Page 1 of His Forsaken Alpha

PROLOGUE

Blacksburg

Many, many years ago…

The mansion was near silent, except for the low hum of the nearby television in the den. Wynter’s brothers sat close, their faces illuminated in the pale light. He whimpered, the tight braids that his papa and one of the manservants were weaving into his long white-blond locks yanked at his scalp and brought tears to his eyes.

“Standstill,Wynter!”

“It hurts!”Wynter whined.

“Get used to it,” his papa spat, yanking harder as he moved down the side of Wynter’s head. “Pain is a part of life. Especially when you’re an omega.”

His papa and the servant’s motions tugged him from side to side, making it hard to stay still as commanded. He did his best, knowing what would happen should he fail. Silent tears streamed down his face, the constant threat always hummingin the air around him. His younger brothers lay on their bellies, watching a puppet show, their muffled giggles gaining his attention. He’d have given anything to be lying there and watching instead of being tortured.

“Wipe your face,”his papa commanded.

Wynter released a sob before using his shirt sleeve to wipe his eyes and nose.

“Not on your silk shirt!”his papa screamed before swatting his ass with the wooden brush.

“Oww!”he cried, back bowing from the pain. The tears only came harder.

“Do you want me to give youa reasonto cry, young man?” his papa asked, waving the brush in his face as a threat.

“No,”he whimpered, moving his gaze to the floor instead of looking at the rage blazing in his papa’s eyes.

“Good. So quit your crying andstand still.”

Wynter did his best. He wiped his face with his hands, careful not to use his sleeve again, and attempted to hold back the tears threatening to come. When the outer door opened and he heard his father calling out, he smiled.

Salvation!

His mouth opened, the desire to call out whispered in his mind. One look at what they were doing to him and surely Daddy would save him—but he feared another swat with the brush. Closing his lips and eyes, he silently pleaded for help. Thankfully, his father swept in a couple of minutes later. He took one look at Wynter’s face and growled.

“What in the hell are you doing to him?”

“He has his first day of school tomorrow. These braids take forever. I’m not waking up at some ungodly hour to do this then,” Wynter’s papa scowled. “So, we’re doing them now.”

His father moved closer. “Why are you crying, Wynter?”

“The braids hurt,” he whispered.

“He’ll get used to them,” his papa said, tugging harder on the next plait and glaring.

“What’s wrong with a single braid down his back like he usually wears?”

“We have an image to uphold,” his papa spat, continuing to braid. “We do not dobasic.Never have, never will.”

“There’s no need for this type of elaborate hairstyle for afive-year-old,Barnaby.”

His papa’s hands pulled his hair harder. Tighter. “Our family is not like others. There’s an expectation for excellence, even for a five-year-old on his first day of school. He best get used to rising above and setting the bar higher now… before it’s too late to instill these ideals in him.”

“The minute he goes outside to play tomorrow, all your hard work will be for naught.” Wynter’s father shook his head. He eyed their manservant. “Leave us.”

The servant lowered his hands and silently strode from the room. At least it savedhalfof Wynter’s head from torment. His papa didn’t stop, though, so half was all he’d get.

“There’s plenty of time for him to learn that later, Barnaby.”

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