**You Want My Life and Bleed My Wounds**
**Athena POV**
Alright, let’s circle back to my spirit animal, whom I’m going to confidently label as a wolf until I’m given a reason to think otherwise. The timing of her arrival still baffles me. Why would she show up so early? Perhaps the moon goddess, in her infinite wisdom, decided I needed a fierce companion to help me navigate the mess that is my life. I mean, it’s downright bewildering when she appears. For a moment, I genuinely thought I was losing my mind.
“Losing?” she quips, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm. Since we share a soul, she’s privy to every single thought that flits through my mind. Ares is a real firecracker, let me tell you. She’s got this fierce spirit that I can only dream of possessing. Whatever I lack in confidence, she makes up for tenfold. Growing up under the weight of constant bullying has a way of chipping away at your self-esteem, I suppose. Trust issues? Oh, they’re practically my lifelong companions now. I can’t even fully trust Millie yet, always worried that the moment I lower my defenses, someone will stab me in the back. That’s how it was with the so-called friends who turned into my worst nightmares.
Once upon a time, we were inseparable, sharing secrets and laughter. Then, like a light switch being flipped, I found myself branded as the pack’s doormat. The sudden shift still eludes my understanding, but I’ve given up on trying to unravel it. It is what it is. I’ve been called every name imaginable, but “fat-ass” seems to be their favorite moniker for me. Lucky me, huh? Sure, I used to be on the heavier side for a werewolf, but that all changed when Ares came into my life and I started training at Red Runner one summer with Maxim and Millie. After that, I kept my training secret from everyone back home. I didn’t want them to see me working hard and potentially give them more ammunition to use against me.
I still cling to my sweatpants and oversized clothing whenever I step outside my door. Their relentless mockery still gnaws at my self-worth. My long brown hair is usually tied up in a bun, and most days, I hide under a cap. Why bother with anything else? It’s comfortable, and it keeps me out of the line of fire. Millie keeps pushing me to let my hair down and ditch the baggy clothes, but I haven’t mustered the desire or courage to do so yet. I just hope that if I ever find my mate, he’ll be able to see beyond my insecurities and love me for who I truly am. If I even get a mate, that is. I still can’t be sure what I am, after all.
I often wonder if I’ll end up with a wolf mate, considering I’m living among them. I had hoped I would have found him by now, but then again, I only ever visit the Red Runner pack. I’m just praying that my mate is from there because I genuinely adore that pack. The moon goddess blesses you with your fated mate only when both of you have your wolves already awakened.
Anyway, I digress. Back to Millie. She has become my rock, my absolute best friend. That fiery redhead is a rare gem—bright and pure-hearted. I’ve shared bits and pieces of my life with her and Maxim, but I’ve held back the darker details. I fear their judgment, after all. Alphas tend to band together, and while Maxim seems genuinely different from the terror twins—Jake and Jerry, whom I prefer to call the “shit stains”—I still hesitate. I have my own nicknames for them, but calling them rats feels like an insult to the rodent community.
Then there’s Thalia, the cockroach, daughter of a warrior. Her nickname suits her more than I can articulate. I call her that because she embodies the most repulsive traits imaginable. I know it sounds harsh, but trust me, you’d understand if you met her. With her platinum blonde hair, flawless skin, and model-thin figure, she’s the epitome of beauty. It’s infuriating when someone seems to have it all—except for any redeeming personality traits, of course. I don’t even harbor a burning hatred for her anymore; it’s more of a simmering rage. My blood boils at the mere thought of her, and I often fantasize about squashing her like the insect she resembles.
“So much for being docile, huh?” Ares remarks with a hint of amusement. I can’t help but appreciate how Thalia clings to Jake and Jerry whenever I’m around, as if I pose any threat to her. Like I would ever want anything to do with either of those losers. Trust me, there isn’t enough money in the world to make me even consider it. You know those women who are so sweet and forgiving that they end up caring for their abusers? Yeah, that’s not me. I believe in tit for tat.
I’ve been forced into submission over the years, mainly due to their relentless threats to harm my family. But the fire within me hasn’t been extinguished; if anything, it’s become a raging inferno. I just bury it deep down to keep it from surfacing.
Then there’s Benji, the bedbug, who is destined to be the future beta, thanks to the sexist beliefs that dictate that women can’t hold ranks here. And let’s not forget Brody, the mosquito, son of the gamma. These three sum up the worst of the worst. Their entire crew consists of eight to ten of my bullies, but these three are by far the most insufferable. The others just seem to go along with it, which doesn’t make them any better.
While I’ve resigned myself to my fate to protect my family, Ares is a different story. Each blow, each humiliation, every time our head gets shoved down the toilet until we pretend to pass out only fuels her rage more. She yearns to tear them to shreds. Honestly, she could easily do it since they haven’t awakened their wolves yet. I still believe she is a wolf, given her fearless spirit. Wolves are at the top of the food chain, and she wouldn’t be so bold against them if she wasn’t one herself.
It’s a bit strange that she shows such fearlessness in front of the Alpha heirs, knowing we could face severe punishment or even execution for acting on her violent impulses. Wolves are generally submissive to their Alphas, but my mother insisted I avoid shifting when she first saw Ares’s red eyes. You see, red eyes aren’t typical for a wolf. They usually have black eyes when their wolf takes over. The only other person who has witnessed Ares’s eyes is Luna Grace—the mother of those “shit stains.”
In the early days, when I was still learning to control my wolf, she caught a glimpse of my eyes flashing when I was bullied and couldn’t rein Ares in for just a moment. When she urged me to keep it a secret, her voice tinged with panic, I started putting more effort into suppressing Ares. Grace is a wonderful Luna and an incredible person, so I took her advice to heart. It’s ironic that she’s so kind, considering she’s the mother of the kings among scum. Unfortunately for me, she doesn’t have much influence in this pack, which is steeped in misogyny, treating the Luna like a glorified party planner. But to me, she’s so much more. She’s one of the few who genuinely cares about me, and I’ve grown to love her.
I’ve caught glimpses of Ares’s eyes in the mirror when she pushes forward, and oh my goddess—her red eyes are nothing short of breathtaking. They’ve made me question time and time again whether Ares is truly a wolf. But, as I said before, I can’t imagine her being anything less, given her fierce nature. In fact, I believe she’s a bit more special than the average wolf, considering the color of her eyes. Perhaps that’s why my mother is so adamant about us not shifting. Ares, however, agrees to keep herself hidden from the pack, even though she longs to unleash her fury on them. She’s just really bad at containing her anger, much like I am. I often find myself closing my eyes whenever someone angers me or provokes Ares. It’s almost like I’m living my life as a blind person, having to shut my eyes so frequently.
I’m jolted back to reality when another rotten egg smacks me square in the eye, and I curse under my breath. Looking up, I see Jake grinning like a fool who just got his way. Did I mention how much I despise them? Ares lets out a low growl, barely audible unless they’re in wolf form. Next to Jake stands Jerry, wearing a similarly devilish grin. When my gaze drops to his hand, I quickly realize why he’s so pleased with himself. And, as if on cue, a dead rat (oh, the irony) is flung in my direction. I. f*****g. HATE. Them. SO. much.
Closing my eyes for what feels like the hundredth time today, I wonder why the moon goddess doesn’t just come down and smite them where they stand. I’d do anything to witness that, even if it meant sacrificing a kidney. “Just let me loose, and I’ll handle the dirty work,” Ares growls, but we both know that’s not an option. Damn my life. She just has a few anger management issues at times like these, and honestly, I can’t blame her. I’d gladly scratch their eyes out myself if given the chance.
So, let me take a moment to elaborate on the vermin standing before me as a distraction to keep my mind occupied. Thanks to their Alpha blood, both of them are built like Greek gods, with muscles and jawlines that could cut glass. All Alphas share this trait. Their hair is a dark, wavy cascade that nearly reaches their shoulders, and their brown eyes are designed to ensnare any woman they desire. Anyone, that is, except for me. I’m practically the only girl in the pack they haven’t seduced. It’s the only silver lining to being labeled the pack’s degenerate. It’s downright disgusting, if you ask me. I genuinely pity the girl who ends up mated to either of them.
The twisted part of it all is that women who lack Alpha blood can’t reject their fated mate if he happens to be an Alpha. Poor girl. I can only hope that the unfortunate soul they are destined for is as revolting as they are—someone like Thalia. I pray to the goddess that my fated mate won’t be a man-whore or a filthy human being. I can’t even begin to fathom what I would do if he were. Sure, they might be handsome on the surface, but that doesn’t even come close to balancing out their horrendous personalities. It’s a classic case of “pretty on the outside, rotten on the inside.”
“OH MY GOD, LOOK AT HER FACE!!! I’M DEAD!” I hear the cockroach screech, laughter spilling from her lips as she gasps for air between fits of giggles. “I hope she chokes on her laughter,” Ares mutters darkly. “Me too, Ares. Me too. Or on a bag of d*cks,” I sigh in response. This is my life, folks. Welcome to the shit parade!
