Claimed By The King(s) Of Kings

Aina

"MY SHIT IS WORTH MORE THAN YOU!"

Amilia hurled a vase toward the kneeling Aina, her blond curls bouncing with the motion. Even in anger, the bitch looked stunning, draped in jewelry Aina could only dream of wearing. The vase missed its target, by a nail shattered against the floor beside her, sending shards of clay flying.

Aina trembled, unable to do anything but remain silent. She knew that opening her mouth would only make matters worse. The only way to survive Amilia’s rage was to shut up and take whatever she threw her way.

Amilia was the little princess of the Whitelock Pack. Though she was a notorious brat, everyone adored her.

At twenty years old she had already proven herself, not just with words but with strength. She was a powerful wolf shifter, a warrior in her own right, and the apple of her parents’ eye.

Aina was her exact opposite.

Her wolf was weak, making her no warrior, and her own mother claimed the only thing she was good at was cleaning. She wasn’t considered intelligent either. She never attended school, and the only reason she could read was because her grandmother had taught her. That grandmother was now gone and the only person who had ever truly cared for her.

Life had always been cruel to Aina.

Only the moon goddess knew how she had managed to survive sixteen years within the Whitelock Pack. She believed things could not possibly get worse. How could they? Her mother despised her, her siblings tormented her, her father pretended she didn’t exist, and she lived as a servant in her father’s house, surviving on scraps. It was a twisted version of Cinderella’s tale. Yet her life did get worse. It happened the moment she presented as an omega on her fifteenth birthday, a day everyone had forgotten.

The moment her ’family’ caught the scent of her that day, her father erupted in fury. Not only did he have a daughter with a weak wolf, but she was also an omega, the lowest of the low, the bottom of the pack hierarchy. To him, it was disgraceful. Strangely enough, his anger was hypocritical, since his own wife was an omega. Aina believed her father simply wanted another excuse to hate her, so he made himself furious at the fact that she was an omega.

"Don’t ruin your mood so early in the morning, my sweet pumpkin," Teressa cooed, her voice soft as she gently cupped Amilia’s cheek. Her eyes flashed with concern before she carefully tucked a strand of hair behind her daughter’s ear.

"But mommy, she ruined my dress!" Amilia whined, stomping her foot on the gown she had tossed to the floor moments earlier. She insisted Aina had ruined it because the color looked slightly off to her, though to Aina it appeared perfectly fine. She couldn’t understand why her ’sister’ was throwing such a fit.

’I swear she’s just looking for a reason to torment me,’ Aina thought, her eyes fixed on the expensive carpet beneath her knees, worth more than her entire existence. ’There is nothing wrong with that dress.’

"Mommy will get you many other dresses," Teressa soothed, hugging her raging little princess tightly against her chest.

"I want all custom designer. No other girl should have the same dress as me," Amilia demanded, her pout pressed against her mother’s chest.

Teressa chuckled softly. "Of course, my sweet pumpkin."

They looked exactly as a mother and daughter should, a picture of affection and devotion. Aina knew better than to look at the sight for too long. It would only hurt her. Her mother had never once hugged her, never once spoken a kind word.

"You, get up," Teressa commanded, pointing directly at Aina. Her voice was no longer gentle but sharpened with ice and hatred. Aina instantly sprang to her feet, though her head remained bowed toward the ground beneath her.

"You will pay Amilia back for the dress you ruined. Do you understand?" she hissed, stepping closer with menace dripping off of her. Amilia smirked from the side, her silver eyes glowing with triumph as she crossed her arms, watching her mother stand tall, chin lifted, looking down on Aina with satisfaction.

’Where am I supposed to even get that money? I am not paid for all the labor I do,’ Aina thought bitterly, forcing every fiber of her being to stop herself from rolling her eyes.

SMACK.

A thunderous slap cracked across Aina’s cheek, snapping her head violently to the side. Before she could recover, another slap landed on her opposite cheek, jerking her face back the other way.

"When I ask you a question, YOU ANSWER!" Teressa roared, her voice echoing through the room as she delivered yet another slap. Aina stumbled back from the sheer force, her ears ringing, her vision spinning out of balance for several seconds.

"Y...es, m..adam," she stammered, barely keeping herself upright, her body trembling under the weight of humiliation.

"Yes, what?" Teressa pressed, her eyes narrowing.

"I will pay Miss Amilia back for the dress," Aina whispered, her voice breaking.

"Good. Now you may leave. Your scent is polluting the air." Teressa’s face twisted into a nasty scowl as she covered her nose, looking as though she might vomit.

"Yes, Madam," Aina uttered quickly, desperate to escape. She hurried out of the glamorous room, finally free of that suffocating hellhole after the bitch and her mother had wasted her entire morning.

But even after such torment, her duties remained. The family of vultures had to eat. Aina rushed down the grand staircase of the vast modern mansion, a house that had undergone countless renovations because her mother and stepmother were forever changing things to suit their whims. She glided through the polished halls, dodging the other servants who passed by, until she reached the kitchen and pushed the heavy door open.

The kitchen was enormous, designed to hold twenty people at once, though Aina was always the only one working there most of the time. Sleek, state-of-the-art appliances gleamed beneath tin cabinets, while tall glass windows opened to a sweeping view of the forest beyond the pack’s borders. The mansion itself stood high on a mountain, towering above where the rest of the Whitelock Pack lived.

The territory was surrounded by dense forest, rumored to be crawling with rogues. Whenever anyone left or entered Whitelock lands—which was rare—they traveled with an envoy for protection.

"Alright, to work now," Aina muttered aloud, tying an apron around her waist and pulling back her long brown hair streaked with purple. The strands matched her unusual purple eyes, a mark of weakness. Wolves with such eyes were known to be frail, their gaze seen as cursed rather than blessed.

She moved through the kitchen with delicate grace, as though her life were not riddled with endless problems. She pulled meat from the massive chestnut-colored fridge. The pack had gone hunting not long ago and returned with a plentiful haul. Thank the moon goddess the meat had already been skinned, the last thing she needed was to face that gruesome task herself.

Placing the large slab of meat on the table, Aina reached in the back pocket of her worn out jeans for her small phone wrapped in white earphones, she had been gifted the phone by her grandmother on her seventh birthday. The device was tiny, cracked, and worn, but it was hers.

She carefully unwrapped the earphones, slipped them into her ears, and scrolled to her playlist, the one specifically marked The Cooking Playlist. How original.

Pop music hummed faintly in her ears as she worked, the rhythm carrying her through the motions. She cut the meat into small cubes, her hands steady despite the ache in her arms, and left it to marinate while she prepared the endless sides her ’family’ demanded for breakfast.

When she was far enough along, she placed the meat in the oven, setting two timers, one for her mother, who liked her meat partially cooked, and another for her stepmother, who preferred it well done. Aina herself liked it any way it came. She couldn’t afford to be picky when eating was a matter of luck rather than choice.

By the time breakfast was finished, the entire island counter overflowed with dishes. She still had five minutes to spare, even though she had started late. For once, she allowed herself a moment of peace, standing by the tall window and gazing out at the forest before she had to face the people who despised her again.

"What’s that?" Aina murmured aloud, squinting toward the distant treeline. She had seen movement, but her weak wolf sight made everything blur. She rushed back to the island and grabbed her glasses, the pair her grandmother had bought her before she died.

Her father hated it when she wore them. No wolf wore glasses. It was bad enough that her eyes were purple; pairing them with glasses was a double blow to his pride.

With the glasses on, the world sharpened. Things were less fuzzy now, and she could make out figures in the distance. Entering the pack compound from the back was a group of wolves, followed closely by shifters in human form carrying banners. The sigil they bore was unmistakable. Pack Silverwing.

’Why is the Silverwing Pack here?’

’Aren’t they supposed to be dangerous, criminals?’

Confusion twisted across Aina’s face as her ’beloved’ father rushed forward to greet one of the wolves. The creature shifted back into human form, standing stark naked beneath the sun. For the first time, Aina was grateful for her poor eyesight—even with the glasses—because she didn’t have to see the man’s exposed body in detail.

’Why do I have such a bad feeling in my gut about these wolves?’

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