Jessamine
Moira. Katherine. Helen. Vivian. Keisha. A horrible bunch, really.
I sip my tea, watching them beneath long lashes. My head inches left. Evelyn. Cassandra. Ava. Emma. Daphne. The less terrible group. Saved only by the arrival of rogues before they could be hunted to death as well.
And then, there’s me, belonging to neither group. I’m the one who spent the night with Alpha Kier and saved his life. Today, I’m not a maid or an Omega. Today, I’m special. Today is when the tables turn.
They can feel it, I’m sure. The shift in the air. The tension. The storm brewing.
“Jessamine.”
I drop the tea cup on the saucer without making a sound, and I raise my head, waiting.
Moira nods toward the platters piled with various foods: cheeses, bread, fruits, pastries of every kind, all arrayed before us. "The servants are rather slow today?" She leans forward in her seat and pushes the platter nearer to me. "Serve us."
My fingers curl in my lap as I stare her down. “Why?”
Katherine snorts, plucking grapes from its cluster and she throws the fruit at me. “Why else, moron? It’s your job, isn’t it? Because the King let you sit at our table doesn’t make you any more than what you are.”
Helen giggles, her blue eyes brightening with excitement, and Keisha claps her palm on the table twice in response to Katherine’s words.
I glance down at the grapes that have fallen on my lap and I smile faintly. “I suppose you’re right,” I say, taking the fruit in hand and examining it as if it's something quite amusing. “But that must hurt, no? Knowing that in a room filled with precious Alpha Blood, he’d rather mingle with the filthy peasant.”
What comes flying next is an apple. It hits me square in the chest and though it’s something little, the thrust was strong and the pain is sharp. “He’s mingling with you?” Vivian echoes, baring her teeth at me. “Is that what you call forcing yourself on a man who has no interest in bedding you?”
I feign a gasp, and the sharp intake of air causes a horrible ache in my chest. “That is surely not what he said last night when he sought me out, I promise.”
Moira’s instantly by my side, yanking me out of my chair and I feel days of pent-up anger and frustration in the slap she delivers to my cheek. Slap is a mild word. My head spins and I instantly know my lip is cut. Goddess, for someone who looks like a cute cupcake ready for devouring, the woman hits hard. I reach out to clutch the chair, hoping to support myself with it, but Moira shoves me hard, and I fall on my legs. “Miserable wretch!”
I look up at her and grin. “Better than an unwanted woman.”
Her lips quiver and her eyes are so hateful, it makes me wish I could feel fear. But I’ve been bullied for most of my life. When I was younger and mother was alive, they would taunt me about her ailment every time she sent me to the pack school. They would gather around my desk, prodding me with sticks, yelling, “Mad Madeline’s daughter.”
And when they realized that regardless of what they threw at me, I wouldn’t react, they took to pulling me hair, and on some days, they would cut it, calling it horsetail. Then it was my eyes. They said it belonged to a witch. Next, it was my budding body. They called me a slut.
And when one day, I beat a boy for touching my breasts, just to ensure it was real—in his own words, they sent me home, and started tutoring me herself.
The thing about bullies? They thrive on the weaknesses they perceive and prey on any kind of vulnerability, driven by a need to hide theirs. Moira, Katherine, Helen, the lot of them are entitled princesses who have had it their way forever, but I, Jessamine Nobody, has shaken and taken something from them. They cannot crush my mind—not even in a thousand years—neither can they crush my spirit.
So, they will hurt me the only way they know how to. Hit me.
“Shut the doors, Ava, and bar it,” Moira says, pulling off her gloves. When the woman doesn’t move immediately, Moira cuts her a frosty look. “Would you like to stand in her stead?”
That does the trick, and Ava runs to the door.
I gather myself, standing on my feet. “I really wouldn’t—” Another blow silences me, the impact sending shockwaves through me, and I fall back one step, breathing hard as I will my gaze to focus. It really doesn’t help that my head still hurts from yesterday. It feels like it will explode any time now.
“Hold her,” I vaguely hear Moira say, and I blindly swing my fist, aiming for something. Anything. I really should have stayed in my room and had breakfast in there. Even if I screamed, there’s no guarantee anyone would hear me. Not anyone that matters. Alpha Kier, Beta Randale, Gamma Lloyd and every official member of the pack and council have been in a meeting all morning.
No one’s coming for me. It’s just the eleven of us in here, excluding the men guarding the doors, and I know they will not interfere. No one ever interferes in these sorts of fights.
I catch Moira’s dress and pull hard on it. She growls, smacking my hands off her, and for once in my life, I wished I had a wolf and the strength of an Alpha. I want to hit her so bad, my heart rages with the need to hurt.
I lunge for her beautiful hair, and grab it, pulling it with all of my anger. She screams and swipes for my face.
I move out of the way as fast as I can—which is not fast at all, and her claws come down on my neck. Agony sears through me like a white-hot knife and I bite down too hard on my lip to stifle a scream, tasting the coppery tang of blood. Every nerve in my body screams in protest and I can’t help the cry that leaves my lips as she rips it out of my skin.
Hands suddenly clamp onto each of my trembling arms, keeping me from falling. Katherine and Helen, perhaps. I can’t tell. I can’t look. My neck is on fire. My body quivers violently, and a merciless grip yanks my hair back, tilting my head upwards to stare into brown eyes, cold and ugly with loathing. Moira’s lips curl back from her teeth and her voice is soft as she whispers, “Say that again.”
I squint, and it takes a few blinks before my eyes can focus, and when they do, I see her hair first. I giggle. “Your hair, it’s falling out.”
Moira tugs on my hair painfully as she purrs, “Emma, Daphne, bring the pitcher. Vivian, her nose.”
My knees give out under me, but they keep me up. I feel someone behind me, just as a firm, slender hand that smells like wheat clamps down on my nose, closing off my airway. Panic wells up in me, and I writhe, throwing my weight back and forth, but it does nothing. They hold me in place and Moira pushes my jaw, forcing my mouth open.
I scream then, when I see the pitcher of hot tea hanging over my lips.
“Go on, drink all of it, Jessamine,” Moira whispers with a chuckle, and down the liquid pours. In my eyes, my nose, my mouth. It burns. My tongue, it burns. My throat is on fire, and it doesn’t stop. Pitcher after pitcher, emptied down my throat. I gag, gurgle, cry, gag, gasp, over and over.
And when there are no more pitchers of tea left, the wine is dunked on my hair, the cheese smeared on my face, the grapes in my dress.
They giggle, taking turns hitting me, slapping me, ripping my clothes, pulling my hair. I feel everything. Too much of it. And I think as Katherine’s fist hits my cheek the third time, Is any man worth going through this humiliation for? Perhaps, if I survive the next minute, I’ll flee from the castle before dawn tomorrow.
”Apologize,” Moira growls, panting. She’s worn herself out, hitting me. You know what I find hilarious? It isn’t going to change the fact that Alpha Kier doesn’t want her. I want to tell her this, but trying to speak makes my throat feel like it’s being stabbed with a million pins.
I stare at her, and I smile amidst the food I’m covered in. Then, I spit in her face.
She raises her hand to hit me again, but one voice comes from outside, halting her. “Why are the doors barred?” Alpha Kier’s muffled voice floats in.
Helen and Katherine drop me in fear, and I hit the ground with a thud that makes everything ache. I vaguely register the doors opening and Alpha Kier yelling. My bod aches, and I can barely see a thing. There’s blood in my mouth and I spit it out, groaning in annoyance.
Warm fingers touch mine and I flinch, shying away from them.
“Jessamine,” Alpha Kier says, and I glance up from the floor, squinting harder. His eyes bear into mine intensely, and I see the anger in them. “Who? Who do I need to punish?”
I open my mouth and close it. I can’t talk. He seems to notice and his eyes become an eerie black. He trembles, and I see the tremors in his fingers when they cover mine. “Please,” he whimpers, like he’s in pain.
His touch awakens something deep within me, something foreign and sentient. An ancient presence, cruel and mischievous stirs, sending shivers down my spine. I snatch my hand back and push myself off the ground shakily. I put one foot after the other, walking away, fueled by the sudden need to flee from him and the eyes that watch me with horror, pity and hate all the same.
Someone blocks my path. Gamma Lloyd. He extends an arm to help me, but I sidestep him. I’m afraid I’ll fall if I stop to let someone offer me comfort. I’m afraid they’ll see me break. I force my feet forward and when I round the corner, I come face to face with Luna Renae, her eyes bright, and her red lips curved into a mocking smile.