His Lost Lycan Luna (Jessica Hall)
Chapter 1

Read His Lost Lycan Luna by Jessica Hall Chapter 1 — The orphanage headmistress, Mrs. Daley, wasin an excellent mood this morning. The old hag was excited because the Lycan king would bevisiting the orphanage today. He hasn't been here once in the eight years Abbie and I have livedhere; we didn't know what to expect. Mrs. Daley, however, did. She expected perfection and not athing out of place. Giving Abbie and I more tasks than usual, so many chores we both knew wouldnever be done in time for his arrival.

Abbie and I had been dreading this day, not because the Lycan king was visiting but because todayis the day we replace out if we get to live another, or if it is the day it all ends. My life was anything buteasy, being born a rogue. Growing up, I longed to have what my parents told me about packs, unity,and family, other kids to play with besides Abbie; her family lived with us before her parents werek****d along with mine, then both of us were brought here.

Thankfully though, because of some law all packs strictly live by, I was shown mercy or a version of.It was against the pack law to k**I Rogue children. They call it mercy, but in reality, it is anything but.My parents were rogues. We lived a life on the run, but we were free. That all ended when I was ten.Now I live in the pack orphanage, Abbie and I are the only two rogues that reside here.

Abbie rushes into the room, her red locks swishing past me as she dumps the fresh bed linen on thebottom bunk. There were six bunks in every room, and there were twelve rooms. We had to haveeach room cleaned and made up before starting lunch. Breakfast was something I hadn't had inyears, same as Abbie. There was just no time; time was something we were already running out of inmore ways than one.

I start stripping beds, tossing the sheets on the floor in a pile. Abbie goes over, ripping the heavyblack drapes open and cracking the windows open slightly, letting in the fresh air. It was cold thismorning, the air had a cold chill, but I knew I would be sweating and welcoming that cold draft inaround twenty minutes.

Once the bedlinen is stripped, I start making beds. The most challenging part was the top bunksThey could be a real b***h to get flat. Mrs. Daley didn't like wrinkles in the bed linen, and she alwayschecked, twisting her canes between her hands while she checked each bed.

Heaven forbid she doesn't like something, or you made it wrong. I have lost count of the times myskin was welted by that cane or the thin whip wrapped around its handle. I will never forget thesting and have quite a few scars on my back from the lashings breaking the skin when she would gotoo far.

“Pillows,” Abbie’s soft voice says behind me as I finish the last bed; tossing them to me, I place themon each bed. We both looked around, ensuring no toys were forgotten, nothing out of place. Thedark rugs were straight, and the corners were flat on the floor. We didn't have time to sweep,something I know Mrs. Daley will notice and make us pay for.

We still had five rooms and two hours left before being called to the town square to learn our fate.We both decided we would take the lashes; it would be better than showing up late to see thepacks Alpha.

He decides what happens to us. This day has hung over our heads for eight long years, like a darkcloud threatening to rain down on us the closer it got, and I knew today it was going to pour downand d***n us.

Rushing to the next room, we start all over again. The same routine every day. Once done here, wehave to prepare sandwiches for the kids and pray to the Moon Goddess we finish before one. If weare late, I know he will k**I us. It is a great disrespect to the Alpha if you keep him waiting. TheAlpha waits for no one

By the time we are done, my arms feel like jelly. My legs b**n, threatening to give out under me.Abbie clutches her knees looking around at the sparsely furnished room. The fireplaces in the cornerof each room were the only heating, the windows the only cooling in this dreadful place. Thefireplaces created so much dust, ash that would settle on everything making our job moreproblematic in the winters.

Abbie was breathing hard, and we still had to make the lunches. Her green eyes stared at meknowingly; we would be late. She knew as well as I did, today we d*e. Her already pale face turnswhite as a sheet as she looks at the clock. We had forty-three minutes and over a hundredsandwiches to make for the children that reside here.

Hearing the click of heels on the black wooden floorboards heading in our direction. We bothstraightened up, flattening our aprons, fixing our hair, and smoothing down our peasant skirts. Weplace our hands behind our backs, eyes straight ahead as she steps into the room. Her snakeskinheels are loud on the floor as she steps in with her glasses perched on the end of her nose.

Mrs. Daley sneers at us, her lips pulling back over her teeth as she goes to each bed. Abbie’s eyesdarted to me nervously. Mrs. Daley enters with her trusty cane in her hand as she twisted it in herfist before slapping it on her palm. Her eagle eyes looking for anything out of place.

Her hair was pulled in a bun so tight on top of her head it looked painful. Her high cheekbones andpointed straight nose made her face crueler, sharper; she reminded me of a crow.

She pushes her round glasses up her nose. She was in her forties but looked more in her late fifties;lines around her lips and the deep wrinkles around her eyes made her look older.

We remained like statues, our eyes following her, yet we were completely still.

She runs her fingers over the window sill, and I see Abbie tense my eyes flitting toward it to see itcovered in soot. Mrs. Daley clicked her tongue holding her fingers up to show us. I s*****w, mymouth going dry.

"What is this?” She asks, rubbing her fingers together, the ash falling to the floor when her eyes dartto it. One of the kids had walked dirt through the room, and she did not miss it.

She purses her lips clearly unhappy.

"Who was supposed to do the windowsills?” She snaps before cracking the cane on her palm.Abbie raises her hand but says nothing; I could see the fear in her green eyes, tears alreadybrimming.

"And the floors” I raise mine, my stomach sinking. I knew she wouldnt miss it.

"Abbie, you get three strikes, one for each windowsill,” Abbie presses her lips together, holding outher hand's palm down. Mrs. Daley shakes her head.

“Not good enough, we have important visitors today, and I need to show them I don’t slack on thediscipline,” She snaps. I watch as Abbie’s bottom lip trembles. The back was worse because everymove would sting for days.