Second Chance Mate

Prologue: Tomorrow

Prologue: Tomorrow

Austin's P.O.V

I awoke with a shiver, realizing that the hole in the roof still hadn't been fixed. After three years of waiting for someone to come patch it up, I'd given up hope of ever waking up to warmth. I groaned as I rolled around under this pathetic excuse for a blanket. It was really nothing more than a thin holey bed sheet, it did nothing to fight off winter's cold tendrils.

I closed my eyes and laid there, trying my best to sink back into oblivion. After a while, I sighed in disappointment. Wasting time on my mattress wasn't going to get me passed the inevitable.

Besides, it's already time for me to get up.

I slid off of my beer stained mattress and took a step back, staring at my room in utter disappointment.

I had been confined to the attic ever since I was five years old. At first I thought it was cool, it was like there was an adventure waiting to be had up here. This used to be my own private sanctuary, no one else could come up here unless I wanted them to and I didn't have to share anything with my younger brother.

At least, that's what my father made me believe when he first told me I was going to live up here.

The room was about the size of a small living room, barely allowing me enough space to move around the dust covered boxes littering the stained floor. It was the most pitiful thing I had ever seen, other than my only reflection of course.

The expanse consisted of nothing but a stained mattress, a thin sheet covered in moth holes, a small TV box to serve as a single dresser drawer, empty boxes that served no purpose, a more than half-empty janitor's closet, and a dirty little bathroom that held a rust covered toilet and a peeling sink.

I was glad I had a bathroom to myself; at least it had working water, even if it was always ice cold.

The alpha himself had the mirror ripped out when I turned seven. He said that I didn't deserve to see my face after what I'd done. It wasn't until a few years later that I fully understood what he meant.

I sighed and walked over to the closet. This is where I keep my ratty converse, a small box of clothing, and the jacket I've had since I was nine. I walked all the way to the back of the closet and stared at the few articles of clothing I have.

I wasn't allowed to be given new clothes, even if they were completely ruined by stains or rips. If I'm being honest, it was a surprise when I got my newest toothbrush let alone a hand-me-down shirt.

I grabbed and tugged on one of the six pairs of black, holey skinny jeans I'd ever owned. After successfully pulling the jeans over my pale, bruised body, I tugged on one of eight band t-shirts before leaving the makeshift closet.

I hurriedly ran to the bathroom in hopes of rushing through a cold shower. I vaguely heard beds creak and toilets flushing as I made it to the tub, meaning I would be late in making breakfast if I didn't skip it.

I rushed through getting ready, executing my bathroom necessities in record time, and swiping at the sweat beading across my forehead. I hurriedly left the bathroom and grabbed my only pair of shoes as I shuffled to the door.

With my whitewashed-black converse hanging from my teeth, I reached for the doorknob.

I slipped my shoes on as I quietly opened the door and hastily decided to leave my hair as is. I ran my way down the stairs, trying my best not to slip and fall on every other step.

I had barely a minute to spare as I raced to the kitchen and began expertly cooking everyone's breakfast. Though I was only a little boy, at the age of six I was forced to begin learning to cook for the pack house.