In the dimly lit room, there I was. I could feel shivers racking my entire body as I stared into the darkness. I didn’t know how long I had been here, but I knew I had to get out of here soon.

Light streamed in through the small window above my head, the window bars casting shadows that danced around the cell above my head. It was as if they mocked me for my captivity and their freedom. I sat on the cold concrete floor of the dimly lit cell, wondering when someone would come along to give me something to eat. I could feel my hunger pains brewing inside my tummy, waiting for an opportunity to launch a full-scale attack on my insides.

My mind raced with thoughts of how I got here. At that, a dry laugh slipped past my lips and echoed through my newfound prison. It was amusing that I never saw how today’s events would lead to this very point. I mean, it had started off as a regular day at the pack house, with me being yelled at, then proceeding to carry on with my allotted responsibilities; chores that were just enough to be considered inhumane. After that, the usual dishwater in my hair from Martha, the cook who seemed to have a kink for making my hair smell like raw egg – of course, duly demonstrated through her daily ‘accident’. I think what offended me the most about that part of the morning was that she couldn’t be bothered to use an actual egg -she probably didn’t think I was worth it- but she rinsed out the egg-coated whisks and bowls and somehow always accidentally somehow got it into my hair. I internally applauded her for her creativity, really.

But then that was all just a day in my life. And then the pack had decided to go out on a hunt, which was something they did every so often. Something I appreciated every time it happened, because it meant they would finally leave me alone with my thoughts.

Then they came.

I was trying to relax with a game on my phone when I heard some noise from outside. I didn’t think much of it, expecting it to be the usual pack ruffians. But then I heard them splitting up. Some sets of footsteps ran towards the other building, and some sounded as if they were going towards the other areas of the house. Then there were the steps that sounded as if they were coming up the stairs. Where I was. That was unusual. They never came back this early, especially not unannounced – the very reason I began to wonder if there was a problem. It was when I went towards the window and peered out at the ground below me that I knew for sure these were intruders.

I looked around frantically for a place to hide, internally cursing at Alpha Wesley for putting us into this broom-closet-sized excuse for a bedroom. I had run back to the window, deciding whether or not to grab onto the tree outside and run into the woods, and gauging my chances of success if I did decide to do that. I quickly decided against it when I remembered that I hadn’t gone on a run in over a month and I was so unfit right now that I gasped for breath when I climbed stairs.

Then, the door to the bedroom slammed open and a man stood before me. He seemed surprised that I was there, pausing momentarily and raising an eyebrow. Unconsciously, I mirrored his stance, but my eyes were widened in fear rather than brimming with arrogance.

I could hear my own heart beating in my chest as he stared me down, eyes full of malice. I could feel moisture gather on my palms as my breath came out in small shaky gasps. I had stopped feeling fear in the pack house a long time ago, because I usually knew what to expect. However, I didn’t know what to expect now.

It felt like a movie montage, what happened next; I felt myself being pulled roughly by my arm through the door, claws grazing my skin. I felt their eyes on me as I was taken out of the house and pushed to my knees before them as the one who held me called for their attention. I felt all this, their stares on me as though I was some sort of specimen up for study, however it was as if I was watching it happen to someone else. That was how detached I felt from my own body.

I blinked back tears, staring at the sand on the ground below me as I knelt before them. It was a struggle however between my desire to maintain my dignity and the effect of gravity on my tears. I knew that if these wolves killed me immediately, it would be one of the greatest mercies I would encounter today; they were rogue wolves. Rebel wolves. They were wolves that moved in a group but didn’t have enough of a pack structure to be called a pack. They were outcasts who had banded together for their survival because they knew they were likely to die if they remained alone. They were anarchical rejects, mercenaries who didn’t care about glory like the average pack of wolves. Packless, they were often nicknamed. I could tell they were a rogue pack from the large differences in the energy they gave off.

A wolf could typically sense the energy of another wolf, enough to deduce what pack the latter came from. This was possible because aside each wolf’s unique scent, each pack had an aura that its members could be identified by. Almost a sort of family crest, if you will.

However, these wolves didn’t have a common energy to them – that was how I knew what they were. And when I realized it, I knew the best I could hope for was a dignified death, one that was immediate and quick; these wolves were known to show no mercy. And here I was in their way.

My eyes were still pinned to the ground as a low murmur passed among them, and even so when it rose to a clamor. One of the men stood in front of me and I felt a large palm stretched over my head, its grip firm on each side of my temple. His dark eyes stared into mine for moment, then his fingers gripped my hair, twirling the silvery strands between them.

Something flickered in his eyes, lighting them up. His eyes sparkled and his lips curled up into a smile. It was then that I knew they wouldn’t kill me. It wasn’t any consolation, however, because what they had in store for me could be far worse.

“The blood in your veins is Precious, Selene. And so is the streak in your hair.” I could hear my mother’s voice in my head, a distant memory of what she had told me since I was old enough to wonder about the silvery streak in my hair. I belonged to a rare legacy of wolves who were nicknamed 'the Moonlight’s Children.’ We were born with a silvery streak in our hair, and a the ability to produce stronger and more powerful offspring. The first of our kind had only emerged several decades ago, and werewolf society being werewolf society, ostracized them, leaving them no choice other than to mate with other rejects. When they had their own pups, more powerful than they averagely would have been, it became clear how valuable their kind was. Our kind was.

The walls were thin, and from outside, I could hear howls that pierced my ears, a vague reminder of the freedom I had mere hours ago. Or rather, the freedom I could have had. I never really had freedom, come to think of it. It was always the pack house for me. The closest thing I’d ever had to freedom was neglect from the pack I lived with; they didn’t care much what I did or where I went, as long as it didn't affect them. To be honest, I felt like they wouldn’t care if I died, as long as I somehow got back to the pack house in time for their sadistic appetites to be sated.

The thoughts of the pack house faded, replaced by the awareness of footsteps approaching my cell, each step echoing through the walls. Every echo sounded like a threat, a warning. I should have trembled, but I found myself numb now. My back leaned against the cold stone wall, and the small window that hung about a foot above my head let light into the dark cell in small beams.

I could see the shadows that formed in the small light dance as the wind blew the tree right outside the window. It feel as though they mocked me, because they were free and I was not. I was here, chained like an animal; my only crime the streak in my hair.

At least now you’re sure they won’t kill you. A sardonic voice inside my head commented.

Yes, only use me for their rebel offspring. It would be lovely, I was sure. Because not only would I be screwed – quite literally – but then, I would have to spend months carrying a pup I didn’t ask for and afterwards, the pack I came from probably would top it off by not accepting me back because they would see me as even dirtier. As if being spat on because I was an Omega wasn’t bad enough.

Note: The only reason I cared was because I wouldn’t get to see my mom if they kicked me out of their pack. She was the only home I had ever known, and because she lived in their pack house, it was the only home I had known.

Of course, being ejected from the pack house was only possible if I survived the rogue pregnancy in the first place; I could see this going wrong the moment my omega body decided it was too weak to carry the baby, and rogues weren’t exactly known for their mercy, so I didn’t expect any sort of medical support. My train of thought was cut off when the footsteps came to a halt in front of my cell and I heard the door being unlocked.

I lifted my head at the sound, squinting to focus as I peered into the darkness. It was too dark to see anything, however and even the shadows played tricks on my eyes. The only thing I was fully aware of was that there was someone in front of me, and I wasn’t quite sure, but I had a feeling he was much larger than I was.

A guttural voice came from within the darkness, confirming my suspicions.

“Let’s go.”