips me with a thin leather strap, one I’m not unfamiliar with. I can tell by the sting that she’s only leaving small cuts that will heal in a day or two.
Which means she still plans to sell me and doesn’t want to lower my value.
I don’t know how much time passes before Director Crane seems to tire and finally lets up. “I encourage anyone who wishes to suffer the same fate as Amelia to try running away,” she threatens.
As the rest of the kids file out of the basement, Director Crane lowers her beautiful face that conceals the horrors within, speaking quietly so only I can hear her.
“I may be limited in how much I can mark you outwardly before your new masters come to collect you on your eighteenth birthday, but let’s see you try to escape in the next few days under the weight of starvation.” She grabs my jaw in her clutch, forcing me to look her in the eye as she hisses. “Attempt this again, and I will send you to the werewolves as a slave.”
That night, Zella and Julius come to find me where I’ve been left to starve. I groan as much at the sight of their presence as from the cramping of my empty stomach.
“Let’s see, what was this?” Zella mocks. “Escape attempt number two-hundred-and-thirty-seven? You really are getting good at failing, aren’t you?”
“Wow,” I answer, “I’m surprised you can count that high.”
“You’re nothing but trash,” Julius adds, ignoring my jab.
“Unlike us,” Zella continues. “In three days, the werewolf VIPs will arrive, and we’ll be selected as their lovers.”
Even in my hunger, I have enough energy to roll my eyes. “You know that’s not true. You’ll be nothing more than pets like the rest of us.”
“Liar!” Zella yells, and to my surprise, she actually starts beating me. I honestly didn’t think she had it in her.
But then Julius joins her, and all I can do is curl up in a protective ball until Director Crane appears and pulls them off me.
“She’s not worth it!” Director Crane admonishes. “The werewolves will be here any minute. Go get yourselves cleaned up for your first round of Showings!”
Zella and Julius glare at me as they leave my room, Director Crane on their heels. “Director Crane,” I call. “Wait, please.”
I’m delighted by the way my dry throat involuntarily cracks, making me sound even weaker.
“I’ve realized my mistake,” I promise. “I won’t try to escape again. Even if I wanted to, I’m too hungry and weak to get anywhere.”
She only arches an eyebrow in my direction.
“Please,” I repeat, “let me help the other kids prepare for the Showing. Some of them are my friends. It would be nice to say goodbye.”
I lower my gaze submissively, allowing my body to go slack in exhaustion.
“Fine,” Director Crane finally snaps. “I suppose someone will need to brush the girls’ hair.”
I stand, following her to the Preparations Room. She leaves me at the door as she heads to welcome the incoming werewolves.
The second she’s out of sight, I sprint for a side exit into the forest.
Honestly, the fact that Director Crane continues to trust my lies after every escape attempt is the most human part about her.
Now that I know Zella and Julius keep an eye on the courtyard when Director Crane is occupied, I’ll have to map out a different route for my next escape attempt. I’ll need a little more time to prepare before I actually leave, but at least I can plan my path while everyone is distracted.
I disappear into the forest to plot the best route from here, so focused on making sure I’m not being followed that I trip over something in my path. I fall to my hands and knees, looking over my shoulder to see it wasn’t a root or a rock I tripped over but a man.
I freeze at the sight of all his blood, the unearthly pallor of his skin, and his gaping wounds. Instinctively, I turn around to help him, amazed by the force of his sharp cheekbones and strong jaw that cut an imposing presence, even splattered in blood.
I wonder if he’s dead, but then his eyelids flutter open. Even in his unfocused haze, his amber irises are breathtaking beneath long, dark eyelashes. It’s like stumbling upon a work of art that has been slashed to pieces.
“Help,” he moans.
“I’m here. I’ll help you,” I promise as I study his injuries, prioritizing the worst wounds first.
“Thank you,” he whispers, then seems to lose consciousness.
Wolves howling in the distance catch my attention, and I turn in the direction of approaching footsteps. This man is probably a human slave who’s being hunted, I realize.
And I wonder if Fate disrupted my last escape attempt to lead me here, to a fellow human who needed to be saved, too.
“Come on,” I urge him, forcing him awake as I quickly pull him to his feet. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 2 — Who Are You
Amelia
The man staggers along, leaning on me for strength. I wind us through the woods, paying careful attention to the footsteps and howls in the distance.
The man stumbles along, hardly picking up his feet as his eyelids droop. I’m practically dragging him, which is a feat since the top of my head barely reaches his nose.
“Come on,” I coax him, hoping he doesn’t pass out until I can settle him somewhere safer. “Not much farther now.”
I notice the sounds of werewolves recede as we approach the outskirts of the Home for the Forgotten orphanage, and I realize they might not expect a grown man to hide among children. I scan the building as it comes into view, but no one seems to be around since most are preparing for their Showings.
I take the stranger down to the basement, almost tumbling down the stairs together when he loses his footing. Thankfully, I’m able to catch him, despite my food-deprived body and his large frame. We ease the rest of the way down precariously into the stagnant air of the basement torture chamber.
Cleaning out this basement hasn’t been my only punishment. After two-hundred-and-fifty-one escape attempts, because even Zella and Julius didn’t know about them all, the director moved my living quarters down here, “to live with the rest of the filth” as she put it.
She thought not being able to live with the other kids would be a punishment. Apparently, she doesn’t know that I don’t have a single friend in this place. Separating me from the rest of the residents here has been an incredible reprieve.
I’ve been careful not to let her know it.
I constantly complain about the basement’s dirty state, its damp, sticky air, and the dilapidated, makeshift living quarters she threw together for me. They are all repugnant, so the complaints aren’t a lie, anyway. And they keep Director Crane thinking I can’t stand staying down here – they keep her from trying to punish me with something worse.
I’m only just laying the man down on my flimsy bit of hay when I hear my name being called.
“Amelia!”
I recognize the voice belonging to Krista, another kid here who’s a couple years younger, as her footsteps echo closer down the basement steps. My little sleeping area where I’ve laid the man is in a little off-shoot from the main basement room, like a closet – without a door. I hastily toss my thin blanket over him, knowing I’ll have to rely on the basement door to block the view of him.
“Krista!” I greet her at the door, holding the door steady in my hand, resolved not to let her walk past it.
She sniffs the air, and immediately gags, sticking her tongue out in disgust. “Oh, gross! It always smells so nasty down here.”
She takes a couple steps farther back up the stairs. “I guess it makes sense that you’re down here. All you little pests flock to the smell of trash, don’t you?”
I wait patiently as Krista laughs.
I will never run out of patience. Patience makes the difference between imprisonment and freedom.
Krista sighs. “Director Crane says you’re supposed to be upstairs helping the older kids prepare for their Showings.”
I nod. “I’ll be up right away.”
“Good,” Krista replies. “You better hurry because I’m going to be pissed if Director Crane sends me down to this smelly swamp again because you’re being lazy.”
I bite back any comments about Krista being half my size and, unlike a lot of kids here, not a threat to me.
And I realize in relief, as she scurries back upstairs, that no one wants to come down to the basement. It may be the absolute best place in the entire orphanage to hide someone.
Later that night, after all the Showings are complete, I snatch a bit of bread and a cloth from the kitchen. When I make it back to my damp room, the man is unconscious and shivering under my sorry excuse for a blanket. I look under the blanket at his wounds, which seem to be healing.
Checking his head again, I can tell he has a fever. I was afraid that would be the case, which is exactly why I grabbed the cloth from the kitchen.
I fill my chipped cup with water from the faucet in the corner of the main part of the basement, carefully lifting the stranger’s head in my lap to help him drink. He wakes only enough to sip the water down slowly, his eyelids never opening in his delirium.
After he’s had some water, I wet the cloth, placing it gently on his forehead to cool him down. I refresh the water on the cloth every twenty minutes throughout the night, holding him through his chills when they rack his body.
Despite hours of attending to him, the man doesn’t improve. I’m exhausted and concerned and hungry despite the bits of bread I’ve nibbled while watching the strange man in my bed and praying for Fate to heal him.
The next thing I know, I’m waking up to the dim light from the egress window illuminating the basement. I’m amazed by how rested I feel, by how ready I am to wake up, as if I actually slept well enough to start a new day.
The feeling is rare for me and absolutely lovely.
Slowly, I realize how cozy I feel – much too cozy for the pathetic hay and blanket I use for a bed.
Opening my eyes, I find myself in the arms of the man I tended to most of the night. His arms are wrapped around me, and we’re facing each other.
I realize I must have fallen asleep while holding him through a bout of chills. Angling my head slightly, I find the cloth on the ground that must have fallen off his forehead at some point.
He shifts in response to my movement, pulling me a little closer. It’s then that I notice the definition in his strong arm muscles and his beautiful bronze skin. Even relaxed in sleep, he radiates power, which is so different from the other slaves I’ve seen.
I glance at his face again, noting the bronze skin that was so much paler when I met him. Hope sparks in my chest, and I reach my hand out to check his forehead, ecstatic when I find his temperature has finally gone down.
I’m smiling in relief as I pull my hand away to find I’m not the only one who’s awake.
I lock eyes with the man whose name I still don’t know, amazed at how vibrant his eyes look now that his body has healed. The deep brown of his irises look cracked by a bright, honey color, like sunshine breaking through stone. I’m about to compliment him on the intricate beauty of his eyes when he suddenly grabs me by my throat and rolls on top of me, those brown eyes seeming to flash gold.
He pins me to the basement floor where I’ve been pinned hundreds of times as part of countless punishments. His words are not the question they seem, but a ferocious demand.
“Who are you?”
Chapter 3 — Help Her Escape
Amelia
I freeze under the man’s weight and the pressure on my throat. I watch his eyes for another moment, wondering if that ethereal flash of gold will return.
Wondering if I just imagined it.
As I swallow, I realize he’s not even pushing down on my throat that hard. I take a steadying breath, remembering every time I’ve been pinned before.
At least this time, it’s by someone who’s afraid and trying to defend himself instead of those who have held me down intentionally to hurt me.
“I have no connection to the werewolves chasing you,” I say, confirming the lack of pressure on my throat by how easily I’m able to speak. “I’m just a human slave like you.”
The stranger searches my face as if expecting a lie hidden there, and I feel bad for whatever in his history has taught him to anticipate that.
Apparently, he feels satisfied with whatever he finds because he slowly loosens his grip and lets me go. I move slowly myself, not wanting to startle him, and we untangle as I scoot out from underneath him.
As I do, he slumps over in the bed, and I realize he’s not as fully recovered as I thought. Slowly reaching into the corner of the space, I pick up the bread that I stole from the kitchen last night.
I saved half of it for him in the hopes that he would recover enough to eat. It’s hard and difficult to chew, but it’s something.
I extend my arm slowly toward the man drawing heavy breaths on my bed, offering him the remaining half loaf. He eyes it warily but doesn’t take it.
“Where are we?” he asks.
“The Home for the Forgotten orphanage,” I reply, wishing I had a better answer for him. “My new werewolf masters will be back in a couple days to collect me on my eighteenth birthday, though I plan to escape before then.”
I offer him the food again, and his hand shakes as he finally takes it. “What is this?” he asks.
I’m surprised he doesn’t recognize something as simple as bread, and anger boils in my belly at the thought of whatever hellhole he must have escaped from.
“It’s bread. Um… a type of food. It’s pretty plain and doesn’t provide a ton of nutrients, but it’s better than nothing.”
He only stares at the half loaf in his hand, and I shrug. “Usually, it’s better than what you have there, but the director of the orphanage isn’t feeding me right now as punishment for my last escape attempt. I had to steal this from the kitchen for us to share, and it would have raised suspicions if I had stolen a fresher one, but they don’t really care when the old loaves go missing.”
The man’s gaze tracks me warily as I stand. “I need to go steal more food for my escape, so I’ll be gone for a bit.”
He doesn’t say anything, and I wonder what else he might need while I’m gone.
“The bathroom’s in the corner of the larger room over here,” I point in the direction of the faucet. “Feel free to use the cup to drink, and make sure to keep yourself and the bread hidden if anyone comes down here. I doubt anyone will, but I’m not supposed to have food or guests.”
I wait to see if he’ll say anything. When he doesn’t, I offer him a tentative smile, then take off out the basement door and up the stairs.
Owen
I watch the girl walk away, listening to her footsteps ascend into this unknown building. This is who saved me. Not only a girl, as she mentioned she’s not yet eighteen, but a human girl.
A human girl saved the Alpha Prince and recognized heir of the royal wolf pack.
On top of that, she clearly thinks I’m human. Really, the whole thing is laughable.
Then again, I started yesterday with my brother poisoning me, so maybe my whole life is one big farce.
The girl mentioned werewolves chasing me, which I don’t remember, but they were probably sent by my brother to hunt me down, hoping I’d be an easy target once I was poisoned.
And yet I was saved by a human girl. One who seems so fragile.
Except for maybe those blue eyes of hers that I woke up to. They were gentle and calm, yet determined and unrelenting.
I look suspiciously at the food she left in my hands, hesitating. I can tell by my sweat- and blood-stained clothes that I’ve already recovered from a fever, which means I’m on the mend. Still, I feel weak, and I need to regain my strength.
I take a bite of the food.
It tastes… terrible. It’s very hard to chew and feels rough going down my throat. The kingdom sends substantial subsidies to the orphanages every year, yet this is the kind of food they provide?
Granted, the girl mentioned this food wasn’t fresh, but still.
Inhaling deeply, I’m accosted by an awful stench. I can’t tell how much of it is this basement the girl said I’m in and how much of the smell is me, so I wander into a larger room in search of the bathroom she mentioned.
I search the entire room twice until I conclude that she must have been referring to a simple faucet in the corner. This girl lives here? In these conditions?
I wrinkle my nose at the stench that I can now distinguish is radiating from the walls and the floor.
“She smells nice. Wonderful. Better than this room,” my wolf comments.
I peel off my stained clothes to rinse myself off under the faucet. The girl is beautiful, too – not that it matters.
“She shouldn’t live like this,” my wolf continues. “We should take her with us. Help her escape.”
The basement door opens behind me, and I turn to see the girl carrying a bundle of food. She slams to a halt at the sight of me, her wide eyes raking over me. “Why aren’t you wearing clothes?” she asks rather loudly for someone who isn’t supposed to have guests.
Right. I always forget how modest humans are. It’s a strange trait to me, to all werewolves, since nudity is such a natural state of being.
“My clothes smell terrible,” I explain, picking them up from where I left them on the floor. “I don’t suppose you have any I could borrow?”
She quickly averts her gaze from my body, her eyes dancing around awkwardly to look anywhere but at me. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anyone, and surely not a werewolf, respond to nakedness with such discomfort. Her reaction amuses me, and I feel a mischievous urge to tease her.
Stained clothes in hand, I deliberately step closer. She moves back in tandem with me until she’s pressed against the wall behind her. She drops her bundle of food, which I easily catch, and puts her hands on my chest to stop me from advancing.
“Won’t you please clothe yourself immediately!” she shouts even though I’m right in front of her.
My wolf stirs at the sensation of her hands on my bare chest. Confused, I hesitate, but my thoughts are cut short by the smell of blood on her. My amusement vanishes as I step back to search for the source, finding scars on her arm instead.
I shift her bundle to one hand so I can grab her wrist with the other to examine the old wounds more closely. “Who hurt you?”
“You bastard!” an unfamiliar voice bellows from behind the basement door. I let the girl push me away as she races for the door to block me from whoever’s footsteps are thundering closer.
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