"Deaf, and dumb… I don't know why the beta didn't just throw someone like you in a cage and leave you to rot."
The words struck my back like knives, but I didn't flinch. I'd long learned that showing pain only fed the hunger in my packmates' eyes.
I bent my head lower, scrubbing the wooden floor of the training hall until my knuckles stung raw. My silence wasn't stubbornness; it was all I had. Even if I wanted to shout, to curse, to tell them I wasn't useless, I couldn't. My voice had never existed.
Mute. Broken. Cursed.
That's what they whispered.
That's what I was.
I remembered once asking my mother why I had been born this way. Why the Goddess had chosen silence for me. Her answer still cut deeper than any claw could.
"I don't know, Amanda. Why is anyone born the way they are?" she had said, eyes cold, tone dismissive. For a moment, I had believed she hated me. Perhaps she did.
My father, however… he had been my shield. A Beta of the Nightfang Pack, respected and feared. He had refused when the elders advised him to smother me as an infant, to rid the pack of a cursed child. He had looked at me as though I was still worth keeping.
But his love, too, was heavy—expectant. And my mother's? If it existed at all, it was brittle, ready to shatter.
A boot nudged the bucket beside me, spilling soapy water across the floor. Laughter echoed around the hall.
"Look at her, the Beta's little defect. Can't talk, can't fight, can't even clean properly," another voice jeered.
The heat rose to my cheeks, but I kept my head bowed. My hands moved faster, scrubbing the puddle even as the dirty water seeped into my skirt. My wolf whimpered in the back of my mind, but I hushed her. If I let her rise, if I lost control, I would only prove them right—that I was unstable.
"Maybe we should test how much pain she can take before she squeals." A hand tangled in my hair, yanking my head back. My throat locked as I stared into the sneer of one of the older boys. His eyes glittered with cruelty.
I opened my mouth, but only silence came. My fingers clawed at his wrist, desperate, but my lack of words was the victory he wanted.
Before I knew what was going on, something cold and slimy slid down my neck. I gasped and flinched, my hands flying to my collar. Raw egg dripped onto my sweater, the yolk sliding down my chest.
Laughter erupted.
"Well, would you look at that," Mara, the alpha's niece, smirked. "Even her clothes are cursed."
Two more pack girls flanked her, their eyes glittering with mean delight. One of them shoved me hard, and I stumbled against the basin, the icy water splashing over my front.
"Say something," Mara taunted. "Oh, right. You can't."
"Pathetic," the older boy spat, shoving me down. The thud echoed as my knees hit the wooden boards. My skin burned, but worse was the helplessness that flooded me. I wanted to scream for help. I wanted to roar. But no sound left my lips.
The laughter trailed after them as they left me crumpled on the floor.
For a long moment, I stayed there, chest heaving, vision blurred. Then, as always, I picked myself up. My silence had become my armor. But tonight, it felt like a coffin.
By the time I returned home, the pack house smelled of roasted meat and spices. My stomach clenched, but not from hunger. I dreaded what waited beyond the kitchen door more than I dreaded my tormentors.
Mother.
She stood by the hearth, apron tied neatly around her waist, knife flashing as it cut through vegetables. Her hair was pinned perfectly, not a strand out of place. She was always beautiful, always composed. And always colder than the night sky.
"You're late," she said, not turning. Her voice was smooth, practiced, like honey masking poison. "Do you enjoy making me wait for you to be useful?"
I signed quickly with trembling fingers: I had chores at the training hall.
Her eyes flicked to me, narrowing. "Chores," she repeated, tasting the word as if it were bitter. "What good is a daughter who scrubs floors like a servant? I should have birthed a warrior, or at least someone who could speak."
The words pierced deeper because they came from her. My throat tightened as I signed again: I do my best.
Her lips curled. "Your best?" She slammed the knife down onto the wooden block, the sound sharp as thunder. "Your best is nothing, Amanda. Nothing!"
I froze, my hands hanging mid-air. The sting behind my eyes grew heavy, but I refused to cry before her. Crying only gave her more proof that I was weak.
"You shame me," she continued, turning fully toward me now. "The others whisper about you, about me. Do you think I don't hear them? The Beta's mate bore a cursed, useless child. Do you think I enjoy living with that?"
My chest ached. The urge to sign my truth—to tell her that I hadn't chosen this, that I had never asked to be mute—rose like fire in me. My hands lifted, shaky, spelling the words with desperation: I didn't choose this. I didn't ask to be born this way.
For a moment, her face flickered. Almost soft. Almost human. But then it hardened again.
"Maybe the Moon Goddess should have taken you that night," she said coldly. "Instead of letting you linger as a burden."
The words hit harder than the bullying at the training hall. Those were strangers' cruelty. This was a mother's rejection.
Before I could reply, the front door creaked open. Heavy footsteps echoed through the hall.
Father.
His scent—pine, steel, and leather—washed over me before he appeared. His broad shoulders filled the doorway, his expression stern yet warm when his eyes landed on me.
"Amanda," he said, voice rough but steady. "You're home."
I gave a small nod, relief flooding me like a balm.
His gaze flicked between me and my mother, tension thick in the air. He sighed, rubbing a hand over his beard. "Enough. She's had enough for one day."
Mother's mouth pressed into a thin line, but she said nothing.
Father stepped closer, resting a heavy hand on my shoulder. His touch was grounding, solid. "You're growing, Amanda. And soon, the world will not care for your silence or your struggles. It will demand strength." His eyes locked on mine, unyielding. "That is why, starting next moon, you will be sent to the warriors' camp."
My heart stilled. The warriors' camp.
I had dreamed of it, feared it, both in equal measure. A place where only the strong survived. Where blood and sweat carved destiny.
My fingers trembled as I signed, Me?
"Yes, you," he said firmly. "It's time you proved yourself, Amanda. To them. To me. To the Goddess."
The room seemed to tilt around me, my mother's silence sharp, my father's words heavier than stone. Warriors' camp. No voice. No allies. No mercy.
And yet… deep inside, my wolf stirred. For the first time that day, she didn't whimper. She growled.
Maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning.