Thick red lips were smoothly forming drowned out words. Her face flushed a pink when the Alpha looked her way and she continued to bat her eyes in a blatantly flirtatious manner. Her spine was slithering like a dancing snake, optimally displaying her curves. Her act was increasing in boldness with her fingers tracing over his collar and to the edge of his hair. Alpha Cedric remained unmoving, which was the same as granting permission. She was not the first, the last, nor the boldest to approach the desirable man. Few were foolish enough to aim for his mate, but who wouldn't want a passionate romp with the powerful, young Alpha? Pleased, she flashed a smile before sensually biting her lower lip.
Lyra swallowed her dry tongue. A dull ache in her chest was squeezing her lungs. She had the sudden urge to throw that temptress out through the window then scold the Alpha for his complacency. A well-timed, friendly ruckus from a nearby table reeled her from her rude staring and ridiculous daydream. She quickly suppressed the vibration that was humming in her chest before it erupted as a growl.
{You'll get caught!} Her wolf echoed in her mind. Keep your eyes down.
Lyra rolled her eyes. Loba was enraptured with the view, just as much as she was. But there was no need to call her out on it. They were, after all, the same person. In any case, she was making a vital point. More than proximity, her blatantly doltish behavior was how she would lose her neck.
Pretending to look for a seat was a waste of time, she already knew that there was no place for her. Silently, Lyra walked into the kitchen, the ache in her chest refusing to subside. The once bustling room was now empty. The refill food had already been distributed, therefore all of the maids were free to eat and enjoy themselves until cleanup time. Lyra didn't even notice them going out. She was more surprised she hadn't been reprimanded for being absent.
After scraping the pans, she scrounged up a pitiful plate of leftovers. Then she sat on the countertop and ate her meal quietly. The sound of the fork scraping her plate echoed in the vacant room. It was uncomfortably loud compared to the distant drum of the lively dining room.
'This isn't so bad,' Lyra thought.
Her nature as a wolf yearned for companionship, a family, a pack. But Lyra understood the risks were too high. She needed to be content with just this. Anything more was foolish. Otherwise, she would be left with her only other option which was complete solitude, away from all werewolves.
{It is worlds better than what we've been through.} This time her thoughts were directed to her wolf.
Loba whimpered softly. After all, this lifestyle was hardest on the wolf side of her. It was impractical and selfish. She was very likely to lose her sanity if she continued on the way she was currently living. Plenty of others had done exactly that. Suppressing the wolf to the point of madness, then losing control.
Clang! The loud clamor of dishes in close proximity caused her to jolt. Without looking up, Lyra knew who it was. The sickening smell of hibiscus and moss, Heather.
She was an Omega with a severe inferiority complex, constantly beating on others to validate her sense of value. Her easiest and favorite target was Lyra. Without being an official pack member, Lyra would have a hard time making a complaint against a lifelong member of the packhouse. She was also one of Ms. Greta's favorites. Like her boss, her mood swung like the tide and she thrived on drama.
A metal tray smashed into the side of Lyra's head. There was no use in objecting or fighting back. She strained to listen to Heather speak over the ringing in her ears. Having her repeat herself would likely end up in her repeating the tray smash instead.
"Lazy mutt! Where do you think you're sitting? The kitchen is for working, not your break time! Start with the pans already!"
To solidify her superior place and force Lyra's hand, Heather snatched the measly plate of food and tossed it into the messy sink. Wordlessly, Lyra began her task. More maids trickled in as they finished their meals and began the clean up routine. Three maids huddled around the other sink washing the plates and silverware with fluid teamwork. It should be the same at the pans' sink, and normally would if Lyra wasn't there. The other Omegas scraped plates and cleaned the dining room. They all chatted and joked together with ease. The majority of them had lived most of their lives in the packhouse. Their clicks formed years ago and Lyra had no place among them.
Lyra's stomach rumbled but she ignored it. She was still able to eat more than she was given while in captivity. Before she could think of self pity, she reminded herself that she was fated for this life. She could never have normality, such dreams would only hurt her.
⥈
From the outside, the packhouse looked like a grandiose mansion, but inside, well inside it also was grandiose. It was divided into three major sections. The central building was the most extravagant, the front doors opening to foyer with a cathedral ceiling, a grand double staircase and massive windows. On the ground floor, where the central kitchen and dining room were located, there was also a ballroom. The second floor had meeting rooms, a medical clinic and the entrance to the library. The rooms on the third floor were guest suites and the fourth was the official office space for the pack leaders.
The West wing housed the pack leaders. Each floor was an apartment for their families with the ground floor as a massive recreational common room. It shared a similar lavish ambiance to the main building. The apartments were in ascending order based on their rank, starting with Delta on the second floor, Gamma on the third, Beta on the fourth and lastly, the Alpha apartment on the top level. The set up and decor of the apartments was a mystery to most pack members, even those living in the packhouse because they were the private homes of the leading families. Sometimes, if a leading member felt the apartment to be too small for their family or simply wished to live elsewhere, they could have an independent home off packhouse grounds. The apartment would remain as their secondary living space, which was useful when putting in long hours at work.