Chapter 2 Her Golden Saviour

Selene's POV

There was so much to do. The house needed to be scrubbed from top to bottom, new meat, fruits, and vegetables had to be bought from the market, and all the clothes needed to be washed. The elders believed that welcoming the Dead Moon without being completely clean could invoke the gods' wrath.

To my dismay, Mother sent me to the town square to buy some things we'd need before tonight's festivities. I wasn't fond of going out, not in the slightest. The rest of the pack weren't too fond of me either, and I could feel their suspicious gazes long before I saw their faces.

But I had no choice in the matter. If I wanted to live with even a shred of peace in the house or eat the leftovers Mother tossed on the table, I had to obey. From day one, she made it clear that disobedience came at a steep price, and access to food, even spoiled scraps, was a privilege that could be snatched away in a blink.

I cleaned the house as fast as I could, pulled on my old, tattered robe, and raised the hood to cover my face before stepping out into the street.

It had drizzled the night before, and the streets were scattered with small puddles. Children played with paper boats, their laughter echoing as the boats floated and spun. I didn't stop to greet anyone. Even the children were full of hate.

I reached the square quickly, practically running the whole way. Stalls lined the market, wooden tables displaying wares with vibrant, if slightly worn, cloth coverings. Some vendors called out to passersby, promising fair prices and samples. I stopped at the meat stall, pointing to a piece of still-bleeding meat, probably beef.

Mr. Jones stood behind the stall. A stout older man with a warm smile and kind eyes. He was the only one who spoke to me like I was a person and not just a wolfless thing.

"Mr. Jones, how's it going?" I asked, smiling.

"Very well, my dear," he said, pausing to sharpen his knife. "Would it be the usual today, or are you looking for something new? Freshly slaughtered mutton just came in, it's a special breed, from a flock in the Alps."

I chuckled softly. He never failed to make me smile. "No thanks, Mr. Jones. I'll just have the regular. Father loves his beef too much to settle for mutton."

"Well you better hurry home quickly to prepare it then. I heard that the Alpha of the Rogues arrived yesterday for a meeting with Alpha Lennox and to possibly attend the Dead Moon festival."

"Oh really?" I've never thought much about Rogues, only that if Alpha Lennox, the leader of our pack, one day deems me too useless to remain in the pack, I would be cast out and become one myself, a wolf without a pack.

"Yes, in fact rumor has it that the Alpha of the Rogues is a rare breed of wolf, a Bloodhound. They say he's the most dangerous wolf in these parts, and possibly in the entire North."

A shiver ran through my spine at the thought of the most 'dangerous wolf in the North' being here. A part of me wondered how it would feel to have such power, to have people tremble at the mere mention of my name. The sane part of me called me back to my senses.

Mr Jones hummed thoughtfully as he worked, slicing a hefty portion of tenderloin.

"You know, Selene," he said, voice low, "if you ever need help, I'm here for you. All you need to do is ask."

I blinked, looking away. The thought wasn't new. I'd dreamed of running away into the woods, vanishing from Father's cruel grip, from Mother's cold eyes and Ashley's endless taunts. But dreams like that weren't reality, not for someone like me.

"I know, Mr. Jones. But I can't burden you. You know how the pack is. They'd call you a traitor. You deserve better than that."

He leaned closer. "What about you, Selene? Don't you deserve better?"

The words struck something in me. My chest tightened, lips trembling. Did I? Did a wolfless mutt like me deserve anything at all? I took the packaged meat and gave a quiet goodbye, hugging it close to my chest. Maybe I did. Or maybe I didn't. Either way, it didn't matter. I had shopping to finish, dinner to cook, and the Dead Moon to survive.

At the fruit stall, a petite woman eyed me with something between curiosity and disdain. I wasn't sure if it was good or bad, but I greeted her anyway.

"U-um, I'd like some fruit, please. Some apples, and a basket of strawberries."

Her face twisted strangely, as if confusion and hate were dancing together.

"Aren't you that Kanellis girl? The one without a wolf?" she asked coldly.

"N-no, I'm not, I-"

She called out to someone, and a man with a face like thunder emerged from inside. His eyes scanned me like I was filth.

"Isn't this that wolfless runt, the Kanellis girl?" he sneered.

"By the Moon, it is," the woman laughed harshly. "She really came out in public. You don't have any shame, do you?"

I swallowed hard, legs trembling at the thought of returning home without the fruit Mother demanded. But what would she say if I told her I was attacked?

"P-please sir, I don't want any trouble. I just wanted to buy some fruit-"

"That's the problem, mutt," he snapped. "We don't sell to cursed things like you. Thought we made it clear last time, but maybe you need a little reminder."

A crowd had gathered, jeering, laughing, watching me with disgust.

The first tomato hit my cheek. I didn't even see where it came from. Then came more of it; fruits, rotting vegetables, even pebbles. I curled into myself, shielding my face as best I could. Their laughter grew louder. Their hate, heavier.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mr. Jones. But he didn't move. Maybe he was scared. Maybe he just didn't want to help. I didn't blame him. I wouldn't help a useless wolf like myself too.

Then amidst the chaos, a voice rang out, firm, gruff, and unfamiliar.

"Out of my way, you fools!" the man bellowed. "Stop this at once!"

The crowd stilled. Silence fell like a heavy cloak. People shifted, stepping back.

"Have you no shame?" the voice cried.

"Attacking a defenseless young woman? Is this what your pack has become?"

I peeked up. The man from earlier-the stallkeeper-marched forward, posturing like an Alpha, nostrils flared.

"And what would you know about a pack, Rogue?" he spat. "I can smell it on you. You have no pack. You're alone. Just like her."

The golden-haired stranger chuckled darkly. "You are very brave, speaking to the face of a Bloodhound and King of Rogues."

At once the stallkeeper's face paled and the crowd murmured nervously among themselves. To say I was scared would be an understatement, I was terrified. I could've been saved by any other wolf in the pack, but no. It just had to be the King of Rogues himself.

The man fell to his knees, "A-apologies sir, I didn't know-"

"Get lost, stupid fool, and don't ever show me your face if you want to live."

The man scrambled away at once and one by one, the crowd started to disperse.

My hood had fallen back, and I could finally see my savior clearly.

To say he was handsome would be a grave understatement. His hair was a cascade of gold, like embers smoldering in a dying fire. It fell over his broad shoulders in loose waves. He towered over me as he reached out a hand, his grip warm and steady.

But his eyes...

They were a rich, warm hazel, green and gold. Some parts like melted chocolate on a winter night and another like grass.

He helped me up gently and wiped my cheek clean with the edge of his cloak. His fingers were rough, but steady.

"Thank you sir," I whispered. "Thank you for saving me."

Our eyes met and I felt a pull I never thought I would. He could feel it too, I could see it in his eyes, the bond sparked through our joined hands like electricity.

"You're my mate." I gasped.