The Alpha's Mate Who Cried Wolf novel Chapter 1

I push myself up from the floor and wipe the blood from my split lip in pain-my bruised eye swelling.

"Please, no more, Dad. Mum wouldn't want this. She wouldn't want you hurting me like this," I plead.

"You should have thought about that before you killed your mother!"He shouts.

"Please, Dad! You know it was an accident. I didn't mean for her to die!"I plead. We stare at each other with cold consternation. "Please, Dad! Please forgive me," I beg.

He looks at me with hatred in his eyes before his expression changes. He smirks.

"Oh, Astrid, you're no daughter of mine! You never were: your mother told me your birth father died when she was pregnant with you. However, I loved your mother so much I was willing to pretend to be your father!"

"No! That's not true! Mum would never keep something like that from me!", I yell.

"Your mother didn't want you to find out the truth until you were eighteen. She wanted you to live a normal life. She said you would find your true identity once you were eighteen. I didn't know what she meant. I guess she was planning to tell you about your biological father then. You'll never find out who he is now!"He chuckles before kicking me in the ribs. I yell out in pain and hold my side. Locking my bedroom door behind him, he leaves me in my bedroom alone.

Dragging myself across the cold, hard floor, I carefully lift myself onto my quilted bed and lie on my side. I feel my broken rib under my clothing and burst into tears, not understanding how the man that once loved me and helped raise me could do this to me. I remember sitting on his lap in front of the fire when I was a small child. My mother would lean in the doorway and smile. She was so beautiful, and I loved I had the same green eyes as her.

I don't know how long I lie there this way before I fall asleep. The following day, I awkwardly pull my work uniform on and quietly creep down the stairs. Dad is asleep, most likely passed out in a drunken stupor. I pull my hoodie over my head, walk out the front door, and walk to work.

I used to go to school until my teachers saw the bruises on my arms and called Dad into the principal's office to question him. I begged my teachers not to contact him. They didn't believe me when I told them I was just clumsy and fell down the stairs. I haven't been allowed to return to school since I had to find a job as a kitchen hand and a server at a diner about a thirty-minute walk from home.

On my way to work, a black Mercedes moves conspicuously behind me. I have noticed this same car following me for a few months now. The driver is always watching me. I usually veer off the road when it approaches, choosing the longer route to work through the woods. I enjoy my job and my colleagues. My boss Jim is charming. He always knows something isn't right but never makes me talk about it. His offer to help is always there, unspoken, supportive and noted.

I walk into the kitchen and wash my hands to prep the salads and other food. Then, feeling too flustered, I walk over to where I left my bag on a stool, discarding my hoodie onto it and unzipping my jumper to cool down. Twenty minutes pass when Jim comes in to cook the first food orders for the day. A growl erupts. He sounds strangely like a wild animal. I look up at Jim, who isn't thrilled.

"Astrid, you know you can come to me for help, don't you? You don't have to go back home if you're not safe. I have friends in a nearby town who could look after you?" he offers.

"Thank you, but I'm fine. I just fell down the stairs. Jim gets a small smile from me.