Alpha Nox by Jane Doe novel Chapter 1

Four Years Later

“Worm! Get your ass over here!” The one voice I hated more than anyone else’s screeched.

It was much raspier than I’d ever heard from another she-wolf, if one could even call Harriet a she-wolf. I liked to think of her as a toad. A fat, wart-riddled toad that couldn’t stop itself from croaking every single chance it got. Unfortunately, she was a poisonous toad, and I had no choice but to bow to her every whim or risk becoming her next victim.

I’d made that mistake four months in and learned the hard way when she punched me so hard I took an involuntary three-day nap. Wolves with the ability of enhanced strength had a knack at hitting you where it hurt most.

It wasn’t the worst I’ve endured, but it certainly made an impression.

I entered the Trainer’s compound where all of the higher-up’s gathered for circuit week. Harriet stood with her back to me, hunched over the table as she reviewed this year’s circuit map. Her muddy brown hair looked exactly the same as when I’d first met her four years ago, pulled into a bun so tight that I just knew she had chronic headaches.

“Yes, Ma’am.” I announced myself, standing erect and holding my breath until my lungs burned with need.

“Have you filled the snake pit yet?” She called over her shoulder, her voice crackling like she’d just smoked a pack of cigarettes.

I gritted my teeth. “No, Ma’am. I was ensuring the spikes along the climbing walls were operating correctly.”

Her fear was ripe and salty as it stained the air.

Snakes—that’s what she feared most. The irony of it was sweet on my tongue, like the chocolate chip pancakes my father would make every single morning. Someday, when revenge was no longer a concept but a reality, I’d use her fear against her.

The phantom pain of silver thorns digging into my flesh speared my mind. Their little circular scars were added to my collection. As though I could still feel the heavy shackles on my wrists, my eyes trailed down to stare at the slightly darkened skin.

“Get on with it then!” Harriet snapped, smacking her meaty hand down on the table. The mess of maps, battle arrangements, and little figurines shuddered upon impact. If she had used her full strength, the table would’ve likely shattered. “We can’t have the second and third Division’s arrive until everything is prepared. Do you understand how poorly that would make us look?”

I rolled my eyes at the back of her head, silently wishing she’d come up with a vicious migraine.

The Circuit is the biggest event, apart from Graduation, that the Lycan’s held. It’s occurred once a year, its location switching between the three divisions. When I first arrived at camp, the event had just come to an end. The next year it was held at the second Division, all the way in Northern Russia, and last year it was held at the third Division in Africa.

Both times I was left behind, forced to stay here in Juneau Alaska while most of the camp left for the other Divisions. As incredible as it would be to visit both the Taiga Forest and Congo’s Rainforest, this was the one time of the year where I was left the hell alone. There were no beatings, no public humiliation, no looking over my shoulder any time I dared to eat, sleep, or shower.

It was the worlds greatest injustice that this year the Circuit would be hosted here, at the first Division.

Lucky me.

Harriet spun around; her spine stiff from the stick she kept lodged up her ass. Her thin, puckered lips were flattened, vanishing since she didn’t have that much to begin with.

“The last thing we need is Phineas Striker on our asses, worm. So help me, if you don’t get this shit done, I’ll tell him exactly who’s at fault. You hear me?” She sneered, barring her yellowed teeth, sending a wave of garlic and curdled milk scented breath my way.

Harriet really needed to lay off the onion and cream cheese bagels.

I waited for my body to react to that name, for a jolt of fear to encase my heart or for my adrenaline to spike, but nothing happened.

“Yes, Ma’am.” I replied with a scathingly fake amount of sincerity.

Her eyes flashed with anger before narrowing into tiny slits.

It was hilarious, really. There probably wasn’t a Werewolf in this world who wasn’t afraid of Phineas Striker. Well, except for me, but I didn’t feel much of anything these days. How could I when this place had beaten, burned, sliced, and diced every emotion from beneath my skin? Each one slipped through my fingers, watering the earth along with my blood until almost nothing was left.

Phineas Striker, a man who spent as much time on his appearance as he did torturing people, was the first Division’s Executive Director, a.k.a. the big man in charge. My first year I’d made the grievous mistake of insulting him. It didn’t matter that I was fourteen years old or that all I’d done was snicker at his perfectly pressed suit and teal handkerchief. He still punished me like I’d committed a war crime.

The memory of being tied against a wooden stake at the center of camp was still fresh in my mind. On bad nights, I could still hear the crack of the whip slicing through the air, and the slap it made as it hit my back.

Ten lashes, and he made me count out loud for each and every one.

It was the last time I allowed them the pleasure of hearing me scream. Now, they see nothing but the monster they turned me into, a vast pit of emptiness so feral and hungry that they know if I were to ever be released, I’d swallow them fucking whole.

In those precarious moments where I hovered between life and death, there was one thing I managed to hold onto, and it alone was what kept me sane.

Vengeance.

Harriet snapped her fingers, then pointed at the ground right in front of her gargantuan feet. Seriously, her combat boot was bigger than my head—something I also learned the hard way.

“Here.” She said curtly. “Now.”

I already knew what was coming, which is why I couldn’t bite back the eager smirk that tugged at my lips. I did as she said and stopped just a foot away from her, my feet planted firmly where she had pointed just three seconds ago. Garlic and rancid cheese surrounded her in an aura of filth.

Harriet cocked her meaty fist back and decked me square in the face.

One wet crunch and a flash of electrifying pain later, and I knew my nose was broken.

Twinkling stars danced behind my eyes even though the warmth of sunlight soaking into my skin told me it was still daytime out. Hot rivulets of blood spilled from my nostrils, tickling my upper lip as it dribbled down my chin and into the grassy floor.

I’d endured worse, so much worse.

Pain was a fickle thing, and at the thought of the more gruesome things I’d endured, it quickly faded into the background.

Harriet’s upper lip quivered spitefully, and not a second later she spat at my feet. Her foaming wad of saliva mixed with the droplets of blood that splattered on top of my busted up athletic shoes.

“If I didn’t need you to finish setting up for the Circuit, I’d backhand you into next Tuesday. Get the hell back to work, worm.”