The Wolf Without A Name

Prologue

"How did you escape?" I asked him, frightened as he walked toward me, his bright red hair lighting up the room.

"Wherever you are, I'll find you," Ares said as he sat on my bed beside me and stared into my eyes.

I stared back at him, lost in the beauty of his eyes. Soon, I felt his warm large hand against my cheek.

I was lost in his bright green eyes, just like mine. I never realized that I also had beautiful eyes. His eyes were mesmerizing. I closed my eyes as he gently stroked my cheek and caressed my face with the back of his hand. I enjoyed the touch of his warm hands and wanted to feel him against my skin even more. I slowly opened my eyes as I felt his hand against my left cheek and again returned my eyes to his.

Ares gently moved his hand away from my cheek to move my hair from my face, placing it behind my ear. I parted my lips, lost in his attractive features, enjoying every moment of his touch. I could feel my wolf inside me jumping excitedly, happy he was there.

I pushed my body toward him, resting my head on his bare muscular chest, feeling his hard chest against my face and wanting to be close to him—closer than I had ever been to anyone. He wrapped his robust arms around me and pushed himself backward, getting comfortable in my bed. I closed my eyes, enjoying the sound of his heartbeats.

A soft moan escaped my throat as he brushed my red hair, running his fingers through it. I had never felt so relaxed and comfortable in my entire life. At that moment, I did not want him to stop touching me.

I could feel my wolf inside me begging me not to tell him to stop. The moonlight peeked through a tiny hole, lightening the room. I gently moved myself off his chest and stared at the beautiful art on his belly.

C

"Get up you son of a b*tch!" I heard someone shout.

I opened my eyes and saw the small square door above me opening, and heard the creaking noise it always made.

"Come, Girl," she called me.

That was what Phyllis, my grandma, called me—my grandma—the person who had placed me in a cell as punishment.

I didn't remember ever going outside. I could only recollect seeing the light peeking through the cracked walls of the cell.

I held on to each side of my discolored, white frilly dress

and slowly walked up to the small door.

"Come, take this food from me," she said to me angrily, while she pushed the plate of food through the door above me.

Ever since I could remember that was the drill.

Tipping on my toes, I reached for it and quickly took it from her, not wanting to cause any trouble. I went to sit on the floor and rested by body against the cold concrete wall on the farthest side of the room, away from her. I placed the plate on my lap.

She watched me from above, noting every move I made.

Terror accompanied me as I slowly ate the bread and stewed chicken without looking up at her.

"It pains me every day to feed you, handicap, knowing you are the product of r*p*," she said, scornfully. "Why is it you have to be the one to live and my beautiful daughter dead?"

I placed the bread I held in my hands on the white plastic plate beside me, not wanting to eat anymore. Her harsh words had caused me to lose my appetite.

"You better not waste that f*ck*ng food I worked hard for," she warned me.

I quickly took up a piece of the chicken and again started to eat, terrified.

I glanced at her. She was still staring at me with great disgust.

"You're born in this world to rob people of their happiness, just like your evil father did to my daughter," she said. She slammed the cell door shut, leaving me to listen to her stomping on the floor as she walked away.

I lowered my head to my chest and started to cry. I deserved to be locked away in a cell. She told me the reason over and over. I was a child born of r*p*. I was also a murderer. I'd killed my mom while she gave birth to me, and for that I was punished every day.

The next morning while I was lying in bed feeling sorry for myself, I felt cold water pouring down on me. I jumped up from the bare concrete floor and wiped the water from my face. Looking above me, I saw Phyllis—my grandmother—leaning over the opened cell door, a bucket in her hand.

Different day, same problem!

My grandma! I wasn't allowed to call her grandma. I was only allowed to call her by her name—Phyllis.

"Do you think I threw you down there so you can sleep all day and eat my food?" she shouted at me.

I stared up at her, not saying a word.

Phyllis was in her fifties. She didn't look her age, though. She looked like someone in their thirties, and she was very fit. She had short gray hair and was short and fat.

I huddled against the wall, scared, as she questioned me, while my long, thick, curly, red hair and my washed-out blue dress dripped with water.

"Answer me when I'm speaking to you!" she shouted down at me.

"No," I answered her, while I shivered.

"Take this!" she shouted at me.

I quickly went toward her and took the plastic plate with fried egg and bread.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" she asked me. "I have lots of dirty clothes that need to be cleaned, and they're not going to clean themselves."

I quickly devoured half of my breakfast and followed her by climbing up the ladder.

I only left the cell to do the laundry.

"Come on, start getting these clothes clean!" she said.

She left me all alone in the laundry room, locking the door on from the outside. She thought I'd run off, but where would I go? I knew no one but her. How I hoped that one day she would allow me to go outside. I was dying to see how it looked and to meet others my age.

I'd tried begging her once on my seventeenth birthday, but it didn't end well. It’d only left me with scars, scars I'd forever remember whenever I touched my back.

I went over to the large baskets filled with dirty clothes and quickly separated the colored clothes from the white clothes. I washed them separately and placed each load in the dryer. As soon as they were dry, I folded them and placed them in the baskets.

I heard footsteps coming toward the laundry room. I quickly completed my job and stood, waiting for the door to open.

I knew it was Phyllis checking to see if I had completed my chores.

Soon the door was opened and shut behind her, preventing me from running away, as if I was going to try. Her dark brown eyes examined my work then fastened on mine.

"You can return to the cell," she instructed me. "You'll receive dinner in a minute."

I did as I was told. I entered my cell and watched her as she closed the small square door above me. I hated being there. I wanted to go outside to see the world, but she wouldn't let me. I didn't want to die in that cell. I cried, thinking about that.

My cell had a small bathroom. I undressed and went to take a bath. After bathing, I dressed in a white T-shirt and washed-out blue jeans and returned to my cell.

"Miss Phyllis," I heard a male voice call from outside.

I ran over to the wall, pressing my ear against it, trying to hear their conversation. It was the only thing I could do without her knowing.

"Yes, Josh,'' I heard he