Being born to the wrong class of werewolf, at the wrong time, and to the wrong pack is one young woman's personal hell. Watch as this she-wolf plays out the hand life dealt her.

I find it entertaining, the things we think about in a life or death situation. It's as if, with the adrenaline dump, all the memories leading up to that moment become absolutely clear. It doesn't make the memories any less painful, but it does make the moment more worth living or dying for.

My name is Aadya. Don't even ask. It has something to do with an ancient, powerful pack of female werewolves, who's alpha was my namesake. My mother believed names to be prophetic, even though I'm considered a lowborn, and we lowborn females are mere playthings to the highborn alpha male.

We are branded at birth, pledged unwillingly as property to whomever may be in charge at the time of our awakening, when we transform from being normal teenage girls to she wolves. Up until that point, our lives are humanly normal, but upon our first turning, pack law takes effect and the pledge is cashed in.

Lowborn males are castrated at birth so as not to pass on their inferior genes and to rid them of aggressions brought on by sexual maturity. You see, anyone can challenge for the throne, but if you have no will to fight, there is no challenge, and if you can't breed, what good does it do to be alpha? Your bloodline dies with you.

My mother claimed I was a direct descendant of the lupine queen Aadya, but I have no clue. Either way, she was overthrown generations ago, so it does me no good now. I know, 'why don't you run?' you ask. I did, and it cost me my mother and my true love. Brock was a highborn runt who was sure we could find refuge with the Glades pack in south Florida. We made it as far as Palm City before the hunters tracked us down to a secluded shack on a tidal creek.

It was a new moon, and the only things darker than the night sky were the hunters' intentions. It's immediate death to anyone who aids in the escape of lowborn women, especially me. Let's just say Drayton, the alpha male, has had his eye on me since I turned sixteen. It doesn't help to be the sexiest bitch on the block, pun intended. Brock, mom, and I stayed by the creek in hopes of using it as an alternative exit. I never thought it would become a watery grave for mom and my lover.

After the struggle, I found myself returned to my own personal hell, being prepped as a sexual prisoner and awaiting Drayton to claim his prize in the worst, forcible way you could imagine. I held back the mental anguish and emotions of loss as he mounted me, waiting patiently to make my move. Mom was right to name me Aadya, now that his throat is clutched tightly in my canine jaws. I smell the fear and life fading from him, and welcome my ascension to the alpha throne.