Princess of the Rogues

Scarred for Life

Chapter 2

                We had finally arrived in a part of Germany that was primarily forest. Our four hundred rogues had set up our huge campsite system in the middle of the forest. We were quite a distance away from three borders of three different packs so it was going to be one of them that we were going to attack.

                Our campsite was made up of huge tents, caravans and a few rooms some of the rogues hand build everywhere we go. It is one huge operation but it successfully worked for us all of the time. I was always given one particular caravan because I was deemed to be the “princess”.

                This was how I ended up in the middle of the German forest in my caravan looking at the now yellow bruises painting my stomach. I was in my pyjamas and it was now the middle of the night. I just couldn’t sleep. It was a common thing. My thoughts and the guilt, don’t forget the nightmares made sure I could never get to sleep.

                I walked slowly over to a full length mirror before pulling up my pyjama top to inspect all of the damage. I sighed at the sight that I saw. I looked like I had been through a couple of war zones. I traced my fingers of the numerous scars that riddled my stomach and my back. I felt the ridged surface of the scars against my skin. These were just a permanent reminder of everything that I had been through. I would never be allowed to forget everything that has happened in my life.

                I will never be called beautiful with these scars decorating my body. If I found my mate this would just be another reason for him to be disgusted with me. I was Princess of the Rogues and if they could get past that, he would see my scars all of the time. I am ugly. I am horrible. Just another horrible thing in my life.

                I quickly threw my long black hair back into a high messy pony tail. It was only a rough thing to keep the hair out of my face. I walked back towards the mirror lifting my top up again to reveal the scars. I shuddered at the memory of when each one of these occurred. These were all when my father was extremely annoyed with me. He would grab one of his silver knives and carve a small line into my skin. Therefore leaving a scar. This was to remind me of every time I have never lived up to his standard, with the amount of scars I have, that was quite often. I would never live up to his standards.

                He was an evil man. He always got a kick out of the fact he could cause me pain. He would laugh as he drew the knife along my skin knowing of the scar the silver would cause to be left behind. I have only ever needed stitches on one of them. Just one scar but that is my worst scar.

                I moved my fingers to that particular scar in question. It was on the right side. It went from all the way just under where my bra started and was draw in one harsh line all the way down to the line of my trousers. It was a huge scar running nearly the whole length of my chest and torso. I shivered at the memory. I hated that day. It was two years ago now but it still feels like just yesterday.

                *Flashback*

                Age 15, somewhere in the English Countryside

                My father was currently targeting packs in the United Kingdom. In the end we only took one of twenty packs down because the Werewolf Council were getting too close for our liking but it was in taking down this one pack where I got this scar. It was terrifying.

                We had targeted a pack of 250 members living in Cumbria. We had set up our camp in the middle of the forest not too far from their borderline. They hadn’t yet noticed that our 400 rogues were camped near the border. It was only a matter of time. Another pack was about to get crushed. I shivered at the thought.