The Lost Princess Of The Orphanage | Read Free Preview
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Chapter 1 — A Stranger Calls
Nadia
When I was about to turn eighteen, surviving after leaving the orphanage was the first thing on my mind.
What I hadn’t expected was that I’d be trapped in the orphanage, facing the director Cliff’s harassment.
“You have one last chance to be adopted,” Cliff whispered in my ear. His breath fell hot on the side of my face. “Tomorrow an important person will be coming here, and I can arrange for you to make an appearance. A life of luxury is within your reach, Nadia.”
He ran a meaty hand over my body, and I trembled. Cliff was a big man, with cheeks that were forever blotchy and red. With eyes that roamed hungerly over my seated frame.
He was a mess of an orphanage director, only dealing with the adoptions when he felt it suited his needs best. Background checks were forgone, bribes were encouraged, and closed-door meetings with the other girls here were a constant plague.
And, like now, rich clients were grabbed at with greedy hands.
My skin shook, blood heating. Growing up in the orphanage taught me many things. It had taught me how to make a bowl of oatmeal feel like an extravagant meal, how to bathe fast and thoroughly in ice-cold water, how to walk with silent feet over the groaning stairs outside the director’s door.
But mainly, it had taught me how to protect myself and how to read people.
It was how I knew that Cliff was a man of foul-smelling confidence. He lacked the tact of keeping his touch to himself, and I highly doubted my thigh was the first that his fingers had grazed or my spine that first that his belly had pressed against.
The question was: how many girls had he hurt?
I didn’t know. I didn’t want to know.
My teeth stretched into a convincing smile. Cliff leaned back, eager eyes sparkling at the sight of my agreement.
His lips stretched into his own grin.
Smug. Successful.
My nails dug into my palm.
Pig.
Without hesitating, I threw my fist forward. It smashed into his wide nose. Pain crashed through my knuckles, but it was worth it when Cliff let out a smothered howl. Blood rushed from his now-broken nose.
I didn’t stop there.
I hammered my firsts into his face, again and again. He threw his hands up to defend himself, but it was no use. My hands felt warm and wet, pounding into flesh, bone, and blood. Growing up in the orphanage had made me strong, but it had also made me angry. Cliff had ensured that.
“You’ve lost this chance forever!” Cliff shouted, his words a sputter of spit. “Tomorrow, you’ll be thrown out of this orphanage. You’ll end up as a nameless waitress. A prostitute selling your body on the streets. A worthless, pathetic thing—I can promise you that!”
My chest heaved. “You’re a disgraceful pedophile.” I wanted to spit that word. I wanted to keep throwing my fists into his face until his body went slack, his anger buried under the bruises and torn vessels soon to grace his skin.
Life outside the orphanage was terrifying, but if Cliff wanted to use my body just to show off in front of rich men, I’d rather be a waitress. On my own, away from this. From him.
I left a grumbling, cursing Cliff and returned to my room.
Though the orphanage was a broken cage of a place, my dorm had always been a refuge to me. It was the only space that had ever felt like mine, with its tiny window and its thin quilt. The walls were bare, no memories fond enough to be hung along the trim, but the mattress was shaped to my body. And once, just before my first adoption, I’d carved my initials into the wooden door of the splintered wardrobe.
It never felt like a home, but it was a space.
Crawling into bed, I left the day on the floor like a pair of discarded slippers. I slipped under the covers anew and fell asleep.
Early the next morning, I made my bed and packed the few belongings I owned. I ran my fingers over the carved initials of the wardrobe and shut it for the last time. Today, I would be leaving this place for good. Today, my life would truly begin. For better or worse.
Through the crack in the window, an engine rumbled up the orphanage drive. I dropped my small rucksack to the floor and crept toward the noise.
Outside, a sleek, black Mercedes pulled up to the front of the orphanage entrance. The car looked out of place amongst the decaying stone of the building, and the man that emerged from the vehicle did too.
He appeared to be around thirty years old, wearing a form-fitted suit and a pair of black sunglasses perched on his stern face. He tipped his chin toward the sun, then toward the towering building, before shoving them off of his face. His eyes trailed the rows of windows buried into the stone foundation.
His gaze swept over my room, and our eyes met.
I pulled the curtain shut and stepped away. It no longer mattered why he was here, or for who. I was on my own. But this place had taught me to be okay with that. I would leave here and find a job, my own way.
I would build a life that wasn’t full of grimy men, of abusive stepbrothers or grabby pedophiles.
I took a deep breath. You can do this, I told myself.
Grabbing my bag, I trudged downstairs.
The man had made it into Cliff’s office by the time I stepped off the last step and onto the main floor. I could hear Cliff’s monotone voice droning on about the children here, recommending the best of the “lot.”
The man mumbled something in return. His voice was deeper than Cliff’s, the sound rumbling through the thin walls of the entry way. The word princess slipped through the open door.
The two syllables collided like a shock to my body. I coughed out a laugh.
Right, I thought, This was the kind of place where princesses were found.
Here where men like Cliff enjoyed stomping on the girls they raised, striving to make their bones brittle and their voices small. Here where girls were spit out to the first greedy hands that wanted them, just to be pressed into the ground even more.
Maybe if I hadn’t been brought up in a place like this—in places like my first adoptive home or foster placement—the thought wouldn’t seem so ridiculous.
Regular, unbroken people still had dreams, didn’t they?
Princess. I scoffed. What a life that would be.
I shrugged my bag further over my shoulder, ready to leave. There was nothing left for me here.
“I want to adopt her.”
The word fell heavy through Cliff’s door. The floor beneath my feet creaked as I froze, one step closer to the door. To my life after this place.
Reluctantly, I turned back toward the door.
I want to adopt her.
My breath caught. My heart hiccupped in my chest.
The man stood in the doorframe, tall and foreboding.
And he was pointing directly at me.
Chapter 2 — A World Awaits
Nadia
This had to be a mistake.
I glanced around the entryway, sure he was mistaken—that I was mistaken—that I was merely a body standing between him, his pointing finger, and the girl he truly meant to adopt.
But the foyer was empty, the few girls flittering in and out of the halls slipping up the steps without notice.
The man’s eyes didn’t follow them. They stayed on me. This had to be a mistake.
Cliff appeared just as shocked. He gaped at me from over the man’s shoulders, his face turning red, nose screwing up.
“Mr. Voss,” Cliff rushed, scrambling through the doorway to stand between us. “I can guarantee she’s not the one you’re looking for. She’s a troubled child. Violent! She’s been returned three times, deemed not a fit for foster care.” He scoffed. “Failure to thrive, failed placement, you name it. She’s no good, I can assure you.”
Mr. Voss appeared uninterested in the spew of words, but Cliff barreled on.
“Listen to this… When she was eight,” Cliff gave a huff, and a laugh rumbled between his chapped lips like a hiccup. “She was returned less than three weeks later. Three weeks!”
I ground my teeth together. Mr. Voss’s eyes were still on me, but I wanted nothing more than to shove forward and press my fingers back into the bruises on Cliff’s face. My eyes burned, nails digging into skin.
Three weeks.
Cliff said it like a joke, like it was laughable how short of a time it had been. But to me? Those three weeks had been a long, unbearable hell. Filled with a stepbrother who loved nothing more than to abuse me.
Cliff knew that. Of course he knew that. I’d sat right there in his office after those three weeks, hair jagged and cut, legs bruised and knuckles scabbed, but all he’d cared about was trying to wrestle an apology out of me for breaking that asshole’s arm.
He didn’t get one. I was too proud for that, too happy to finally have proof of how strong I was.
That was just the beginning.
Three months later, when I’d been tentatively placed with my first foster family, the man of that house began to sneak into my room at night. I’d felt him watching me while I slept, while I sat across him at the table during mealtimes.
When it went from just looking to him grazing his fingers along my back when we passed each other in the halls, I began to stop sleeping. I’d spend the night sitting with my back against the bedroom door, blankets pulled up over my head.
And when he eventually tried more, his body caging me against the banister, his hands fumbling with the zipper of his jeans, I shoved him. He’d tripped over his drooping pants and tumbled down the steps.
I was returned again after that. My actions were written into record, and after more various failed placements, I was deemed a violent, unwanted child. Left and discarded to these very orphanage halls.
Cliff, of course, didn’t waste any time telling Mr. Voss all of this, omitting the abuse and pedophilia.
Mr. Voss would be like all the other families who had heard the stories. He’d dismiss me with a disgusted sneer, shake hands with Cliff, and pick some other ‘princess’ to bring home with him.
I stared at the floor, waiting. “Enough.”
I flinched, but the word wasn’t directed toward me. Mr. Voss’s expression was cold and impatient. Cliff stuttered to a stop beside him, his jaw slack.
“I’m adopting her.” Mr. Voss spoke slowly, voice firm. “Start the adoption paperwork, and stop running your mouth. Unless you want me to do something about the way you run this place.”
Cliff balked at him before scrambling back into his office, muttering beneath his breath as he went.
Silence fell over the hall. Mr. Voss approached me, heavy boots thudding against hardwood. A strand of graying hair fell over his forehead, his eyebrows pinched as he came to stand over me.
“My name is Vincent Voss. From today on, you’ll be my daughter.”
I blinked up at him. His daughter? Just like that? I scoffed. The last thing I wanted was another father who could abuse or abandon me. Didn’t I get a say in this?
“Come,” he said.
He made his way to the door and tugged it open, waiting. I took a deep breath and shrugged my bag back over my shoulder.
This all felt… surreal. I didn’t think I’d be back here—getting adopted, being dragged into a new home by someone who seemed like he came from an entirely different world.
Outside, I paused on the driveway, suspicion pressing into my fluttering chest. “Why?”
Vincent stopped. “What?”
“Why?” I asked again. “Why me?”
“Because,” he sighed. “You’re a werewolf. Like me.” “I’m…” I trailed off, sure I was hearing things.
“Of course you don’t believe me. You’ve been lost in the human world for too long. But now, you need to accept your new identity.” He strode forward and grabbed my arm. “The pack values every offspring. They won’t allow a pup to be lost forever.”
He seemed serious, which was ridiculous. A werewolf? A pup?
Perhaps he was insane. Perhaps he was a human trafficker or a cult criminal. Why else would he want to adopt someone like me? Someone with such a ‘criminal record?’
I tugged my arm free. “Before we go, I need to use the bathroom.”
I couldn’t do this again. I couldn’t get mixed up with another family that only planned to use me in whatever ways they wanted.
I made it only a few steps up the drive before Vincent caught me. His hand clamped onto my shoulder and he spun me back around. I tried to form another excuse, but before I could, he backhanded me.
Blood pooled in my mouth. I gasped, squeezing my eyes shut, trying to blink away the darkness clouding in.
“You’re crazy!” I shouted. I yanked at his grip, trying to stumbled away, but Vincent held firm. He tugged me forward and threw me over his shoulders.
“You’re crazy.” The words slurred together. My head pounded, skull squeezing, thoughts lulling away. “You’re crazy…”
·
That was the last thing I said before falling unconscious.
I dreamt of warmth. Of a woman with deep brown hair and soft hands. I couldn’t see her face, but I could feel her breath as she whispered lullabies into the top of my head.
“You, my sweet girl, are the last princess of the country.” She rocked me against her chest. “Never forget.”
I woke with a start.
A headache rang through my temples. I pressed my head deeper into the headrest at my back, sunlight beaming in my eyes.
Vincent must have carried me to the car after he knocked me out. He sat beside me now, his hands tight on the steering wheel. The air smelt of fresh leather and vinyl.
“Where—” I pushed my spine straighter, the seatbelt tightening against my hips. “Where are you taking me?”
Panic flooded my cheeks. I had to get out somehow. I had to shove open the door and… jump. Maybe if I tucked my head, curled into myself as I threw myself out, I’d survive. It was worth a try. I couldn’t just go with him—
“Take a look.” Vincent nodded toward the door. Reluctantly, I turned toward the window.
My breath froze in my throat at the sight.
Wherever we were… it was far, far away from the orphanage.
I gaped, turning back to Vincent, a thought from earlier passing back through my crowded head.
An entirely different world.
Chapter 3 — Why Me?
Nadia
The sky had dimmed, gray clouds gathering. Ahead, the road diverged, and Vincent pulled the car off near the closest clearing. He spared me a glance, adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves, and shoved open the door.
Slowly, I followed him, disbelief spreading through me like fire. What was this? Where were we? There was nothing but trees in front of us. No estate looming to greet us, no staff waiting to take my lone, pathetic bag.
“What is this?” I asked. “Where are you taking me?”
Vincent shook his head. “Enough questions.”
“But—where—”
Without warning, Vincent leaped into the tree line, a growl rumbling in his chest. The muscles on his back rippled, and his suit tore away, silvery-gray fur rising on pale skin. I screamed, lurching back. Away.
Vincent, the man, was gone. Standing in his place was a wolf.
I’d never seen one before. Not truly. I’d always imagined them like dogs, only angrier. Wilder. Bigger.
This was no dog, even wild or angry. This was more like a beast.
Werewolf.
Vincent had said I was like him, but this had never happened to me. I couldn’t grow claws, couldn’t sprout fur. I felt human… I was human. But this? How could I deny this?
The wolf—Vincent—approached me. The air around me seemed to shift as he neared, growing heavy. Warmer. The trees he passed groaned, the roots twisting away from the creature, bark bending as if to watch the wolf pass.
I forced myself to stay planted in place as the beast loomed over me. Its snout was close enough to touch. Vincent blew out a breath—a puff of steam in the chilled air—and I squeezed my eyes shut against it.
When I opened them again, Vincent had shifted back. His features slowly smoothed back into place: the familiar leer of his gray eyes, the tilt of his lips, the graying hair that was the same shade as the silver fur of the wolf.
“You believe me now?”
“What choice do I have?” My voice sounded skeptical. Breathless. “After seeing that?”
Vincent huffed out a laugh. He nodded toward the car. “Come on.”
“How come I can’t do that?” I hurried after him, slipping into the passenger seat. “Shift?”
“You don’t have your wolf yet. You’ve been gone for too long. Now that you’re here,” he said, pulling back onto the main road, “your wolf spirit will find you. Without it, you won’t be able to shift or use any of your innate abilities.”
“How did you know where to find me? If I don’t have a… wolf spirit?”
“Your scent. I traced it back to the orphanage.”
Right. My scent. Because he’s a werewolf.
Questions rolled through my mind, one after another, like the waves in a storm. I wanted to ask about everything. About my parents, about why they abandoned me. About who I was before I became nobody.
About the life I could have had.
Before I could make enough sense of my own thoughts to even know where to begin, Vincent pulled the car into a long, spiraling driveway. The nearing estate was bigger than anything I’d ever seen. It rose like a beast at the end of the road, moss-covered stone spilling toward sky.
“This is where you’ll live from now on,” Vincent said simply. “I’m the Alpha of the Darkmoon Pack. Until you’re able to support yourself, I’ll act as your guardian.”
I nodded. I had already planned to get a job as soon as possible. The last thing I wanted was to trouble anyone.
“And you’ll have to go to school.”
School? That wasn’t part of the plan. “Why do I have to listen to you?”
“Because,” said Vincent, his lips stretching into a grin, palm shoving open the car door. “I’m your adoptive father.”
·
Despite my resistance, Vincent continued to push the subject. Since he was the only one I knew here, I figured it was best to listen. After a few days of settling into his estate, I enrolled at Fenrir Hall.
The academy was a collection of halls—brick and cobblestone speckled around a quad of foliage. Students migrated in and out of buildings, trampling along the stone paths in packs. A few spared me looks as I made my way to the center of campus, where the belltower rose like a beacon of greeting.
Outside the belltower’s doors, an array of posters and notices were tacked onto a crooked bulletin board. My eyes caught on the edge of a wrinkled, torn paper, the word princess sticking out like a splash of ink.
Anyone with information about the missing princess, please report to Headmistress Yves.
The princess was last seen eighteen years ago.
Useful information will be compensated with a sum of $1,000,000.
My breath caught. That amount of money was unheard of. Unimaginable in the places I grew up in. But eighteen years missing? That was a long time. How could one hold out hope for new information when it’d been that long?
Eighteen years. My age.
I tried to imagine myself being a princess. Wearing an elaborate gown, a tiara crooked atop my auburn hair. Even the image, stitched into my mind in all its falsehood, felt ridiculous.
A princess wouldn’t have been thrown into an orphanage.
Shaking my head, I moved on to the map hung beside the board. The dormitories were on the southside of campus, tucked between the dining hall and a speckle of trees labeled training grounds.
I turned back the way I came and collided with a group of laughing students. They barely acknowledged me, throwing a half-hearted ‘my bad’ at me, before shoving each other down the pathway. Others followed in their place, a whole group gathering under the spread of trees.
A gallop of cheers filled the air. I pushed my way through the small crowd to the front, where two men circled each other, panting.
The man with his back toward me stood taller than the other, muscles rippling under bare skin, a spillage of tattoos stretching across his tensed shoulders. He’d clearly already gotten a few hits off on the shorter boy, whose face was scrunched in pain. His cheek was already swelling under the smear of blood on his skin.
The taller of the two rolled his neck and lunged for the other. They both tumbled to the ground, bloody knuckles slamming into skin again and again.
The crowd shimmered with excited rage. They chanted the man’s name and leaned closer with each hit thrown.
Kael.
He was on top of the other man now, his knees pinning his opponents arms to the dirt. He made no move of letting up, even as the boy spat up blood between hits, cracked teeth falling from his mouth like spit.
He was going to kill him.
Before thinking better of it, I threw myself into the mess.
“Enough.” I dug my nails into Kael’s shoulders, shoving him off the wounded boy. “You’re going to kill him!”
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