Chapter 1

Being the pariah of the pack isn’t easy—in fact, it sucks! But such is life… at least for me. My name is Gypsy, but everyone calls me Tramp. It’s not like I had any say in the matter, but if your father kills the Alpha then runs away and leaves his only daughter behind at the age of six, this is what happens. I’m the outcast.

The new Alpha, Greg, took pity on me and gave me a home and a job as his personal slave for the past ten years. I not only work for him, but also his bitchy wife Ciara and their spoiled asshole son, Hunter, and of course, anyone else that is in this pack.

I don’t blame my father for leaving me behind. My mother died giving birth to me, but my dad stayed for me. He didn’t kill himself, which usually happens when your true mate dies. No, my dad was strong enough to survive. I know deep down he’s still alive somewhere. My intuition is usually right.

“Tramp, my breakfast is cold. Make me a new plate.” I scurry to the stove just before Hunter can kick me. He’s really strong and guaranteed to leave a bruise. He’s 22, and the bitches in this pack think he’s hot. I don’t see it.

“Yes, sir.” That’s the only thing I’m allowed to quietly say. Speaking gets me a slap or a punch, depending on who it is. I remake his omelet and quickly serve it to him. I take the old one away and scrape it into a white grocery bag. I plan on eating it later, but it looks like trash to them.

After cleaning up breakfast, I sneak the bag with the rest of the trash outside. I watch around me as I scarf down as many bites as I can before I actually get to the bins. It’s not often I get to eat so well. I wipe my hands and swallow everything down before returning to my duties.

I clean the entire four-story hotel-sized pack house every day. I get one break a day at 4 PM for my meager dinner of Spaghetti O's and bread before I cook for everyone else. It’s a lot of cooking because it’s buffet style. I usually have help in the kitchen because someone screwed up in training. Today, it’s Peter and Holly. Peter is the only person I actually get along with. He’s a bit of a klutz and screws up a lot. “What did you do this time?” I ask as I look at the shiner he’s sporting.

“Hey, Gypsy. I got in the way as Alpha was giving a demonstration. You get me for a week.” It sucks for him, but it’s good for me. Sometimes, I think Peter does it on purpose. People in our pack make fun of him because he’s 23 and on the scrawny side, which is really uncommon for werewolves. Even my wolf is bigger than his. He’s like an older brother to me.

“Stop talking, Tramp. Just get busy, so I can get the hell out of here.” Holly hates me, surprise, surprise. She’s in her early 20s. It’s rare for her to get kitchen duty. She’ll do as little as possible, leaving me to do most of the work. She’ll do just enough that Alpha Greg will give her a nod of approval. I focus my attention on loading the chickens into the rotisserie. I’ll also be making fried fish filets along with side dishes. I’m thinking mac and cheese and mashed potatoes. We always have hotdogs and fries available for the picky pups.

“Well, if you want my help, get me what I need," Holly squawks at me. I give her a nod and wash my hands before finding veggies for a side salad. She can at least handle that. She wouldn’t dare screw up dinner; Alpha doesn’t mess around when it comes to food. Also, Alpha Greg knows I can cook, so if it’s bad, it’s because someone else did something. People have tried in the past and gotten severely punished.

“What do you need me to do, Gypsy?”

I point out a 50-pound bag of potatoes to Peter.

“If you could peel and rinse the potatoes, I’ll work on the meat.”

He grabs the bag and tosses it onto the counter.

Once the chickens are in the gigantic rotisserie oven, I manage to slip next to Peter while I work at the stove. “So, what did Holly do to get in here?”

Peter gives me a side smirk, “She was screwing Beta Hunter, and she ended up being late to training.” I roll my eyes. Gross. Oh, did I mention that Hunter is the pack beta? It’s a weird set up. In our pack, the Pine Ridge pack, the Beta is the next Alpha in line. I think they just do it because they like the power. His Grandfather was the Alpha that my dad happened to kill. It used to be different when the packs were widespread.

Peter and I finish making dinner, and Holly sets everything out, so she can be seen working. Peter and I clean up, and he walks me to my room. I live in a shed outside of the pack house. I don’t go to school, so I read as much as possible. Alpha Greg doesn’t care as long as I get my work done.

“Are you getting excited?” Peter asks as I open my door.

“Excited about what?” I turn on my little lamp and fan. I only have the two outlets from an extension cord, so my fan is my favorite luxury. It can get pretty toasty in the summer here.

“Duh, Gypsy. Your birthday is coming up.” He plops down on my mat that I call a bed.

I forgot that my birthday is soon. I guess this one is of some importance because when you turn 17, you can find your mate. Considering there are only two packs, the chances of finding him are pretty high. Him being happy to find me? That’s a different story. “Oh, yeah. Not really. I just hope whoever my mate is doesn’t reject me in front of everyone.”

Peter shakes his head. “He would be an idiot.” I cock my brow at him which earns me an eye roll. I’m stick thin and sickly looking. I can’t fight, and I’m the pack disappointment. Peter knows I’m right. “Just because of your past? So what. Mating is different. Your mate won’t care. He won't be able to resist the mate pull.” Peter stands up and stretches. “I better get back before my parents wonder where I am.”

I give him a hug, “Wouldn’t want to be seen with the Tramp.” He squeezes my body as tight as possible in retaliation for my jibe.

“You know better than that. Brat.” He kisses my head and takes off.