Omega Scarlett

Bella Donna

OMEGA SCARLETT

First edition. July 2025.

Copyright © 2025 Bella Donna.

Written by Bella Donna.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system in any form or by any other means, without prior written permission from the author, Bella Donna. No part of this publication may be circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published.

ISBN: 9798289355393

This book has been typeset in Garamond.

Trigger Warnings

Blood

Swear words

Bodily fluids

Sex (with graphic details)

Death

Sexual abuse (not in the pack)

Harassment

Violence (not in the pack)

Injury

Kidnapping

Nudity

Physical assault

Rape (not in the pack)

Screaming

Stabbing

Torture

Weapons

Chapter 1 - Scarlett

Screaming. Blood-curdling screams woke me. Nightmarish, gut-wrenching cries of an Omega past her due date. Then silence and the acrid stench of blood, bleach, and death. My eyes were heavy as I woke, adjusting to the dim light that seeped through a narrow strip above a heavy metal door. The concrete beneath my cot leached the warmth from my body, and I curled my fingers into fists to keep them from trembling. Not from fear, but from the cold air and the lingering effects of whatever they had drugged me with.

The cell materialized around me in patches of shadow and grime. Metal walls rose on three sides, their surfaces dulled by years of desperate hand prints and what I could only guess had been failed escape attempts. A faint hum of outdated fluorescent lights sounded, as light swept over the room, providing just enough illumination to make out the boundaries of my prison, but not enough to chase away the darkness that pooled in the corners.

The thin, stained blanket was twisted around me, an empty embrace that fell away as I pushed myself to sit up, ignoring the vertigo that made the room tilt. My palms pressed on the damp mattress, and I swallowed hard against the cotton-dry feeling in my mouth. I must have been out for hours, weeks, maybe longer.

"Fuck," I whispered, the word scraping against my throat. What had they done to me?

The events rushed back like a violent tide: the dark halls of the academy, and being pulled from my bed in the middle of the night. The way the guard's nostrils flared when he grabbed me made me nauseous, his eyes widening with lust as my scent heightened with fear. I had run of course. I always ran. But this time, they were prepared. Three Betas with their smug, predatory smiles cornered me by the gates and shocked me until I was unconscious.

I reached up to touch my neck; it was still raw from the shock collar they had forced us to wear. The Omega Task Force didn’t mess around. They were trained to identify, subdue, and transport "valuable breeding stock" without damaging the merchandise. That was all we were to them: merchandise, the mothers of the next generation, walking wombs with a pulse.

My fingers traveled to my face, tracing the contours that felt both familiar and foreign. My skin was clammy, and my long ginger hair was clumped and matted against my forehead. I pushed it back, feeling the strands stick to my neck.

Swinging my legs over the side of the cot, I stood, testing my balance. The room swayed, then steadied.

I was wearing the same clothes they’d caught me in. My academy-issued uniform and a ripped white blouse and blazer, smelt bad, I winced, pulling my blazer off. They had taken my boots and jacket. My feet were bare against the cold concrete, and goosebumps rose on my arms. I cataloged my body for injuries. I had bruised ribs, scrapes on my knees and elbows from the struggle, but nothing serious. Nothing was broken except any chance at freedom.

In the grimy metal panel opposite my cot, I glimpsed myself in the shine of the metal door. My face was thinner than I remembered, cheekbones sharp under pale skin. My eyes looked enormous, pupils dilated from the drugs. I barely recognized the girl staring back at me. The academy had done a number on me.

You look like shit, Scar, I thought, using the nickname only Draven and his pack called me.

Draven. The thought of my brother sent physical pain through my chest. Palpitations gripped me, and I took a few deep breaths, trying to ease my anxiety. He would be looking for me by now, Cole, and Jake. The four of us against the world, always. Until now. We had grown up together; the boys became my shield against a world determined to find and claim me. Being an Omega female in this fucked-up society was a death sentence to freedom. Or worse... a life sentence to breeding.

I remembered the last time I saw Draven, his dark eyes serious as he handed me my fake ID.

"Keep moving," he'd said, squeezing my shoulder. "Don't stay in one place longer than a week. I'll find you when it's safe." He knew my parents had been questioned. Knew they’d be classed as traitors and hung if they didn’t give me up. So, I ran. It was the only way I could save them. Save my brother.

But I’d gotten sloppy and stayed in that border town for too long. I became comfortable. Stupid.

A distant metallic clang jolted me from the memory. Heavy footsteps echoed down what must have been a corridor outside, growing louder with each passing second.

My heart rate spiked, adrenaline flooding my system and clearing the last of the drug-induced fog. I glanced around the cell, looking for anything I could use as a weapon. Nothing. Whoever they were, they weren’t idiots.

The footsteps drew nearer, echoes of a fate I refused to accept. Squaring my shoulders, I held my chin up. I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing me cower. I was Scarlett fucking Blackwood, and I would die before I submitted.

The cell door swung open, metal scraping against the concrete with a sound that set my teeth on edge. My breath hitched, a split-second betrayal, before I forced it steady. I fisted my hands, nails digging into the soft flesh of my palms. I was ready. Whatever they threw at me, I'd be ready. Other Omegas were out there, just like me, each breath a rebellion against this goddamn system. I won't let them make me a ghost.

A burly guard stepped in, his boots stomping on the floor with deliberate heaviness, a sound designed to intimidate. Behind him, I saw other cells opening, other guards barking commands, and other Omegas being herded into the hallway. His eyes found mine, cold and assessing, like I was livestock at auction.

"You're awake. Good," he said. "Come here, Omega."

I bared my teeth at the title. "I have a name," I called back, my voice steadier than I felt.

"Not anymore."

I pressed my back harder against the wall, feeling the cold seep through my thin blazer. My reflection flashed in the metal door across from me, a wild-eyed girl with her fists clenched, ready for a fight she couldn’t win. But I would fight anyway. It was all I knew how to do. It’s what my brother had taught me to do.

The guard stepped into the cell, a solid wall of muscle in a dark uniform. His face was hard, eyes flat and uninterested. Just another day, another Omega to process.

"Time to go," the first one said, reaching for me.

My lips pulled back from my teeth in what might have been a smile, but it held no humor. Just defiance. Pure, stupid, necessary defiance. The only thing keeping me from screaming, or begging or breaking down completely.

"Where?" I demanded, as if I had any right to the information. As if I were still a person with choices.

He didn’t answer, just gestured for me to move forward. My muscles coiled, ready to spring. Ready to fight. Ready to make them work for whatever came next.

The guard reached for my arm, and I dodged him, peering past at the sterile, fluorescent-lit hallway beyond. My fists clenched so tight my nails drew blood. I stared straight ahead, refusing to lower my gaze like a good little Omega. Whatever came next, I would face it standing.

I took a deep breath and prepared for what was coming. Draven had taught me how to throw a punch, how to take a hit, and how to keep getting up no matter how many times they knocked me down. I was seventeen years old, and I’d been trying to escape my Omega status since I’d come of age.

The guard’s shadow fell over me. "Line up! Hands behind your back!" he barked. He wore his crisp, pressed uniform like armor. The emblem of the Omega Task Force gleaming on his chest.

I didn't move; my feet planted firmly on the concrete floor. My heart pounded against my ribs, but I kept my expression neutral, bored even. Like I had better places to be.

"Are you deaf, Omega?" he snarled, taking a step closer. He smelled of cheap cologne and power. A Beta trying to mimic an Alpha’s authority. "I said, line up."

Outside the cell, the corridor was filled with the shuffle of bare feet and whimpers. Through the doorway, I saw at least a dozen other girls in various states of disarray. Some looked frightened and alone; others wore the hollow-eyed stare of those who had been in the system longer. A girl with long, dark hair caught my eye, her posture stooped in resignation. Another blonde stood straight-backed but trembling, tears streaming silently down her face.

We were a sorry sight, like the prized breeding stock of the new world order. Omegas, the rarest designation, were hunted like exotic animals for their reproductive capacity. They told themselves it was about the survival of the species, about the "sacred duty" of re-population. What a load of bullshit.

"I'm thinking no," I said, tilting my head to study the guard. "No, I don't think I will." My arms crossed to make a point.

The guard's face darkened, a flush creeping up his thick neck. He hadn't been expecting this. They rarely were. Omegas were supposed to be docile and easy to handle. Someone forgot to put that in my genetic coding.

"You've got five seconds to comply before I make you regret it." His hand moved to the baton at his hip.

I glanced in the corridor at the other Omegas, now visible in the hallway. Some looked at me with wide eyes and jaws agape. But a couple I could see had slight smiles forming on their lips. A scrawny girl with glasses mouthed, "Just do it," at me, her eyes wide with warning.

The guard stepped closer, filling my cell with his bulk. Behind him, a second guard watched with detached interest.

"Four," the guard counted, "three..."

I thought of my brother Draven, of how he’d taught me to stand my ground. Of how many times we had practiced fighting stances in our family courtyard, much to my father's disapproval. "Never show fear, Scar," Draven would say. "They can smell it."

"Two..."

I straightened to my full height, uncrossing my arms and looking at my fingernails, bored. It wasn’t impressive, but what I lacked in stature, I made up for in attitude. I squared my shoulders, then looked into the guard's eyes, a cardinal sin for an Omega facing authority.

"One."

"Not today," I said, the words clear and sharp in the small space. Not a whisper, not a shout. A statement of fact.

Something shifted in the guard's face, an element of surprise followed soon after by rage. His hand wrapped around the shock baton, pulling it free with practiced efficiency. The green strength indicator glared at me as he turned it up to the maximum.

"Wrong answer," he growled and jabbed it toward me.

I tried to dodge, but the cell was too small, my reflexes still dulled by whatever drugs they had pumped into me. The baton caught my upper arm, and the world exploded in searing agony as my lungs ballooned, replaced by an inferno of pain.

Electricity coursed through my body, my nervous system reacting like a lightning storm beneath my skin. My muscles contracted violently, in an involuntary dance of pain, as my teeth slammed together, almost catching my tongue. My spine collapsed, and I dropped to the floor.

He pressed the baton harder against my arm, and sparks flew from the contact point. The metallic buzz filled the cell, drowning out the sound of my own strangled gasp. I wouldn't scream. I wouldn't give him that satisfaction.

Through tear-blurred eyes, I saw other guards watching from the doorway, their expressions ranging from boredom to subtle enjoyment. This was entertainment for them. I was the wild one they wanted to break and teach a lesson.

The current finally stopped, leaving me collapsed in a fetal position on the hard ground, as my vision swam, black spots pulsing at the edges.

Angry red skin on my arm cried out from where the baton had made contact. The smell of burning and singed fabric filled my nostrils.

"Ready to cooperate now?" The guard's voice came from a distance, though he stood hovering above me.

I sucked in a ragged breath, fighting the tremors that racked my body. The muscles in my arm spasmed as aftershocks of electricity still danced along my nerves.

"Go to hell," I rasped, the words barely audible even to my ears.

His face twisted. "You think you're tough? You think this is bad?" He raised the baton again. "This is nothing compared to what's waiting for you in the Alpha Games. You’re in the Birthing Grounds Omega. You’ll be lucky to survive here."

The Birthing Grounds. Marvellous. An Omega prison that no one ever leaves. Fuck. I huffed, standing up. Screw that. I’m getting out of here! This fat fuck though, he’s never leaving this shithole!

"Birthing Grounds, ah?" I said, finding my voice again. "I bet they rejected you at Stonehurst Academy, didn’t they? Not Alpha enough. Had to settle for being a Beta bully boy."

His face flushed darker, and I knew I had hit a nerve. Most Betas in the Task Force were failures, bitter about their secondary status.

The baton came down again, this time across my midsection. The pain was indescribable, like being torn apart from the inside. My knees buckled, but I forced myself to remain standing, holding the wall as my teeth gritted so hard my jaw ached.

"Corey, enough." A female voice cut through the haze of pain. "Command wants them intact for processing."

A woman in a Task Force uniform stood in the doorway, her expression impassive, but her eyes sharp. Not sympathetic, just practical. Damaged goods weren't as valuable.

The guard, Corey, stepped back reluctantly, the baton still humming with lethal promise. "Hands behind your back Omega. Before I request permission for more intensive compliance measures."

I grimaced. More intensive than being electrocuted? My eyes widened. Well, that’s shit!

I took my time and straightened, standing upright, each movement an exercise in agony. Without breaking eye contact with the guard, I placed my hands behind my back.

Corey sneered as he secured my wrists with zip ties, then shoved me into the corridor. The hallway stretched ahead, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like angry insects. I moved forward with the line of Omegas, but this wasn't submission. This was reconnaissance.

I wouldn't be broken. I wouldn't be bred.

Not when my name was Scarlett Blackwood! I would find a way out of this hell if it were the last thing I did.

Heavy hands seized my upper arms without warning, fingers digging into my flesh. I was yanked out of line with enough force to make my shoulders scream in protest, zip ties cutting deeper into my wrists. Two guards held me. Not Corey, but cut from the same cloth. They flanked me like I was some high-security risk. Maybe I was. Maybe they could sense that compliance didn't mean surrender, not for me.

"Special handling for this one," one guard grunted to the other over my head, like I wasn't even present. "Command says she's a flight risk."

The second guard snorted. "Aren't they all!"

They dragged me forward, past the line of other Omegas who watched with a mixture of fear and fascination. The dark-haired girl from before met my eyes briefly, her expression a silent plea I couldn't decipher. Sympathy? Warning?

Boots would have been useful right about now. My bare feet offered little traction on the slick concrete floor as they hustled me toward a large metal door at the end of the corridor.

The skin on my arm still sizzled, the sting of the electric shock biting deep, raw, and angry. I could feel the burn pulsing under the surface, like my body hadn’t figured out how to stop screaming yet. Every breath I took dragged sharply against my ribs, like something inside had cracked when he hit me the second time. I tried not to move. Even shifting sent jolts of pain through me, like my body was punishing me for surviving it.

"Thinking of running?" the guard on my left asked. His grip tightened, a warning punctuated by thick fingers pressing into muscle.

I said nothing, which seemed to irritate him more than any response would have.

Behind us, the line of Omegas was moving again, herded by the remaining guards. Their shuffling footsteps created a soft percussion against the hard floor, underscored by occasional sniffles.

The clock above the door them showed six ‘o’clock. Who they hell gets up this bloody early! I growled under my breath and continued walking.

Through the metal door, a wider corridor lay ahead. This one was different though. Harsh, blinking lights embedded in the ceiling at irregular intervals. The effect was disorienting, light-dark-light-dark, like moving through a strobe. The floor changed too, from smooth concrete to metal grating that bit into the soles of my feet, as the stench of chemicals bled through the air.

"Processing sector," one guard announced, more to his companion than me.

The wider corridor branched in three directions. To the left, I glimpsed what looked like a medical facility, as gleaming equipment and staff in white coats became visible through a large observation window. Straight ahead, the corridor continued to another set of heavy doors. To the right, a narrower passage led to what might be administrative offices.

As we moved, I spotted surveillance cameras mounted at strategic intervals, their red recording lights blinking in rhythm with the overhead fixtures. Every twenty feet or so, emergency lockdown panels were built into the walls; glass-covered buttons that would presumably seal sections of the corridor in case of escape attempts.

The other Omegas came into view again as we rounded a slight curve in the corridor. They were being herded through a series of processing stations—photography, fingerprinting, and medical assessment. An assembly line for the cataloging of human Omega livestock.

My guards bypassed these stations, pushing me ahead of the main group. Special handling indeed.

"She needs the chip before the next games start," the taller guard said to a white-coated technician who approached with a tablet.

The female technician, whose hair was pulled back in such a severe manner that stretched her features, glanced at me. “She needs processing first.”

“No,” the guard said. “She’s being sent straight to the games.” I pursed my lips. Well shit, that didn’t sound good!

The technician nodded, then looked at her screen. "ID?"

"BW-9731," the guard recited.

Not Scarlett. Not even a person anymore. Just a code.

The technician nodded and gestured to a sterile-looking alcove equipped with a metal chair bolted to the floor. "Secure her there. I'll get the injector."

The chair was a nightmare of restraints. They forced me into each of them, fastening each strap with practiced efficiency. My plastic zip ties were cut away, only to be replaced by cold metal cuffs attached to the chair arms.

The technician returned with what looked like a gun, but with a thick needle where the barrel should have been. "Tracking chip," she explained clinically, seeing my eyes on the device. "Standard procedure for all Omegas."

She didn’t wait for a response, just grabbed my forearm—thankfully not the burned one— swabbed it with something cold, and positioned the injector against my skin.

I gritted my teeth as the pain seared through my arm. The chip was larger than expected, as it was forced beneath my skin with mechanical precision. Warm blood trickled down my arm before the technician slapped a bandage over the injection site.

"Activated," she said after checking her tablet. "Signal is strong. She's ready to go."

The restraints were removed from the chair, but not from my wrists. Fresh zip ties replaced the metal cuffs, and I was hauled to my feet again, barely given a second to steady myself.

The next thing I knew, I was thrown into a cold shower at the end of the room and stripped naked by two beta females, scrubbing my skin until it was red raw. To say I was in pain was an understatement. My bandage was now wet, so I took it off, demanding a new one, and the clothes they expected me to wear looked like a sacrificial virgin’s nightdress in pure white. What? Did they think I was pure all of a sudden? My mind slipped back to Romy Milford before my brother nearly beat him to death. I sighed. Good times.

Finally, they gave me shoes. Granted, they were hideous leather sandals that matched the fly-away night dress, but it was something... right?

I was dragged through the remainder of the processing area toward another set of doors that slid open automatically as we approached. A huge raised circular platform of smooth concrete stretched before us, surrounded by waist-high railings. The ceiling soared two stories up, crisscrossed with metal walkways where armed guards patrolled. It was different here, colder, with a hint of diesel and something else, something wild that made the hair on my arms stand up.

Other Omegas were already gathered on the platform, arranged in neat rows according to some system I couldn't understand. They all had wet hair, pristine white night dresses, shitty sandals, and faces full of fear.

My guards positioned me at the edge of the platform, apart from the main group. A strategic placement so I couldn't blend in with the others and disappear in the crowd.

"Welcome to the Birthing Grounds," a mechanical voice announced from overhead speakers. "All personnel, prepare for the start of our next Alpha Games."

Cameras turned toward us from every wall, a bright stage light turned on above, blasting us with its intrusive beam.

“Ready, sir,” a young technician yelled.

“And in five, four,” the mechanical voice boomed.

What the fuck is going on?

“Three, two,”

Shit!

“One.”

This was not where my story ended.

Chapter 2 - Scarlett

The horn split the air like a scream, and two huge mechanical doors opened before us. Cold wind cursed my body, carrying the scent of earth that blanketed the raw chemicals this place stunk of. I blinked as I stepped outside and away from the building. Bright sunlight beamed down warming my body with its caressing touch. I shuddered as I looked back and the doors began to close. What had that guard said? The Birthing Grounds were much worse? Or something like that. I looked around at the tranquility of the forest before me, then back at the closed-off building. Well, I know which place I prefer!

Before I knew it, my body moved before my mind caught up. The platform beneath my feet vibrated with the force of twenty-three other Omegas launching themselves forward, but I was already veering left, away from them, away from the obvious paths that led to nowhere good.

Jumping down, I hit the ground running, not in the desperate, mindless sprint of prey, but the calculated dash my brother Draven had drilled into me during those summer afternoons when everyone else thought we were just playing. Stay low. Move fast. Think faster.

The forest swallowed me whole within seconds. Towering oaks and maples stretched their branches into a canopy so thick that only scattered coins of sunlight penetrated the forest floor. The air smelled of moss and decay, rich earth, and something else. Something that made the hair on my arms stand up.

I ducked under a low-hanging branch, its bark rough against my shoulder, then leapt over a fallen log that was wider than my body. The terrain was uneven, riddled with exposed roots that could snap my ankle if I wasn't careful. But careful and fast weren't mutually exclusive. Every step was deliberate, every leap calculated, even as my heart hammered against my ribs like it was trying to break free.

Behind me, I could hear the crash of bodies through the underbrush, the harsh breathing of Alphas on the hunt. But there was something else threading through the chaos... voices, high and terrified, cutting through the forest like broken glass.

A scream tore through the trees from somewhere to my right, sharp and sudden, then cut short. Another followed from the left, longer, more desperate, fading into something that might have been sobbing or may have even been death. I didn't slow down to find out which.

The sounds chased me deeper into the woods, but I forced myself to focus on what was ahead instead of what was behind. A cluster of young saplings created a natural maze, their trunks thin enough that I could weave between them as they grew narrower, pulling me into their darkness. I aimed for an opening, feeling the bark scrape against my arms as I squeezed through gaps barely wide enough for my slim frame.

I took a moment to catch my breath, resting against a tree and looked around sharply, assessing my surroundings. Right now, I needed to hide. To stay alive. Then I’d find my way out of this goddamned place!

My hands found a patch of rich, black soil near the base of an old elm tree. I dropped to my knees, scooping up handfuls of earth. The dirt felt cool and gritty between my fingers as I smeared it across my neck, my wrists, anywhere my scent might be strongest. It wasn’t enough though.

Fallen leaves joined the dirt, crushed between my palms and rubbed into my skin until I smelled like the forest floor instead of my all-encompassing gingerbread Omega scent. It was a trick Draven had learned from an old hunting guide, back when we’d thought the worst thing that could hunt me was a wild boar.

How naïve we were!

Another scream echoed through the trees, closer this time, and I forced myself not to look in its direction. Someone had been caught and claimed. Their life had just become something else entirely, and there was nothing I could do about it except to make sure it didn't happen to me.

The underbrush grew thicker as I pushed deeper into the forest, thorns caught at my clothes and scratched lines of fire across my exposed skin. But thick vegetation meant cover, meant places to hide, meaning the Alphas would have to work harder to follow. I welcomed every scratch, every torn piece of fabric that might slow them down.

Then the voice came, crackling through speakers hidden somewhere in the canopy above. The sound was so unexpected that I stumbled, catching myself against a tree trunk as the words spilled down through the leaves like poison rain.

"Welcome to the Alpha Games."

The voice was bitter, controlled, carrying the kind of authority that made my skin crawl. It seemed to come from everywhere at once, as if the forest itself was speaking.

"I am Rex Calloway, your owner."

Owner. The word hit me like a physical blow, and my free hand clenched into a fist around a handful of leaves. The casual way he said it, like it was the most natural thing in the world... it made something dark and violent unfurl in my chest.

"The rules are simple, Alphas... Claim your prize. Omegas, run if you wish, but there’s no escape."

No escape. The words echoed in my mind as I forced my legs to keep moving, pushing through a stand of young birches whose white bark looked like bone in the filtered light. But Rex Calloway didn't know about the promises I’d made to myself in those long nights before they brought me here. He didn't know about the fury that burned steadier than any heat, the determination that ran deeper than any instinct they tried to breed into me.

I may have been trapped in his arena, but I was not his prize. Not anyone's prize.

A flash of movement caught my eye. Another Omega, maybe fifty yards to my left, stumbled through the underbrush with tears streaming down her face. She was headed straight for a section where the trees thinned out, where she'd be visible to anyone hunting from above. My throat tightened with the urge to call out, to warn her, but I bit down on the impulse. Helping her meant exposing myself. Helping her meant we’d both get caught.

Survival was selfish. Draven had taught me that too.

I turned away and pushed deeper, where the shadows were thicker and the air coiled its humidity around me. Rex Calloway's voice had gone silent, but his words still rung in my ears like a challenge.

No escape.

We'd see about that.

The clearing opened up ahead of me like a trap, thirty feet of exposed ground surrounded by towering pines. Sunlight streamed down in golden shafts, turning the space into a spotlight that screamed vulnerability. Every instinct my brother had hammered into me said to go around, stay in the shadows, keep to the thick cover where I couldn't be seen from above.

But the sound of heavy footsteps crunching through leaves behind me was getting closer.

I paused at the edge of the clearing, my back pressed against the rough bark of a pine, and strained my ears. The footsteps stopped, but I could hear slow, controlled intakes of air. Whoever it was, was patient. It was the kind of breathing that belonged to something that knew it had time, knew its prey was trapped.

My skin prickled with the awareness of being watched. Somewhere behind me, maybe twenty yards back, an Alpha was calculating his approach. I could feel his eyes on me like a physical weight, and the sensation made my stomach twist with something that was half-fear, half-rage.

The smart move would be to circle the clearing, sticking to the dense undergrowth where my smaller size gave me an advantage. But circling also meant backtracking, meant getting closer to whoever was hunting me, and the thought of moving toward that patient breathing made my skin itch.

I took a breath that tasted of pine sap and adrenaline, before the scent of raw meat washed over me. His scent. Without a second thought, I sprinted across the clearing.

I was halfway to the other side when his voice cut through the air behind me, rich with amusement and something darker.

"There you are, little rabbit."

The voice was deep, confident, the kind that was always used to being obeyed. It rolled across the clearing like honey poured over broken glass, sweet on the surface but sharp enough to cut. I didn't look back. Looking back meant slowing down, meant giving him a better view of my face when he finally caught up.

Because men like that always thought in terms of when, not if.

"I can smell you, little Omega."

The words hit me between the shoulder blades like a physical blow, and my stride faltered for half a second before I forced myself back into rhythm. The tree line ahead seemed impossibly far away, and my legs felt like they were moving through water.

“Your heat is coming. I can smell it.” He laughed. “You can't run forever.”

He was right, and we both knew it. I could feel it building in my body like a storm gathering strength... the flush creeping up my neck, the way my skin felt too tight, the unwanted warmth that curdled low in my belly and spreads outward like spilled milk.

I hit the tree line and veered left, crashing through a stand of young maples whose branches whipped across my face and arms, while rain droplets soothed my skin. A fallen log stretched across my path, its trunk as thick as my waist and covered in moss. I gathered myself and leapt, landing hard on the other side and rolling to absorb the impact.

Behind me, I heard the heavy thud of his landing, closer than I'd like. He was bigger than me, stronger, with longer legs that ate up the ground faster than mine ever could. But bigger also meant heavier, less agile, meant he couldn't go everywhere I could.

I ducked under a low branch that would catch him in the chest, then scrambled up a slope where loose stones skittered away under my feet. At the top, I paused long enough to grab a handful of rocks and flung them into the underbrush to my right before veering left. The sound of stones hitting leaves should buy me a few seconds of confusion.

"Clever little thing, aren't you?"

His voice was closer now, maybe fifteen feet behind and gaining. There was approval in his tone that made my skin crawl, like I was an entertaining toy he was looking forward to playing with. The approval was worse than anger would have been. Anger, I could work with, could predict. Approval meant he was enjoying this.

A dense thicket of blackberry bushes loomed up ahead. A tangled wall of thorns that would shred anyone trying to push through at full speed. But there was a gap at the base, barely wide enough for my shoulders, where some animal had worn a path through the worst of the undergrowth.

I dropped to my hands and knees and scrambled through the sludge, thorns caught in my hair and teared new lines across my already scratched arms. The pain was sharp and immediate, but pain meant I was moving, meant I was alive, and still free.

Behind me, I heard him curse as he reached the thicket. The sound was vicious and frustrated, followed by the crash of his body hitting the wall of thorns. He was too big to follow, too broad through the shoulders to make it through the gap without taking time to widen it.

Time I didn't plan to give him.

I emerged on the other side, covered in scratches and bleeding from a dozen slight cuts, but I was alive and alone. The thicket stretched for maybe thirty yards in either direction. He'd have to go around, and that would buy me precious minutes to put distance between us.

My legs shook as I forced myself back into a run, my adrenaline was starting to fade and leave exhaustion in its wake. My right knee throbbed where I’d landed wrong coming off the log, and there was a deep scratch along my left forearm that was bleeding more than I'd like. But I was moving, and movement was everything.

Behind me, I could hear him working his way around the thicket. He wasn’t giving up.

I leapt over another fallen log, ducked under another branch, and kept moving deeper into the green maze. My heart pounded against my ribs like a caged bird, but there was something else beating alongside the fear now. Something that felt almost like satisfaction.

He was mistaken about one thing. I could run. I could run for a very long time. And I was just getting started.

Darkness bled through the forest like spilled ink, and I was still moving when I saw a curtain of vines hanging down over the face of a rocky outcrop like nature's own door. The vines were thick with leaves, old growth that'd had years to establish itself, and behind them, I glimpsed a shadow that might have been deeper than it should have been.

My legs felt like water, muscles trembling with exhaustion and the constant flood of adrenaline that had been keeping me upright for hours. But exhaustion was a luxury I couldn't afford, not yet. Not until I knew what was behind those vines.

I approached carefully, every sense straining for signs of danger. The air here smelt stale and cool, with an undertone of minerals that spoke of stone and deep places. No scent of animals, no musk that would suggest something large had made this place its home, just the clean, empty smell of rock and stone.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed aside the curtain of vines with one shaking hand, and cool air breathed against my face from the darkness beyond. A cave, shallow but deep enough to hide in, had been carved into the limestone by water that had stopped flowing here long before I was born. The space was maybe eight feet deep and fifteen foot wide, with a ceiling high enough that I could stand upright without bumping my head.

Perfect.

I slipped inside, letting the vines fall closed behind me, and felt the weight of the day settle on my shoulders like a lead blanket. My hands shook as I explored the space by touch, checking for loose rocks that might fall, or holes where something unpleasant might hide.

When I had checked every nook and crannie, my body sagged, and I sank against the back wall. I was safe... for now.

Looking down, my arms were a roadmap of scratches, some shallow, others deep enough that they were still bleeding sluggishly. There was a vicious cut along my left forearm where the blackberry thorns had caught me, and my right knee was swollen and hot to the touch.

But I was alive. I was free. And that had to count for something.

Smacking my lips together, I swallowed back what little saliva I had. I was parched, my mouth as dry as the Sahara Desert, and my body felt drained. Plus, looking down, I needed water to clean these cuts before they could get infected. Thinking back, I remembered seeing a stream maybe half-a-mile back, but the thought of leaving this shelter, of exposing myself again, made my stomach clench with anxiety. Then I remembered the wet ground I’d crawled through and smiled.

Crawling to the mouth of the cave, I pushed aside the vines just enough to peer out. Sure enough, there was a depression in the rock above the entrance where rainwater had collected, maybe half a cup's worth of clear, cool water. Jackpot! It wasn’t much, but it would be enough.

Cupping the water in my hands, I took a sip, then used it to clean the worst of the cuts. I bit my lower lip; the water stung like fire ants had used my skin as their new nest. Grimacing, I continued, washing away the dirt and bacteria that could turn a simple scratch into something that could kill me. When the cuts were clean, I tore strips from the bottom of my dress, making makeshift bandages and binding the deeper cuts.

Draven would be proud. He’d spent hours teaching me field medicine, making me practice on cuts from our hunting expeditions until I could clean and bind a wound in complete darkness. At the time, I’d thought he was being paranoid. Now I wanted to kiss him for every tedious lesson.

I let myself rest for the first time since the horn had sounded this morning. With my back against the cool stone wall, knees drawn up to my chest, I listened to the sounds of the forest outside. Somewhere in the distance, I could hear voices. They were too far away to make out any words, but close enough to make my skin prickle with awareness.

The games weren't over. Only paused.

Then, the thing all Omegas dread happened. Heat. Flaming serpents snaked their way over my skin, building in my core like a banked fire that was ready to flare to life. My skin felt too tight, too warm, and there was a restless energy humming under my bones that had nothing to do with adrenaline and everything to do with biology I couldn't control.

My sweet sugary scent was changing. I could smell it even over the dirt and leaves I'd rubbed into my skin, and I knew it would call far and wide to Alphas like a dinner bell. In another day, maybe two, it'd be strong enough that all my hiding and running wouldn’t matter. They'd be able to track me by scent alone, and every Alpha in this forest would know exactly where I was.

The thought made me want to scream, to tear at my skin until I could rip out whatever part of me was betraying everything I was. Instead, I dug my fingernails into my palms until the pain gave me something else to focus on.

This wasn’t over. Heat or no heat, I was not giving up. Draven hadn't taught me to fight just so that I could roll over and submit, the first time things got difficult. He’d taught me to survive, to think, to find a way out of situations that seemed impossible.

"There's always a way out, Scar," he used to say when we'd practice scenarios that seemed hopeless. "You just have to be willing to take it."

I pulled my knees tighter to my chest and tried to ignore the way my body temperature seemed to climb and the way my skin felt hypersensitive to every brush of air. Outside, something large moved through the underbrush. I stilled, one hand closing around a sharp piece of limestone I’d found near the cave entrance.

The footsteps passed without pausing, fading into the distance, but I didn't relax my grip on the stone. This cave was a good hiding place, but it wasn’t a fortress. If someone found me here, I'd have to fight my way out.

And fight I would. Heat be damned, biology be damned, Rex Calloway and his games be damned. I was Scarlett Blackwood, and I hadn't survived seventeen years of this world's bullshit just to become some Alpha's prize.

I curled up in the darkest corner of the cave, the stone clutched in my fist, and listened to the night-time sounds of the forest. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new dangers, and new ways to break me.

Chapter 3 - Scarlett

As the darkness of night dwindled, dawn crept through the vine curtain like a reluctant visitor. Dappled sunlight filtered into my cave sanctuary and painted everything the color of old bones. My body felt like it had been carved from the same limestone that surrounded me, as every muscle locked in protest, every joint screaming its displeasure at a night spent on unforgiving stone. The makeshift bandages I’d torn from my stupid virgin dress had dried stiff against my skin, and when I tried to stretch, fresh pain shot free from them.

I wiped my mouth. Morning breath always grossed me out, but it wasn’t like they’d packed a toothbrush in my outfit. Sighing, I used my fingernail to scratch off any creamy plaque and shuddered. My mouth tasted like I'd been chewing on tree bark for the last hour. As I swallowed, I gripped my throat. The rawness of sandpaper grated on it. Damn, I needed a drink. But before I could head out to the entrance in the hope of fresh rain, I heard the soft murmur of running water, making my parched throat contract with desperate need.

I pushed myself forward with movements that would make an elderly woman look graceful, biting back a groan as my knee clicked. The limestone floor had left its impression on every part of me that had touched it during the night, and I could feel the hard weight of stone pressing against my hip bones and shoulder blades.

Cautiously, I parted the vine curtain and peered into the forest beyond. The early morning air carried the scent of dew and decomposing leaves, clean and earthy after yesterday's chaos. No voices echoed through the trees; no heavy footsteps crashed through the underbrush. The forest seemed peaceful, almost innocent, as if the horror of the games was just a nightmare I’d dreamed of in my stone cave.

But I knew better than to trust appearances.

My reflection in a puddle near the cave entrance made me wince. My ginger hair hung in matted tangles, twigs and leaves woven through the waves like some demented crown. Dirt streaked down my face in patterns that mapped yesterday's desperate flight, and my clothes... well, what was left of them, hung in tatters that barely preserved my modesty. The dress I’d torn for bandages now resembled something a pack of wild dogs might have fought over.

The sound of water called to me again, clearer now, maybe two hundred yards to the east. My body moved before my mind had committed to the decision, crawling out of the cave on hands and knees before rising to a crouch. Every instinct screamed at me to stay hidden, to wait for full daylight when I could see any threats coming. But thirst was a living thing inside me now, clawing at my throat with desperate fingers. I’d have drunk from the puddle if it weren’t for all the dead flies bathing in it.

I moved through the forest like an assassin, placing each foot with the careful precision my brother had taught me during our hunting expeditions. Heel to toe, testing each step before committing my full weight to it, all while avoiding the dry leaves that would crackle and announce my presence to anyone listening. The trees here were older, their trunks thick enough that three people holding hands couldn't circle them, their canopy so dense that morning light filtered down in dappled rays, caressing the forest floor.

The sound of water grew stronger as I weaved between massive oaks and maples, past fallen logs that could hide an entire pack of Alphas. My stomach chose that moment to voice its complaint, a long, rolling growl that seemed loud enough to wake the dead. When had I last eaten? The memory of my last meager breakfast at the academy sprang to mind. Stale bread and watery porridge made my mouth salivate despite its desert dryness.

Food would have to wait. Water was life.

The stream appeared suddenly, cutting through the forest floor like a silver ribbon. It was maybe ten feet wide, shallow enough that I could see the rocky bottom through crystal-clear water that caught the soothing sunlight and threw it back in dancing patterns. The sound it made was pure music.

I approached the bank on my belly, scanning both directions for any sign of movement before allowing myself to get close. The water was so clear I could count the pebbles on the bottom, so clean it looked like something from a fairy tale instead of this nightmarish arena. Somewhere upstream, probably miles away, this water began as mountain snow, pure and untouched by the ugliness humans created.

Cupping my hands, I dipped them into the stream and lifted the water to my mouth. The first taste was heaven... cold and clean, with a faint mineral tang to it. I drank greedily, cupping handful after handful, feeling my body absorb the moisture like a desert plant in the rain. Water ran down my chin and dripped onto my torn dress, but I didn’t care. Nothing had ever tasted so perfect.

My reflection wavered on the stream's surface, distorted by the gentle current but clear enough to show the full extent of yesterday's damage. Besides the obvious dirt and blood, there was something else on my face that made me pause. My cheeks were flushed despite the cool morning air, and my eyes looked different. They were brighter somehow, almost feverish.

The heat. It was building faster than I’d expected.

I should leave, should find another hiding place and wait out the day. But the thought of carrying yesterday's grime and blood for another twenty-four hours made my stomach roll. The stream was isolated enough, hidden by thick vegetation on both sides. A quick wash, just enough to clean the worst of the dirt and dried blood, shouldn't take more than a few minutes.

I stripped off my torn dress and stepped into the stream, watching the dried mud mix with the cold water. As I knelt, I felt more alive. The icy tendrils of water washed over my body, soothing my skin back down to its normal temperature. Splashing handfuls of cold stream water over my arms and shoulders, my cuts stung again, but the soothing nature of the water soon eased the sharpness. The dried blood dissolved in pink swirls that the current carried away, and for a moment, I could pretend I was just a girl washing in a stream, not prey hiding from predators in an arena designed for my destruction.

Suddenly the breeze shifted, carrying something that stopped my heart mid-beat.

A scent hit me like a physical blow, rich and complex and utterly male. It wasn’t one scent, but three, layered together like notes in a symphony—whiskey and wood smoke, dark chocolate and rain, fresh coffee and something wild, that made my hindbrain sit up and take notice. The combination should be overwhelming, should clash and compete, but instead it weaved together into something that called to every cell in my body.

My breath caught in my throat, and my hands froze halfway to the water. Heat that had nothing to do with fever flooded through me, starting low in my belly and spreading outward like spilled wine. My skin felt electric, hypersensitive to every brush of air, as my heart pounded so hard I could feel it in my fingertips.

What the hell was happening to me?

Chapter 4 - Harrison

Ifroze mid-step; one hand braced against the rough bark of an oak tree as the scent hit me like a freight train. My eyes dilated until only thin rings of color remained, one green, one blue. I swallowed back a growl, my breathing ragged as my body responded to the sugary scent of something I’d never experienced before. The scent was sweet and wild, with an underlying note of defiance that spoke to every protective instinct I’d spent twenty-one years honing.

My sister Lola had tried to describe it once, when an Alpha scent matched their Omega. "Like coming home," she'd whispered during one of our secret meetings, before her pack had decided she was too much trouble to keep around. "Like finding the missing piece of your soul." I’d thought she was being dramatic, caught up in the romantic nonsense our society fed to Omegas to make subjugation more palatable.

I was wrong.

Every muscle in my body coiled tight, as every one of my Alpha instincts roared to life, demanding I follow the scent trail to its source. But years of discipline and the memory of what happened to Lola kept me moving slowly, carefully, using the thick vegetation as cover.

My thick brown hair fell across my forehead as I leant forward, nostrils flaring to catch every nuance of the intoxicating scent. Her intoxicating scent.

She was close. Very close. And she was almost in heat.

My hand tightened on the bark until my knuckles whitened. The scent was stronger here, concentrated, which meant she’d stayed in one place long enough to saturate the surrounding air. Dangerous for her, but it made tracking easier for any Alpha within a mile radius. Taking a deep breath, I held back another growl, my protective instincts at war with my Alpha nature. It was the dire need to claim her before anyone else could that I had to keep at bay. She was her own person after all, and had every right to decide who she wanted to be with.

Pushing through a stand of young maples, their branches barely thick enough to provide cover, I heard running water ahead. A stream. Smart girl! Everyone needed water, and streams provided both sustenance and a potential escape route. But they also provided open ground where she'd be vulnerable.

My breathing became labored as I worked my way closer, every step pulling me deeper into the cloud of her scent. It wasn’t just attraction anymore. It was recognition. My body knew before my eyes had even seen her. I knew that she belonged to me in ways which transcended choice or logic. The dark chocolate scent that clung to my skin seemed to respond to hers, creating something richer and more complex than either scent alone.

Chapter 5 - Damian

Fifty yards away, moving through the trees with the practiced silence of someone who’d learned stealth on the city streets, I ran, almost losing my footing on the thick branch I used as a highway through the canopy. My jet-black hair whipped across my face as I jerked to a stop.

The scent... It was like warm gingerbread, smooth and complex, with notes of rebellion that called to every rule I’d ever broken. It wrapped itself around me like silk and steel, beautiful and dangerous in equal measure. I stopped, gripping the tree's face to keep myself standing upright. My muscular frame trembled with the effort of staying still when every instinct screamed at me to run, pounce, and hunt.

But I took a moment, catching my breath before the game of cat and mouse began. My scarred face twisted into something between agony and ecstasy as the scent burrowed deeper into my brain. Taking a long breath, I slapped myself, shaking my head. It couldn’t be. I’d never believed in the mating bond. Too much time on the streets had taught me that survival mattered more than fairy tales. But this... this was undeniable. This was real.

My dark skin flushed with heat that had nothing to do with exertion. I took another moment, using my elevated position to scan the forest floor below. Her delicate sounds of groaning soothed my soul, mixed with splashes of water. She was near a stream. I could hear her bathing and enjoying it too. I grinned, then licked my lips as her sugary scent mingled with the freshness of the clean stream and morning dew. My mouth watered and hands shook with the need to touch, to claim, to possess.

But possession wasn't the same as partnership, and my street wisdom died hard. This Omega, whoever she was, had chosen to run instead of submitting at the starting platform. That had taken guts. It showed her intelligence, and the kind of fierce independence that would drive me crazy in all the best ways.

I grinned. A grin that was more predator than man, as I settled into position thirty feet above the forest floor. Let the ground-bound Alphas crash through the underbrush like bulls in a China shop. I'd wait, watch, and see what kind of woman could reduce me to a hormonal teenager with nothing but her scent.

Chapter 6 - Felix

Iyawned. Was it morning already? I raised my hand to shield myself from the glaring sunlight and pulled myself up from my bed of leaves. Stretching, I looked out over the gloomy forest and checked my watch. Nine in the morning. Great. When did that dick of an oppressor say this thing would be over?

Standing up, I took a moment to think it through. Well shit. He didn’t say. Maybe I should have asked that before I’d joined up. I rolled my eyes at my stupidity. Then again, it wasn’t like I had any choice. The shitheads in charge didn’t like a packless Alpha. Apparently, all we were good for was forced breeding and entertainment for the higher-ups in The Alpha Games.

Fuck. Why had I even given this show the time of day? They’d said all the participants were willing. I huffed, wiping the dirt off my top. No, they fucking weren’t. It was like an episode of the Hunger Games in here. I’d already seen one Alpha mauled to death by a lion. I mean, where the fuck had the lion come from? They sure weren’t indigenous to this part of the world.

Well, there’s got to be a bloody way out of this place. And when I do get out, I’ll be having words with the producers, see if they like being fed to a lion. A growl stopped me dead in my tracks. My eyes widened. Hands trembling as I fisted both of them. That had better not be what I think it is!

Side-stepping a log, I circled through the dense undergrowth, keeping an eye out for Rory the lion or any of his pride.

Slithers of sunbeams graced the ground as I picked up speed. My ginger hair caught ablaze under the sun as I continued east toward the sounds of water. Damn, I was thirsty!

As I neared the stream, I heard the rippled splashes of another person. Now who the fuck is that dirtying my water? Growling, I stepped forward. Then it hit me, as sweet as candy and as bitter as a lemon. My eyes widened, pooling as her scent hit my system like a drug. Skin paling, heart hammering. What the actual fuck was happening?

Nineteen years clawing at the edge of civilization, and I’d never smelled anything as scrumptious. It was an Omega. It had to be. And not just any Omega, my fucking Omega! She smelled like gingerbread, warmed over an open fire, rich, delicate, and perfect. She smelled of home and freedom and everything my brother died trying to protect.

My hands clenched into fists as I forced myself to linger, to think instead of reacting. My thoughts dwindled to those of my Beta brother, Jacob. He’d raised me, taught me control and compassion... before the Omega Taskforce had called him a traitor and murdered him. I took a deep breath, wiping my clammy hands on my pants. He would be disappointed if I let my instincts take over. I smiled, remembering him pulling me back from one too many fights. But he’d always understood the pull. I smiled. He’d understand why this Omega's scent seemed to reach inside my chest and squeeze my heart until I could barely breathe.

She was alone. I could tell, as there was no scent of fear. No sign that she had been claimed. I smiled, blinking slowly. She was simply a pure Omega in the early stages of heat. The thought made my vision go red around the edges and my hair stuck to my forehead with sweat.

I adjusted my approach, running wide to come to the stream from downwind. If she ran, and smart Omegas always ran, she'd head for the deeper forest where her smaller size gave her an advantage. I needed to be able to intercept, to talk to her, or at least get a look at the woman whose scent was currently rewiring my brain.

The irony wasn't lost on me. I’d come to the Birthing Grounds to find answers about my brother's death, then smack bang, I was thrown in here. But instead, I’d found something that might destroy me as much as it could save me... and damn, it didn’t half sound appealing.

Chapter 7 - Scarlett

The sound of someone dropping from the canopy above made me spin around so fast I almost lost my footing on the slippery rocks beside the stream. My hands scrambled for my torn dress, pressing the fabric against my chest as a figure emerged from behind a massive pine trunk like something out of a nightmare.

He was tall, with broad shoulders, and jet-black hair that fell in waves around a face that looked like it had been carved from granite and then broken in interesting places. The scar that ran down the left side of his face caught the filtered morning light, a pale line that spoke of violence survived, and lessons learned the hard way. There wasn’t anything flashy about his clothes, which surprised me, as all Alphas liked to look the part. Instead, he wore dark, practical clothing... the kind a street fighter would choose.

But it was his eyes that stopped my heart. Dark as midnight, and focused on me with an intensity that made my skin feel electric. He wasn’t looking at me like I was prey to be hunted or a prize to be claimed. He was looking at me like I was a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve, and the expression on his scarred face was more confusion than conquest.

I stepped backward, my feet finding purchase on the rocky bank despite the way my hands shook. This was it. This was how it ended. One Alpha, finding me vulnerable beside the stream, my scent broadcasting my location to every predator within miles. I should run. Should have been running the moment I’d heard him drop from the trees, but my legs felt like they were made of water.

"Don't." His voice was rough, like whiskey poured over broken glass, and it stopped me mid-step. "Don't run."

The command in his tone should have made me bolt. Not following commands were what had gotten me sent to this hell in the first place. But there was something else underneath the authority, something that sounded almost like... pleading?

"I won't hurt you." He raised his hands, palms facing me, and I realized he was trembling. Trembling? This massive Alpha with scars that told stories of survival, was shaking like a leaf in the wind. "I just... I need to understand what's happening here."

My throat felt as dry as sand despite the water I’d just drank. "You're going to claim me." The words came out as barely more than a whisper, but in the forest silence, they might as well have been shouted. "That's what this is. That's what these games are for."

He flinched like I'd slapped him, and something dark flickered across his features. "Is that what you think? That I'm here to drag you back to some pack, to breed you like livestock?" His hands curled into fists at his sides, and for a moment, I thought he might hit something. Instead, he forced them open again, forced that careful, controlled posture back into place. "I've seen what that looks like. I've seen what it does to people."

There was pain in his voice, genuine pain. My chest tightened, catching me off guard. I shouldn’t feel pain over an Alpha's suffering. It was just the natural order, the way things were supposed to be. But this one, this scarred stranger who’d dropped out of the trees like some dark angel, sounded like he'd been carrying someone else's hurt for a very long time.

"Then why are you here?" My voice was stronger, though my heart still pounded like it was trying to escape my chest. "Why are you in these games if not to claim an Omega?"

His laugh was sharp enough to cut. "Same reason you're running, I'd guess. Not much choice in the matter." He took a step closer, and I tensed, ready to bolt. But he stopped immediately, hands raised again in that gesture of surrender. "They brought me here to prove I'm worthy of a pack. Apparently, lone Alphas are considered... problematic."

Problematic. I almost laughed at the irony. We were both here because we didn't fit into their neat little boxes, both being punished for refusing to play by rules we’d never agreed to follow. But laughing felt dangerous when I was half-naked in a stream with an Alpha whose scent was doing things to my brain that I didn't want to examine too closely.

"You could claim me right now," I said, proud that my voice didn't shake. “I couldn’t stop you.” No, but I’d damn well try. I bit my lower lip. Or, at least I think I would.

"I could." His dark eyes never left mine, and something was burning in their depths that made my stomach flutter with sensations I didn't want to name. "But I won't."

The words hit me like a physical blow. Won't. Not can't, not shouldn't, but won't. As in he was choosing not to, choosing to let me go when every Alpha instinct in his body must have been screaming at him to take what was clearly being offered.

"I don't understand." My hands clutched my dress tighter, and I realized I was shaking. Not with fear anymore, but with something else entirely. The way he was looking at me, the careful distance he was still maintaining despite the obvious tension in his body, the tremor in his hands that suggested he was fighting a battle I couldn't see. "Why would you let me go?"

His jaw clenched, muscles jumping under his dark skin as he struggled with something internal. When he spoke again, his voice was strained, like the words were being dragged out of him against his will. "Because you deserve the choice. No one should be forced into this." He took a shuddering breath. "Because if we're mates—really mates—it should mean something more than biology and instinct."

Mates. The word hung between us like a loaded weapon, and suddenly the electric tension in the air made terrible sense. The way my skin felt hypersensitive to his presence, the way his scent wrapped around me like smoke and made me want things I'd spent my whole life refusing to want. Scent-matched. To him.

"Run." The word came out like a growl, and his hands were shaking openly now, fists clenched so tight his knuckles had gone white. "Please. Run before I change my mind."

I didn't need to be told twice. I bolted into the forest, my leather-bound sandals barely holding on as I flew over roots and rocks, putting distance between myself and the Alpha, who’d just shattered everything I thought I knew about these games. Behind me, I heard him make a sound that was half-growl, half-sob, the sound of someone whose control was measured in seconds, not minutes.

I threw the dress over my head, not stopping to take a breath, and my mind raced, trying to process what had just happened. An Alpha. A scent-matched Alpha, had let me go. Chosen to let me go instead of claiming me, despite the obvious cost to himself? It went against everything I'd been taught about Alpha nature, about this place, about what happened to Omegas who were caught.

The sound of voices broke through my spinning thoughts. Male voices, raised in what sounded like challenge or confusion. More Alphas, converging on the stream where I had just been standing, half-naked and vulnerable, and the Alpha who’d let me go. My mind unraveled. He’d have to face them, have to explain why he was standing alone beside a stream that reeked of an unclaimed Omega.

I should have felt guilty. Felt something other than this wild, desperate hope that was blooming in my chest like a flower that fed on impossible things. But guilt was a luxury I couldn't afford, not when I was running for my life through a forest that seemed determined to kill or claim me.

One Alpha had let me go. One Alpha had chosen my freedom over his own instincts. And for the first time since the games had begun, I dared to think that maybe, just maybe, there was more than one way this could end.

Chapter 8 - Harrison

The morning sunlight turned the forest clearing into something out of a fever dream. Light bled through the canopy to paint everything the color of a vintage photograph. I wasn’t the first to arrive, as I scanned the open space where her scent still clung to the air. Every muscle in my body coiled tightly, and my nostrils flared, drinking in every nuance of the trail that had brought me here.

She’d been here. Recently.

Her sweet, wild scent mingled with the damp earth, moss, and decaying leaves. But beneath all that was something sharper, something that made my chest feel too tight, like my ribs couldn’t contain my lungs. Heat. Approaching fast. The kind that would make hiding impossible. The kind that would call every Alpha within miles to this exact place.

My hands clenched and unclenched as I circled the perimeter, eyes noting the flattened grass where she might’ve rested, the snapped twigs that marked her path. But there was something else in her scent. Something that made my jaw lock and my protective instincts surge like a wave ready to crash.

Other Alphas. Two of them. Their scents collided with my own. Whiskey mixed with oak coiled around me, drifting down from the canopy and dancing with my dark chocolate scent. I stopped dead as something crashed before me, and the desirable mouthwatering taste of freshly brewed coffee soothed over our scents, cradling them all into one.

For a heartbeat, the forest fell into silence, except for the gentle murmur of the stream in the distance. Two Alphas stepped out from different directions. All drawn together like a beacon calling us home.

The Alpha on the right stepped out between two towering oaks, his ginger hair catching the moonlight, with a smattering of freckles over the bridge of his nose, and brown eyes that gleamed like a nocturnal predator. Felix Stinson. I recognized him from the starting platform. He’d stood apart from the others, swearing at anyone who came within an arm's reach. I remember thinking how amusing he was, how ravelled up with the tension that came from constantly fighting your nature. That wildness was on full display now, with muscles taut and skin as pale as paper, yet a glimmer of not only shock, but understanding pasted all over his face.

We stared at each other across thirty feet of sepia-washed grass, neither of us moving, neither backing down. I could smell the coffee scent that clung to him, and saw the tremor in his hands as he fought for control. His nostrils flared, testing the air, and I saw something flicker across his face, something dark and confused.

“You followed her here, too,” he said, voice rough, like his restraint was measured in heartbeats.

I didn’t have time to answer.

A third presence slipped into our awareness. Not with the crash of broken branches, but the whisper of someone who’d learned to move like smoke. An Alpha dropped from the canopy above with a fluid grace that made the landing look effortless. His jet-black hair fell in waves around a face carved by hardship, and the scar slashing across his left cheek stood as a warning to all others that neared him.

My memory of the list of Alphas I’d ‘borrowed’ filled in the blanks. Damian Knight. Street kid, orphaned young, survivor of places where the weak didn’t last the night. He wasn’t dangerous because he was big or strong. He was dangerous because he was desperate and smart. The kind that learns to take before the world takes from you.

We formed a rough triangle in the center of the clearing, keeping careful distance while our scents tangled in the still air. Whiskey and smoke clung to Damian. Coffee and wildness to Felix. My chocolate scent rose in response, intensifying as I absorbed theirs.

We circled each other like predators trying to establish a hierarchy. But something about this was wrong. Alphas didn’t share, not unless they were in a pack. The scent of an Omega going into heat should’ve torn us apart. But none of us made a move. We just stood there, trying to process the impossible.

I watched Damian’s scarred hands curl into fists, knuckles white with tension. Felix ran a hand through his ginger hair. It was a nervous tick that didn’t do a thing to soften the predatory gleam in his eyes. They were both fighting the same war; I felt rage in my chest. The urge to claim, to take, to dominate. And something else, something quieter but more dangerous. Recognition.

“Well, fuck me sideways, guys. This isn’t possible,” Felix said, breaking the silence. I had to stop myself from snorting with laughter at his brazen approach to conversation. “She’s your scent match too, isn’t she?” I nodded. “Thought so, because I actually don’t want to rip your head off.” I smirked, and Damian rolled his eyes.

“So, what does that make us?” I said, already aware of the answer, but needing to hear it from them first.

“I’ve never needed a pack,” Damian said. “Always got by just fine on my own.”

“Is that why you’re stuck in here, then?” Felix asked, smirking.

Damian huffed. “Fair enough. But I ain't one for sharing.”

“Looks like we have to,” I said, eyeing him up and down.

He grinned, his gaze never leaving my face. “Question is, what do we do about it?”

My instincts surged again when I saw the subtle shift in their stances. My twin sister Lola’s voice echoed in my head, warning me about the moment when an Alpha’s control snaps. I’d seen it before. The claiming frenzy, the violence, the chaos when more than one Alpha fought for the same Omega.

But she wasn’t a prize.

My breath came hard and shallow as I forced myself to stay grounded, to think instead of react. I tracked every twitch in Damian’s shoulders, the way his muscles coiled and bunched beneath skin marked by old scars. I watched Felix shift his weight like he was about to pounce, but didn’t know which direction to jump.

“You both scent-matched to her too.” The words came out flat. No question, no surprise. Just a fact. The fact that settled deep in your bones, whether or not you liked it. “That’s why we’re all here. That’s why none of us have claimed her.”

“So, do we all claim her?” Felix asked, his brow furrowed.

Damian shook his head. “No, none of us will touch her until she wants us to. She is a person, and people have choices.”

“How very noble of you,” Felix said, then smirked. “But yes, I agree.”

I nodded in agreement, although knowing how damned hard it would be not to pounce on her.

“Have any of you seen her yet?” I asked.

Felix’s eyes widened, and he hummed under his breath, lost in a memory. “She has the deepest emerald green eyes you could lose yourself in for hours, and her skin, so pale against her long red hair. She’s a goddess and doesn’t even know it yet.”

Damian growled under his breath. “She’ll know it when we’re finished with her.”

I nodded. “We should protect her, support her, console her.”

Felix nodded. “So, it looks like we have a pack then, am I right?”

Damian growled, but nodded, and I, well I nodded, then took a long, deep breath. If we were meant to be a pack, then it needed to start with something more difficult than this. It meant honesty.

I kept my eyes on the other two as I forced my shoulders to relax, my fists to unclench.

“I think we should start with honesty.”

“Okay,” Felix said, dragging the word out.

“I'm here because they have my sister," I said, my voice rough, like the words had been sitting in my throat for too long. “Lola. She was packless like these Omegas and was sold to the highest bidder. But her Alphas decided she was too much trouble to keep around. They're... they're hurting her.”

Felix stilled, his restless energy halting like a wire had been cut. His brown eyes sharpened, catching the shift in my tone. Even Damian's predator focus altered, his street-smart instincts locking onto the pain I was trying to bury.

"The Taskforce won’t intervene," I went on, jaw tightening until the muscles jumped beneath my skin. "They say pack dynamics are internal matters. That Omegas who can't adjust need stronger guidance." I could barely keep the bitterness out of my voice. “But if I can prove there is corruption here. I’ll have the legal standing to challenge her pack.”

The clearing went quiet. Just the wind in the trees and some distant bird tweeting. My breath came harder now, shallow and uneven, but I pushed forward, cracking myself open one truth at a time.

"She’s my twin. My responsibility. I was supposed to protect her. And I failed." I felt the familiar burn behind my eyes, but I didn’t look away. Didn’t blink. "I won’t fail again."

Damian let out a sound that was half growl, half bitter laugh. His scarred face twisted with something jagged and old. "Family. Yeah, I get that." He ran a hand through his jet-black hair, revealing scarred knuckles that told their own violent stories. "Lost mine when I was thirteen. Parents were murdered by the very person that runs this place!"

The way he said it, casually, like murder was just part of the landscape, sent a fresh wave of protective instinct rising in me. But beneath the street-hardened apathy, I saw something raw and wounded, the type of damage that never completely closed.

"Spent seven years on the streets," he said, eyes flicking to the tree line out of habit. "I learned quickly. The system doesn’t care about orphaned Alpha kids. Especially not the ones who don’t fit in their tidy little boxes." His hands curled into fists again, bone-white knuckles betraying the tension in his core. "They brought me here because lone Alphas are dangerous. Unpredictable. Can’t have us running around outside their control."

He paused, voice lowering to a razor-edge whisper. "But I’ve seen what their control looks like. I’ve seen Omegas broken by packs who think owning someone gives them the right to destroy them. Seen Alphas turned into monsters because the system rewards cruelty. Maybe being unpredictable isn't the worst thing in the world."

Felix had been quiet, unnaturally so for someone who vibrated with barely leashed energy. But I could see the shift happening in him. The moment a choice was made deep in his bones. He ran a hand through his ginger hair, freckles catching the light, and when he finally spoke, his voice was flat, but his hands were trembling.

"My brother worked here," he said. "Beta, not Alpha. They assigned him to the Birthing Grounds anyway. Said it was just maintenance. Basic upkeep."

The way the clearing seemed to hold its breath made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Felix stared past us, into the dark, like chasing ghosts only he could see.

“He started asking questions. About what happened to the Omegas who didn’t get claimed. Why did many ‘successful’ matings end in tragedy within a year? About the mortality rates they don’t talk about.”

My gut clenched. I felt Damian go still beside me, face unreadable, eyes dark with comprehension. We were all reading between the lines now.

"They found him dead three months ago," Felix continued. "Called it an accident. Said he fell off of a fucking maintenance platform during routine repairs." His laugh was sharp enough to make you bleed. "My brother was afraid of heights. Wouldn’t climb anything higher than a damn stepladder without freaking out."

The silence that followed was suffocating.

"They're hiding something here," he said, voice low but steady now. "Something worth killing for. Something worth destroying families to protect." His gaze snapped back to mine, and then to Damian’s, like steel locking into place. "I’m not here to claim an Omega. I’m here to find out why they killed my brother and what they’re hiding."

The words hit like a chord struck clean and deep. A bridge built between us, linking our stories, our pain. Three Alphas. All broken in different ways, scarred by the same machine, drawn into something bigger than any of us could have predicted.

I looked at them both, Damian with his hard-earned street wisdom and eyes that had seen too much, Felix with his sharp grief and the wildness he held inside like a caged animal. We were supposed to be enemies. Should’ve been tearing each other apart over the right to claim the Omega whose scent still clung to the clearing like a ghost. Instead, we stood there, the morning sun washing over secrets that could get us all killed.

Felix finally broke the tension with a dry, almost incredulous laugh. He shifted on his feet, restless as ever. "So, we’re all fighting over the same Omega? That’s gonna make for awkward pack dinners."

It shouldn’t have been funny. But it was. Somehow, after everything, it cut through the tension like a blade. My mouth twitched, the ghost of a smile forming despite myself. Damian let out something between a huff and a grin, sharp-edged and real.

Three packless Alphas, bound by the impossible. United not by the system, but by our refusal to bend to it.

It wasn’t the alliance any of us had expected. But nothing about this was going according to anyone’s rules.

The scent hit us all at the same moment. A shift in the air that made three sets of nostrils flare and three Alpha hearts stutter in unison. What had been sweet and wild an hour ago had deepened, gained layers of complexity that spoke to something primal and urgent. Her heat was building, gaining strength like a storm on the horizon, and every Alpha instinct I had screamed in recognition.

My chest tightened as the implications crashed over me like an icy wave. The stronger her scent became, the farther it would carry through the forest. What had started as a trail only we could follow would soon become a beacon, an unavoidable call to every Alpha in the Games. Taking a moment, I assessed the tree line, calculating distances and approach vectors with the methodical precision that had kept people alive under my protection for years. I wasn’t just a private investigator day to day; I made sure my clients were kept safe at all costs, and some of those costs weren’t the easiest to pay.

“She’s running out of time.” My voice came out flat, matter-of-fact, but even I could hear the weight in it. I’d seen what happened when Omegas in heat were caught by the wrong kind of Alpha. “Another day, maybe two, and hiding won’t matter anymore. They’ll be able to track her all over the games.”

Felix made a sound, part growl, part frustrated exhale. Sunlight caught in his ginger hair as he dragged his fingers through it for what had to be the dozenth time. His brown eyes gleamed with something wild and desperate, that feral part of him that knew a hunt when he saw one.

“How many others are out here? Twenty? Thirty?”

“Twenty-three,” Damian answered before I could. His mind was already cataloging threats, calculating odds. “Saw them all at the starting platform. Most are probably still crashing around like bulls in a China shop. But a few...” His scarred face darkened. “A few know how to hunt.”

The silence that followed felt thick with everything we didn’t need to say. We knew what the Games were. Everyone did. The stories filtered out, even if officials tried to keep them quiet. Omegas claimed by force. Broken by Alphas who thought ownership meant they could destroy. Omegas who fought back and paid in blood. Others who just... disappeared. Swallowed whole by the system that turned them into statistics.

My breathing grew shallow as I forced myself to say what we were all thinking. “Alone, we’ll each fail. Our instincts will take over, or we’ll be overwhelmed by others who’ve already lost control.” My jaw clenched. The words came out like broken glass. “She’ll end up claimed by whoever gets to her first, and it won’t matter if he’s worthy of her or not.”

The protective instinct that had shaped my entire life surged inside me, fierce and familiar. It came from the same place that had kept my sister safe when no one else would. But there was something else now too, something darker. Something dangerous and possessive.

Damian shifted beside me, scarred hands flexing as he processed the situation with that calculating calm he appeared to carry. His eyes flicked between Felix and me, reading our posture, our tension, our intent.

“Together, we might stand a chance.” His words came slowly, like he was testing each one for cracks. “Three Alphas working together as a pack, instead of against each other. We could cover more ground. Watch each other’s backs. Make sure she doesn’t end up in the wrong hands.”

Felix broke the tension with a sharp sound, half laugh, half snarl. His eyes were bright now, lit with something wild that could’ve been inspiration or madness.

“She’s not some prize to be claimed.” His voice was fierce, certain. It cut through the clearing like a blade. “Did you see her on the screens at the starting platform?” My mouth twitched. “She hadn’t cowered like the others. Never flinched. Instead, she stood there like she was made of iron and rage, wrapped in a body too small to survive this place.”

“She fought back,” Felix continued, gaining steam. “At the stream, she could’ve submitted, made it easy, but she didn’t. Instead, she ran. She chose freedom over safety. The unknown over the certainty of being claimed.” He shook his head, freckles stark against his pale, determined face. “She’s... different.”

That word settled between us like a weight.

Different.

It meant choice. She was more than a heat-sick body waiting to be taken. It meant she was worth protecting for who she was, not what she could offer.

Damian’s face twisted into something close to a grin, though it held more edge than warmth. “An Omega who fights back. That kind of spine? Street kids learn to spot it fast.” His eyes flicked toward the trees, as if seeing ghosts. “The system breaks most people. The ones it doesn’t? They’re worth keeping.”

We didn’t speak the alliance aloud. Didn’t shake hands or swear oaths. But the shift was there—in our postures, our breathing, the way we suddenly stood a little closer.

Three Alphas. United not by instinct, but by something deeper.

Respect.

And maybe something worse.

Want.

I felt my instincts settle, familiar and heavy, the weight of responsibility I’d carried since I was a kid. “We track her. No contact. No pressure. We keep her safe until...” I trailed off, unsure of the end. Until what? Her heat passed? The Games ended? Until we figured out how to survive this without destroying her or each other?

“Until she chooses,” Felix said quietly. His voice was rough, but there was something soft beneath it. Something like hope. “Until she decides what she wants, instead of having it decided for her.”

We moved without discussion, like we’d done this a hundred times before. I took point. My tracking skills and protective drive made me the logical lead. Damian veered off into the trees to scout, silent and sharp. While Felix brought up the rear, his wild instincts tuned to every snap of a twig or shift in scent.

Behind us, the clearing held the scent of something new—whiskey, chocolate and coffee, blending into something more than instinct.

Something that might just be strong enough to protect what we’d all decided was worth protecting.

Chapter 9 – Rex Calloway

The control room hummed with the muted efficiency of technology designed to capture suffering in high definition. Banks of monitors flickered with infrared feeds and motion sensors, painting the Birthing Grounds in eerie shades of green and amber, reducing living, breathing people into heat signatures and data points. I leaned forward in my oversized chair, my stomach grumbling from the steak dinner I had just demolished. Undoing my belt, my bloated body relaxed.

Taking a sip of the whiskey and cola James had poured for me, I choked, spying a group of three Alphas talking on camera. Dribbles of liquid alcohol decorated my shirt. A shirt that cost more than most people made in a year. Staring at the screen, I watched. They weren’t killing each other. Why were three packless alphas standing... chatting? Scratching my head, I brushed the crumbs off my belly and sat forward. Who are they?

“James!” I hollered, pointing my grubby hands at the screen. “Find out who these three are!”

“Yes, sir, Mr Calloway, sir.”

I rolled my eyes and stayed glued to the screen as James disappeared.

Three heat signatures in perfect formation, moving like they weren’t supposed to. It was like they’d missed the Alpha hormones that told them to tear each other apart the moment a heat scent hit the air. Packless Alphas didn’t coordinate. They didn’t cooperate. And they sure as hell weren’t supposed to become a tactical unit to protect the very thing they were bred to possess.

But they had. Somehow, they had.

I rubbed my hands through my greasy hair, denying the urge to tear it out. Which Omega were they protecting? Which one were they drawn to? My brow furrowed. Is it possible I’d finally created a scent matched pack yearning for their omega? Well, goddamn, the ratings are gonna surge with this news. I scratched my stubbled chin. This... I could work with. It would be easy to spin it. I could see the morning papers now, ‘True love found in The Alpha Games!’ I grinned. I’d make a fortune!

My stubby fingers hovered over the controls that could end everything with a flick of my wrist. I smiled. There were camera drones, terrain shifts, predator releases, all my favorite tricks. That lion was an interesting touch. It soon had our competitors running. Sadly though, not all of them made it. I smirked, then tapped the panel next to the release button. Hmm, no, I thought pulling away. Let’s see how this plays out first.

"How interesting," I murmured, my voice soft and curious, like a kid pulling wings off flies.

James walked back into my sterile dungeon I called an office. “Sir,” he said, holding four files in his hand. I nodded. “I watched the live feed back. They met by the stream, sir.”

“Yes, go on,” I waved my hand impatiently.

“The Alphas are Felix Stinson, Damian Knight, and Harrison Owen, all with varying backgrounds and no reason they would come together like that.”

“And the Omega?”

“She’s the feral one.”

My brow furrowed. “What do you mean, I don’t recall a feral Omega?”

“Yes,” he sighed. “It looks like they skipped her testing, so we don’t have much genetic information on her. However, we do know that her name is Scarlett Blackwood, brought in from the Academy, sir.”

I growled under my breath and slammed my fist down on the panel. My whiskey and cola sloshed in the glass. “Why did they skip her testing?” I yelled. “I have told them time and time again that we MUST test ALL omegas!”

He lowered his head. “Yes, sir. I will relay that information back to them.”

“You’ll do more than fucking relay it James. You will fire all of them!”

James’s eyes widened. “Err... are you sure, sir?”

I snarled through my nose and stood up. “Am I sure?” I asked, walking over to him and pushing him backward out of the door. “OF COURSE, I’M FUCKING SURE!”

“Yes, sir, sorry, sir.”

James ran off with his tail between his legs. “And James,” I yelled after him, making him turn around, his face paling further. “Get me that damn Omega!”

“Certainly, sir, one Omega coming right up!”

I turned around and walked back to my seat, huffing at the strain as my back twinged on the way down.

Gulping the alcoholic drink, I placed the glass down and wiped the excess off my mouth with the back of my hand. I pursed my lips. She’d be a gold mine this one, I’d make damned sure of it!

Turning back to the monitors, I watched as Felix, Damian, and Harrison finished their conversation and ran off together, looking for little Miss Scarlett. Using the joystick, I searched the map and found her tracker symbol. She wasn’t far away, and by the look of her, she was fighting off her upcoming heat. I ran my fingers over her pale figure on the screen, doubled over in pain. It’ll be over soon, little one. When they find you, it’ll be over soon. I grinned, sitting back and putting my feet up, dreaming of all the money that would come pouring in.

Chapter 10 - Scarlett

The forest floor blurred beneath my feet as I wove between towering pines, my shitty sandals finding their grip on moss-slick rocks and fallen logs with the kind of precision that came from muscle memory hammered into me by countless hours of Draven's training. Left around a massive oak, right past a cluster of young maples, then a sharp diagonal that would confuse anyone trying to follow my trail. The zigzag pattern felt like second nature now. Each direction change was calculated to waste my pursuers' time while conserving my own rapidly depleting energy.

I had not long recovered from the pain of my upcoming heat searing through my body. It had ripped my body apart with a gut-wrenching contraction for all of five minutes. But those minutes. Shit... they’d felt like a lifetime! Thankfully, this was a brief spike, but I knew, I knew that the longer time bled by, the more likely the spikes would increase in intensity and then my heat would hit with full force and nothing or nobody could stop it.

I took a few quick breaths, stopping for a moment by a tree with claw marks all over the bark. I narrowed my eyes. What the hell had made those? Taking a long breath, I surveyed the area. Nothing moved. Nothing dared to move. Where was all the wildlife? It was darker here, thicker branches, downcast leaves with autumn threading through as the latest season. I bit my lower lip, looking around, and then I smelled it. Metallic, thick, and potent... and there was a lot of it. Blood. My eyes widened. What the hell had I just walked into?

My ginger hair whipped across my face as the wind howled through the trees. Taking slow steps, I moved forward toward the bloodied trail, taking my time to assess each area before I walked further. It was silent here. Nothing lived. But as I walked down, jumping carefully off of a few rocks, I saw it, and clasped my hand over my mouth before I could scream. A young girl. An Omega. A glassy-eyed, mottled skin, very dead Omega. This blond beauty had once had a torso. She’d once had intestines that weren’t trailed over the clearing. This young thing once had a leg instead of a bloodied stump, and her mouth... her mouth was once smiling, not stretched wide in a silent scream.

My stomach lurched, and I vomited all over the forest floor. Backing away, my breathing quickened, heart throbbing in my chest. I have to get out of here! I thought, my feet pounding the ground before my mind could catch up.

With each turn, strands of my hair caught on low-hanging branches and leaving behind evidence of my passage that made my skin crawl with anxiety. But there was nothing I could do about that now. If I stopped to tuck it back, it would cost precious seconds I couldn't afford to lose. I wasn’t just running from the Alphas anymore; I was running from whatever had made a meal out of the young girl I’d found devoured in the dark clearing.

After a while, I unclenched my fists and found my body calming, as I put a fair amount of distance between myself and the creature's afternoon snack. The makeshift bandages I'd torn from my shirt yesterday had loosened during the night, and I could feel fresh blood seeping from the deeper scratches on my arms where blackberry thorns had carved their mark.

The torn remnants of what had once appeared like a sacrificial virgin white dress hung from my frame like battle flags, the fabric so shredded it barely qualified as clothing anymore. One sleeve had been completely ripped away, leaving my left arm exposed to every branch and thorn the forest could throw at me. The hem barely reached my knees, and my legs had developed enough scratches and scrapes from the rocks during yesterday's desperate scramble through the ravine.

I looked exactly like what I was... prey that had been running for its life.

But looking like prey and being prey were two different things. Draven had made sure of that during those long summer afternoons when everyone else thought we were just playing tag in the woods behind our house. "Never run in straight lines, Scar," his voice echoed in my memory as I ducked under a low branch that would have clotheslined anyone taller. "Predictable patterns get you caught. Chaos keeps you alive."

The sound of running water reached my ears just as my burning lungs demanded a moment's respite. A river, maybe twenty feet wide, cut through the forest like a silver blade. Perfect. I altered my course toward the sound, pushing through a stand of birch trees whose white bark looked like bone in the filtered morning light.

The river was deeper than I'd expected; the water flowed clear and fast over a bed of smooth stones, falling into a lower section. Without hesitation, I plunged in, sinking up to my neck, gasping at the shock of cold water against my overheated skin. The current tugged at me as I made my way upstream, placing each step carefully to avoid slipping on the moss-covered rocks beneath the surface.

Water was a great equalizer with scent trails. No matter how keen an Alpha's nose, no matter how strong my heat scent was becoming, water would wash away my trail and force anyone following to either split up and check both banks or waste time trying to pick up my scent downstream. It was one of the oldest tricks in the book, so simple it was almost insulting, but simple tricks worked, precisely because people expected complexity.

I stayed in the water for maybe two hundred yards, feeling the cold seep into my bones and numb the constant ache in my feet. When I finally chose a spot to exit, a section where the bank was rocky enough that my feet wouldn't leave obvious prints, I took extra care to avoid disturbing the vegetation that grew along the water's edge.

Then, I heard them.

Voices, male and rough, cutting through the forest like broken glass. My heart slammed against my ribs as I froze half-in, half-out of the river, water dripping from my torn dress as every muscle in my body coiled for flight. They were close, maybe fifty yards away, and getting closer with each crashing footstep through the underbrush.

"...back up! This one’s mine!" one of them was saying, his voice carrying the frustrated edge of a hunter who'd lost his quarry.

“Little bitch is smarter than she looks,” another deeper voice said, laughter in his voice. “She’ll be mine before supper,” he stated, and I froze dead.

The first voice argued with words that made my skin crawl. "Doesn't matter how smart she is. Her heat's getting stronger. She won't be able to hide much longer. So back the fuck up before I tear your head off."

Laughter sounded, then scuffled footsteps, growls, and manic fighting.

My eyes swept the area frantically, looking for any kind of cover that could hide me until they passed. The stream bank offered nothing but exposed ground and low shrubs that wouldn't conceal a rabbit, let alone a full-grown person. But twenty feet from the water's edge, an ancient pine stretched toward the sky, its lowest branches maybe eight feet off the ground and thick enough to support my weight.

I moved blindly. Muscle memory, and desperation combined to propel me out of the water and toward the tree. My feet found purchase on the rough bark, fingers digging into grooves worn by decades of weather as I hauled myself up with the fluid grace Draven had drilled into me during our climbing lessons. "Trees are vertical highways Scar," he'd said while teaching me to scramble up oak trunks like a squirrel. "Most people forget to look up."

The voices were getting closer now, close enough that I could make out individual words and the heavy breathing of men who'd been pushing hard through difficult terrain. I pressed myself against the trunk, feeling the bark scrape against my exposed skin as I tried to become one with the tree itself. Every breath felt too loud, every heartbeat like thunder in my ears.

Two Alphas emerged from the trees like something out of a nightmare, beating at each other until one proved victorious. His clothes were torn from passage through the same undergrowth that had shredded mine, his face flushed with exertion and something darker. He was a massive brute with arms like tree trunks and a face that looked like it had been carved from granite with a dull chisel as he scanned the forest floor with the focused intensity of a predator who knew their prey was close.

I held my breath as he approached the river, watching him circle the area where I'd entered the water like a wolf trying to pick up a lost scent. He knelt at the water's edge and actually put his nose to the ground, inhaling deeply with an expression of savage concentration.

"Definitely here," he rumbled, his voice carrying easily in the afternoon air.

The pummeled body of the other Alpha groaned, unmoving.

Ten minutes. I’d been in the river for ten minutes. If I'd been any slower, if I'd stopped to rest or tend my wounds or second-guess my route choice, he would have caught me. The thought sent ice through my veins despite the warmth building in my core, the heat that was making hiding increasingly impossible.

From my perch twenty feet above his head, I studied his movements, assessing the threat. The Alpha was strong but slow, the kind of Alpha who relied on brute force rather than strategy. He was searching for me, but doing it inefficiently, leaving gaps in his search pattern that a smart target could exploit.

He spent nearly fifteen minutes searching the area, his frustration growing with each passing moment. I remained motionless, controlling my breathing with the meditation techniques my friend Janine had taught me during those long winter evenings, when the academy's restrictions felt like a cage around my chest. "Patience is a weapon," she'd said in that quiet, measured way of hers. "Sometimes the best action is no action at all."

Finally, he gave up. The brute spat into the stream. It was a gesture of contempt that made my hands clench into fists as he jerked his head toward the opposite bank. “Fucking bitch!” he growled as he left.

I watched him disappear into the forest on the far side of the river, his voice fading until only the gentle murmur of running water remained. Even then, I stayed motionless for another five minutes, counting my heartbeats and listening for any sign that he had circled back.

When I was finally certain he was gone, and the Alpha on the ground was still knocked out cold, I descended from my perch with the same careful precision I'd used to climb up. My feet touched ground that felt solid and safe for the first time in hours, though I knew that safety was temporary at best. There would be other Alphas, other predators, and other close calls before this was over.

I gathered handfuls of fallen leaves, using them to brush away the worst of my footprints as I made my way in the opposite direction from where the Alpha had gone. The leaves were dry from the afternoon sun, but they would help cover my footprints at least for a little while.

As I moved deeper into the forest, I allowed myself a moment of grim satisfaction. Two Alphas, and they'd passed right beneath me without ever thinking to look up. Draven would be proud.

But pride was a luxury I couldn't afford, not when my heat was building and time was running out. I had to keep moving, had to stay ahead of them until I could figure out my next move.

The forest stretched endlessly ahead, full of shadows and secrets and the promise of temporary sanctuary for those smart enough to claim it.

I intended to be very smart indeed.

Sweeping round the outskirts of a clearing, a ravine came into view. It opened before me like a wound in the earth, its rocky walls dropping away into shadows that seemed to swallow the morning light whole. Forty feet down, maybe fifty, with walls of crumbling limestone that looked about as stable as my current situation. But behind me lay the possibility of more Alphas and ahead lay the promise of terrain too treacherous for most people to follow. The choice wasn't really a choice at all.

I approached the edge, testing each foothold before committing my weight to stones that might crumble under pressure. The limestone was older here, weathered by centuries of rain and frost until it had developed a texture that could either save your life or end it, depending on whether you treated it with proper respect. Draven had taught me rock climbing on gentler slopes, but the principles remained the same—three points of contact. Never trust a hold you haven't tested, and always have an escape route planned.

The first twenty feet went smoothly enough. My feet found purchase on ledges and cracks, my fingers locating handholds that felt solid enough to support my weight. The makeshift bandages on my arms pulled tight as I stretched for each new grip, and I could feel fresh blood seeping through the fabric where yesterday's wounds had reopened.

With a mere moment, the loose gravel betrayed me.

My right foot settled onto what looked like a solid ledge, but the stones beneath gave way like sand, sending a cascade of pebbles rattling down into the darkness below. For one heart-stopping moment, I was falling, my stomach lurching as gravity claimed me and the ravine wall rushed past my face in a blur of gray stone and shadows.

My left hand shot out, fingers closing around an exposed root that jutted from a crack in the limestone like nature's own lifeline. The sudden jolt as my fall stopped sent fire shooting through my shoulder, and I bit back a scream that would have echoed through the ravine and announced my location to anyone within a mile radius. Tears welled in my eyes, and my legs swung free, scrambling for a foothold against the smooth stone as my grip on the root slipped.

The root held, somehow. Held long enough for me to find a foothold, long enough to press myself against the rock face and take an inventory of damage that could have been catastrophic. My shoulder throbbed with a deep ache that promised to hurt worse tomorrow, and my right palm was scraped raw from grabbing at the wall during my fall. But I was alive, I was mostly intact, and I was still twenty feet from the bottom of the ravine, with the sun already setting.

The rest of my descent passed in a blur of careful movements and controlled breathing. When my feet finally touched solid ground, I allowed myself a minute to shake out my cramped fingers and assess my surroundings. The ravine floor was maybe ten feet wide, carved by some long-vanished stream into a corridor that stretched in both directions farther than I could see. Perfect for hiding, terrible for escape if someone decided to trap me here. I gulped.

Then, I spotted it, a dark opening in the ravine wall, partially hidden by a curtain of vines and overgrowth that had taken root in the crack between two limestone slabs. The opening was small, maybe three feet high and half as wide, but the darkness beyond suggested it might be deeper than it appeared.

I approached, every sense alert for signs of current occupation. No scent of animals, no droppings, or bones to suggest something large had made this place home. Just the cool, mineral smell of stone and stagnant air that spoke of spaces untouched by sunlight. When I peered inside, cool air breathed against my face from a cavity that extended back into the rock farther than my eyes could penetrate.

Perfect.

I crawled inside on my hands and knees, feeling my way through the darkness until the space opened up enough for me to sit upright. The cave was small but adequate. There was a narrow tunnel at the back, so a possible exit if I needed it. More importantly, it was invisible from the outside unless you knew exactly where to look.

Exhaustion hit me like a physical blow the moment I stopped moving. My legs felt like water, muscles trembling with fatigue that went deeper than simple tiredness.

My mouth felt like I'd been chewing sawdust, dry and bitter despite the water I'd drunk from the stream. I gripped my throat as it ached with thirst that went beyond simple dehydration.

I tore another strip from my already decimated dress, using it to rebind the cut on my forearm that had reopened during my scramble down the ravine wall. The fabric was grimy and far from sterile, but it was better than nothing. Infection was a concern for tomorrow; today was about staying hidden long enough to see tomorrow arrive.

The quiet of the cave wrapped around me like a blanket, and suddenly I was seven years old again, hiding in the root cellar while Draven counted to thirty during a game of hide-and-seek. It had started as fun, but turned into something more serious when he decided to teach me about patience.

"Being small isn't a weakness Scar," his voice echoed across the years, patient and warm despite the bruised knuckles he was sporting from the fight he'd gotten into when defending me at school. "It's an advantage if you know how to use it. Big things are slow, big things are clumsy, and big things think with their fists instead of their brains."

He'd been fourteen then, and was already showing signs of the Alpha he'd become, but still young enough to spend his afternoons teaching his little sister how to throw a punch that would drop someone twice her size. "Aim for the soft spots," he'd said, guiding my small fist toward an imaginary target. "Throat, groin, back of the knee. You don't need to be stronger if you're smarter."

The memory shifted, dissolved, and reformed into winter evenings by the fire when Cole, a member of my brother's pack, and an Alpha that was like a brother to me, would hold court with his wisdom and patient explanations of things I didn't want to understand. "Pack dynamics aren't about dominance and submission," he'd said during one of those long conversations that stretched past bedtime. "They're about protection and responsibility. An Alpha who uses his strength to hurt instead of protect isn't an Alpha at all... he's just a bully with better marketing."

I'd been twelve then, old enough to understand what they had been preparing me for, young enough to still believe there might be alternatives. Cole had seen the fear in my eyes and responded with a gentle honesty that had always been his gift.

"The right pack doesn't break you, Scar. It builds you up, makes you stronger than you could be alone." His brown eyes had been soft with something that might have been sadness as he continued. "The problem is, most packs aren't the right pack. Most Alphas think ownership and partnership are the same thing."

But it was Jake's voice that broke through the darkness of the cave, bringing with it the sound of laughter and the memory of summer afternoons when the world felt full of possibilities instead of threats. "Come on, Red," he'd said during one of our mock battles in the woods, his green eyes dancing with mischief as he helped me up from the ground. "You can't let a little thing like getting knocked down stop you. Champions get back up! We figure out what went wrong and fix it. Champions don't quit just because the game gets hard."

He'd been teaching me to fight multiple opponents that day, using tree branches as stand-ins for enemies while he called out scenarios that seemed impossible to win. "Three Alphas coming at you from different directions," he'd announced, grinning like the whole thing was the best entertainment he'd seen all week. "What do you do?"

"Run," I'd answered immediately, which had made him laugh that bright, infectious laugh that could make even the darkest days feel manageable.

"Sometimes running is the right answer," he'd agreed. "But sometimes the thing chasing you is faster than you are. Sometimes you have to turn and fight, even when the odds suck. Sometimes you have to be willing to get hurt to avoid getting destroyed."

The memories should have comforted me, should have reminded me of the people who loved me and wanted me safe. Instead, they left me feeling hollow, carved out by the realization that everything I'd believed about packs and Alphas might have been shaped by three examples who were nothing like the rest of their kind.

Draven, Cole, and Jake had never made me feel like property to be claimed or livestock to be bred. They were family, making me feel like someone worth protecting instead of possessing. But... I sighed, bedding down on the hard stone floor. They were anomalies, weren't they? But they couldn’t be the only exceptions that proved Alphas weren’t all assholes. Could they?

The question hung in the darkness of my cave sanctuary, accompanied by the uncomfortable warmth spreading through my body and the knowledge that my time for questioning was running out. Soon, my heat would make hiding impossible. Soon, I'd have to choose between fighting and submitting, between maintaining my independence and accepting that biology might be stronger than will.

I curled up in the deepest corner of the cave, pulling my knees to my chest and listening to the sound of my breathing in the darkness. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new decisions, and new opportunities to discover how much of my brother's training would serve me when everything I thought I knew turned out to be wrong.

But tonight, I was hidden. Tonight, I was safe.

Tonight, that had to be enough.

Chapter 11 - Scarlett

The night had been uneventful. Sunrise painted the ravine walls in shades of amber and shadow, and I knew it was time to move. The cave had been a sanctuary, but sanctuary was a luxury that could become a trap if I stayed too long. My heat was building steadily now, a warmth that spread through my body like spilled wine. Every hour I delayed was an hour closer to becoming a beacon that every Alpha in the Birthing Grounds could follow.

I emerged from my hiding place, every movement calculated to leave the minimum trace of my passage. The vines fell back into place behind me, concealing the cave entrance as thoroughly as if it had never been disturbed.

Stretching as I stood, I took in the sunlight. Crimson reds mixed with outrageous oranges, dosed down by the delicate softening of elegant yellow. All the shades of the sunrise blessed my body, warming me up from a cool autumn evening.

Carefully I assessed my surroundings. The eastern wall of the ravine offered the most climbing opportunities, handholds carved by centuries of water erosion that would support my weight if I were careful. The ascent was easier than my earlier descent, though my shoulder still ached from my near-fall, and the makeshift bandages on my arms had stiffened with dried blood and dirt.

I needed to exit the ravine before someone or something saw me. So, I climbed, taking my time and biting back the pain in my shoulder, until I reached the top. When I broke free, I began the careful work of deception that might buy me a few more hours of freedom. I broke branches in three different directions, snapping them at the height someone my size would naturally break them if they were moving through the undergrowth. In one direction, I gouged deep scratches in the bark of a young maple, marks someone might leave if they stumbled and caught themselves against a tree.

Each false trail extended maybe fifty yards before I backtracked, placing my feet exactly in my previous footprints to avoid creating additional tracks. It was painstaking work that ate up precious time, but thoroughness now could mean the difference between life and capture later.

The mud came from a boggy depression where rainwater had collected among the roots of a massive oak. It smelled of decomposition and stagnant water, rich in organic decay that would mask my scent for at least a little while. I smeared it across my neck and wrists, gagging at the smell of it.

It was disgusting, but it was necessary, and it might keep me alive long enough to see another sunrise.

The forest felt different in the rising light. Shadows shortened until they opened up entire sections of undergrowth from the pools of darkness that could have hidden anything. Every rustle of leaves might be wind, might be a small animal, or might even be death wearing the face of an Alpha who'd lost control.

My stomach clenched in hunger when I spotted a berry bush, its dark fruit hanging in clusters that made my empty stomach groan with desperate hunger. These berries... these I could eat! Thinking about it though, when had I last eaten? My body was burning through its reserves faster than I could replace them. Just a handful, I told myself. Just enough to quiet the gnawing emptiness that made my hands shake and my vision blur at the edges.

The berries were sweet and tart, bursting with juice that soothed my parched throat and provided the first pleasure I'd experienced since this nightmare began. I picked carefully, trying not to disturb too many branches, trying not to leave obvious signs that someone had been here. But hunger made me careless, made me focus on the fruit instead of my surroundings, made me forget for one crucial moment that I was prey in a forest full of predators.

Heavy breathing made me freeze mid-reach, my fingers closing around berries I'd never get to taste. Something large moved through the trees behind me, something that breathed like a steam engine and smelled of sweat, aggression, and violence.

I turned slowly, berries falling from my fingers as my worst nightmare materialized from the shadows between two towering trees. The Alpha was massive, built like a mountain given human form, with arms as thick as tree trunks and hands that could crush my skull without effort. His face looked like it had been carved from granite with a dull chisel, all sharp angles and harsh planes, dominated by small dark eyes that burned with a hunger that had nothing to do with food.

But it was the gang tattoos that made my blood turn to ice water. They covered his face and arms in a network of pale lines that spoke of violence survived and lessons learned through pain. This wasn't some pampered rich-boy Alpha playing at being dangerous. No, this was something that had crawled out of humanity's worst impulses and wore the shape of a man.

"Brock’s found you, little Omega." Why the fuck was he talking in the third person? I rolled my eyes. He smiled at me, his teeth looked like they’d been filed into points, though that might have been a trick of the light. I gulped, backing up against a tree.

He took a step forward, and I could smell him now—rank sweat, old blood and something underneath that made my skin crawl with primitive revulsion. This was what happened when Alphas stopped pretending to be civilized, when they let their worst instincts take control and reshape them into something that hunted for the pleasure of causing pain.

“Get back!” I shouted, fists ready to take him on.

"I’m to make this fun," he continued, flexing fingers that ended in nails bitten down to bloody stubs. "I’ll be taking my time with you, little bitch. Going to make you scream real pretty before I claim what's mine."

Mine. The word hit me like a physical blow, accompanied by a surge of rage so pure it almost made me dizzy. I wasn't his. I wasn't anyone's. I’d burn this entire forest down before I let some fucked-up psychopath turn me into his plaything.

He lunged without warning, moving faster than something his size should have been able to, his massive hands reaching for me like gnarled tree branches. But Draven had taught me that size was often a disadvantage, that big things were slow to change direction once they committed to a course of action.

I ducked under his grasping arms, feeling the wind of his passage ruffle my hair. He turned, and my knee came up hard, driven by every muscle in my leg, and aimed at the soft target Draven had taught me to find even in the dark. The impact sent shock waves up my thigh as my kneecap connected with flesh that gave way like overripe fruit, and the sound he made was somewhere between a roar and a whimper.

He doubled over, massive hands clutching at himself as his face went white with agony, and for a moment, I thought I'd ended it. But street fighters didn't stay down from one hit, no matter how well-placed. His dark eyes found mine through the pain, and what I saw there was rage mixed with something that might have been respect.

"Little bitch has teeth," he wheezed, straightening up with a determination that spoke of someone who'd been hurt worse and kept fighting. "Good. I like them with teeth."

I shoved him.

It shouldn't have worked. He outweighed me by at least a hundred pounds, but he was still doubled over and off-balance.

Behind him, a slope cascaded down to the edge of the ravine. On this side, it was a steep drop into a tangle of thornbushes and fallen logs that would even hurt someone built like a mountain. My hands hit his chest while he was still off balance from the knee strike, while his center of gravity was high and unstable, while momentum was something I could borrow instead of something working against me.

He went down hard, wobbling backward enough until he lost his footing at the edge. The sound of breaking branches and curses that would have made a sailor blush followed. Then a loud bang and silence. I winced. Shit. Had I killed him? I shook myself out of the guilt and took a deep breath. Better him than me!

But, just in case he miraculously survived, I turned and ran, my feet flying over roots and rocks as I put distance between myself and whatever might crawl up from the ravine with even more reason to hurt me.

Chapter 12 - Scarlett

The hollow tree called to me like a promise of sanctuary; its massive trunk split by decay into a cavern that yawned black against the pre-dawn gloom. My fingers traced the edges of the opening, finding smooth wood worn by time and weather into something that felt deliberately shaped rather than naturally formed. The wrongness of it made my skin prickle with more than just the fever building in my blood. This was too perfect, too convenient, too much like bait in a trap I was too exhausted to avoid.

But exhaustion and my rising heat made terrible advisors, and the alternative was staying exposed in a forest full of Alphas whose control grew thinner with every hour my scent grew stronger. I dropped to my knees and peered into the darkness, catching a whiff of damp earth and something else. Metal and concrete, the artificial smell of places that pretended to be natural while hiding mechanical hearts.

The entrance was barely wide enough for my shoulders, which meant anyone built like those mountain-sized Alphas hunting me would have to find another way in. Small mercies. I grabbed a fallen branch, snapping it to create a probe maybe three feet long, and thrust it into the darkness ahead of me. Draven's voice echoed in my memory: "Never trust the ground you can't see, Scar. Test everything twice, assume everything's trying to kill you."

The branch hit something that clicked. Shit!

I jerked back so fast my shoulder slammed into the tree's interior wall, sending sparks of pain through already-abused muscles. The click was followed by silence. No spring-loaded spears, no crushing stones, no whatever-the-hell trap I'd almost triggered. Just silence and the coppery taste of fear on my tongue.

Moving more carefully now, I used the branch to sweep the tunnel floor in wide arcs, finding the thin wire stretched across the entrance at ankle height. A tripwire. Classic, simple, probably connected to something that would have turned me into academy-approved minced meat. I stepped over it with the exaggerated care of someone whose body was betraying her in a dozen different ways, from the trembling in my legs to the heat that made every nerve ending feel raw and exposed.

The tunnel sloped downward at an angle that made my calves burn, and within twenty feet, the packed earth walls gave way to something that made my blood run cold. Concrete. Smooth, manufactured concrete with metal support beams at regular intervals. This wasn't some natural cave system. This was infrastructure, deliberate and planned, and about as natural as the academy's breeding programs.

The air grew cooler as I descended, which should have been a relief but made the heat under my skin feel like rebellion against the artificial chill.

I heard voices and stopped with my back against the tunnel wall, before finding a shallow alcove where shadows gathered thick enough to hide my trembling form. The concrete was cold against my back, a shock that made me bite my lip to keep from gasping.

My heart was pounding as I listened, trying to make out what they were talking about. There were two, maybe three male voices, casual and bored in the way of people doing routine work. They echoed from somewhere ahead where the tunnel branched into multiple passages. I pressed myself against the wall,

"—heavier than she looks," one voice complained, accompanied by the sound of something being dragged across concrete. "Should've brought the cart."

"No, you fool, the boss man said the cart’s only to be used for show deaths," another voice replied, closer now, close enough that I could hear the wheeze in his breathing. "This one's just disposal. No cameras down here."

They passed within three feet of my hiding spot, two men in dark uniforms pulling something wrapped in plastic that left dark smears on the floor. The smell hit me like a physical blow—death, fear, and the cloying sweetness of an Omega whose heat had been extinguished along with everything else. My hands flew to my mouth, pressing hard enough to leave marks as I fought the urge to vomit, to scream, to do anything but stay frozen while they dragged the body past.

But it was the body's hand, fallen free from the plastic wrapping, that shattered something inside me. Small fingers, soft pink nails that were chipped, and a bracelet of bruises around a too-thin wrist. She'd fought. Whoever she was, she'd fought hard enough to leave marks, and it hadn't mattered.

"That's the third one today," the wheezing man said, his tone conversational as they continued down the tunnel. "These Omegas are getting weaker every season."

"Rex won't be happy about the ratings drop," his companion replied. "Dead Omegas don't make for good television."

Rex. The name burned itself into my memory alongside the image of those small fingers dragging across the concrete. Someone was watching this, orchestrating it, turning our deaths into entertainment for people who thought genetic superiority gave them the right to watch us either breed or die for sport.

They disappeared around a corner, their voices fading, but the smell lingered like an accusation. Heat radiated from further down that passage. It wasn’t the biological kind of heat that was simmering in me, but actual fire-heat, the type that reduced evidence to ash and ensured no one asked uncomfortable questions about missing Omegas.

A crematorium. They had a crematorium down here, hidden beneath their "natural" hunting grounds, ready to dispose of the Omegas who didn't survive their sick games.

My legs gave out, and I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the cold concrete with my knees drawn to my chest. Three today. How many yesterday? How many since these games began? All of us thought we were fighting for mates, when really, we were performing for rich sadists who discarded the bodies like broken toys.

The heat in my blood warred with the ice in my veins, creating a sensation like being pulled apart from the inside. But underneath the horror, exhaustion, and biological betrayal of my body, something else was building. Rage. Pure rage that burned hotter than any heat, sharper than any hunger.

They thought we were disposable. Thought we were entertainment. Thought we were too weak to fight back in ways that mattered. I pushed myself to my feet, legs shaking but holding, and stared down the tunnel where they'd disappeared with their "disposal."

I turned back toward the way I’d come. Clenching my fists, crescents decorating my palms, I stopped. No, damn it! They can’t get away with this. They can’t keep killing us for sport! I Scarlett bloody Blackwood won’t damn well allow it! I turned back and headed into the lions' den to find answers.

THE TUNNEL FELT LIKE a throat that had swallowed screams, and I waited in its silence until my heartbeat no longer echoed off the concrete walls like a dinner bell for predators. Five minutes. Ten. Long enough for the disposal crew to reach whatever furnace they fed with Omega bodies.

I wiped my clammy palms on my torn dress. Hells, it was hot down here!

When I finally moved, each step toward the drag marks felt like walking through a swamp filled with alligators, my body fought me with tremors that started in my core and radiated outward like ripples in a poisoned pond. The concrete here was older, stained with things I didn't want to identify, scarred with scratches that might have been fingernails or might have been my imagination painting horror on an already horrific canvas.

The bloodstains were genuine enough. Dark patches on gray concrete, some old enough to be brown shadows, others fresh enough that they gleamed wet in the dim emergency lighting that lined the tunnel at intervals. She'd bled here, that girl with the pink fingernails, bled while they’d dragged her toward incineration like she was nothing more than a failed experiment gone wrong.

Who was it?

There, lying beneath the dirt and decay lay a pair of broken glasses. They lay partially hidden under a pile of debris that looked deliberately placed, as if someone had made a half-hearted attempt to hide evidence before deciding it didn't matter. Blue frames, a distinctive cat-eye shape. I recognized them with a jolt that sent fresh nausea rolling through my stomach. The silent girl from processing, the one who'd whispered warnings while we’d dressed in our death dresses.

I shook my head, tears welling in my eyes. They just disappeared us. Wrapped us in plastic and fed us to furnaces while the cameras rolled elsewhere, while the rich placed bets on which of us would provide the best entertainment before we became disposals problem.

My hands shook as I picked up the glasses. One lens was cracked in a spiderweb pattern that caught the emergency lighting like fractured stars. Blood had dried on the bridge where they'd been torn from her face, and I had to swallow hard against the bile that rose in my throat. She'd had a name. A family who would never know what happened to her. Who'd be told she'd been "claimed by a pack" and moved to some distant territory where communication was difficult.

I slipped the glasses into the pocket of my dress, feeling their weight like a responsibility carved from grief and rage. Evidence. Proof that the academy's lies extended far deeper than forced breeding and stolen autonomy. They weren't just controlling us; they were killing us and calling it entertainment while they did so.

The heat under my skin pulsed with my heartbeat, making every surface I touched feel simultaneously too hot and too cold, but I forced myself to search the area methodically. Jake, from my brother's pack, had taught me that, during our scavenging runs in the woods, back when breaking rules had felt like rebellion instead of survival training.

"Evidence tells stories," he'd said, showing me how to read broken branches and disturbed earth. "You just have to know the language."

This evidence spoke volumes. Scratches on the walls at shoulder height where someone had tried to brace themselves against being dragged. A broken fingernail caught in a crack where desperate hands had scrambled for purchase. A smear of something that might have been lipstick or blood in the shape of a partial handprint, like someone had pushed against the wall trying to stand.

She'd fought. They'd probably all fought every "disposal" that had been dragged through these tunnels. The thought made my heat-addled brain spark with fresh fury, the kind that burned clean through the biological fog trying to reduce me to breeding stock.

Looking around, I found a panel.

It was set into the wall at chest height, painted the same industrial gray as the concrete but betrayed by the thin seam running around its edges. No obvious handle or lock, just smooth metal that looked like it belonged in a laboratory rather than a forest arena. I ran my fingers along the seam, feeling for the catch mechanism, and was rewarded with a soft click as something disengaged.

The panel swung open on silent hinges, revealing a control interface that made my stomach drop through the floor. Screens, smaller than my palm, but many, each showing different sections of the arena above. Toggle switches labeled with codes I couldn't decipher. Buttons arranged in patterns that suggested someone who knew the system could puppet-master the entire forest with a few careful presses.

One screen showed a night-vision view of three figures moving in formation through the trees, towards me. I gulped, hoping they wouldn’t find the entrance.

Another screen displayed what looked like a topographical map dotted with blinking lights; red, green, amber, colors that meant something to whoever usually monitored this station. Tracking devices. They'd injected us with them during processing. I took a deep breath. They knew our every move. My eyes widened. Shit. That means, if someone was watching now, they’d know I was here!

Grabbing the screen, I turned, and ran for the exit, tripping over the tripwire, and landing hard on my knees. Alarms blared out, screeching at me and when I landed, the screen slid across the tunnel floor lodging itself under another broken female body. My eyes widened. Who the fuck is that? I paled, pulling myself upright, hearing footsteps behind me. There was no time! I ran for the hollow tree door. But as I ran, squeezing through the opening, I caught my thigh on a jagged branch, and yelped. Damn it! I looked down and pain raged through my body, tears too. I wasn’t made for this! None of this! No matter how hard my brother had trained me. No matter how much I’d hardened myself over the years. I wasn’t made for dead Omegas, tracking chips, and feral Alphas hunting me down.

The cold hit me as I made it outside. Delicate tendrils of mist swept over the horizon as day began to turn to night, and all I could see were the swaying trees and hazy floor of the surrounding forest. Black deathly shapes crept over my eyes. I was going to pass out, and if I did, while I bled like this. I’d be the one burning alive in the incinerator next.

Chapter 13 - Felix

The scent hit me like a physical blow every time the wind shifted. I had to clench my fists to keep from breaking into a dead sprint toward whatever called to every primal instinct I'd spent nineteen years trying to control. Scarlett's trail weaved through the forest like a ribbon of liquid fire; sweet wildflowers mixed with the salt of exhaustion, and something underneath that had my vision going red around the edges. Heat.

My ginger hair stuck to my forehead with sweat that had nothing to do with exertion as I forced myself to maintain the steady pace Harrison set. The older Alpha moved through the undergrowth with the methodical precision of someone who’d spent his life protecting others. He scanned the treeline for threats while his nose tracked the invisible path we were following. Every few minutes, he raised his hand in a signal that made all three of us freeze, listening for sounds that didn't belong, like the heavy breathing of pursuit, or the crack of branches under hostile feet.

Behind me, Damian analyzed the forest floor like he was reading a newspaper, his scarred face intent as he studied broken twigs and scuffed earth for clues about direction and speed. "She's moving smart," he murmured, voice rough with admiration. "Doubling back, creating false trails. Street kids learn to think like this."

I wanted to tell him that thinking wasn't what was driving me right now. That the coffee-and-wildness scent clinging to my skin seemed to respond to hers in ways that made rational thought feel like a luxury I couldn’t afford. But admitting that meant acknowledging how close I was to losing control.

The terrain shifted from dense undergrowth to rocky outcroppings that required unique skills, and I took point as we navigated slopes that would challenge someone less comfortable with vertical movement. My brother had taught me to read stone the way other people read books... which cracks would hold your weight, which ledges were solid enough to trust, which routes offered the best combination of speed and safety. The irony wasn't lost on me that skills meant for rescue work were now helping me hunt someone who deserved protection instead of pursuit.

But that was the thing about scent-matching. It didn't care about logic, justice, or what anyone deserved. It was as inevitable as gravity, pulling me forward with a force that made my chest feel too small for my lungs.

"Blood," Harrison said suddenly, his voice carrying the flat tone of someone who'd seen too much violence. He was crouched beside a boulder where dark stains marked the stone, fresh enough that the metallic scent cut through even Scarlett's overwhelming presence. "Recent. Maybe an hour."

Damian joined him, scarred fingers tracing the spatter pattern with an expertise that came from surviving places where blood was a common sight. "Not arterial. Surface wounds, probably from thorns or rocks." His dark eyes followed the trail of droplets that led deeper into the forest. "She's hurt but mobile."

The knowledge that she was bleeding, that something had marked the skin I'd never touched, but somehow knew belonged to me, sent rage coursing through my system like molten metal. My hands shook as I studied the evidence of her passage, noting the way her footprints had become deeper and less careful, which spoke of exhaustion that made my protective instincts war with baser urges I didn’t want to examine.

Suddenly another scent hit us. It spelled trouble. “What the fuck is that?” I asked, nostrils flaring. Damian and Harrison looked to me, and Harrison placed a finger over his mouth. Did he just shush me? My brow furrowed. “Well, it’d better not be the lion!”

Harrison's eyes widened, while Damian snorted back a laugh. “What lion?” Harrison asked.

“Ah, so now you want to listen to me...”

“Timing!” Damian said, his eyes widening.

The attack came from behind a rocky outcrop, maybe thirty yards to our left, the rival Alpha launched himself through the air with a desperate fury that spoke of someone who had been tracking the same prize and didn't intend to share. He was smaller than Harrison but built for speed, his clothes torn from passage through the same undergrowth that’d been shredding ours.

Harrison met him mid-leap with a collision that sounded like boulders crashing together, their bodies slamming onto the forest floor hard enough to send shockwaves through the earth beneath my feet. They rolled across the broken ground in a tangle of fists and elbows, each trying to establish dominance through sheer brutality.

"Go," Harrison grunted between impacts. His voice strained but determined as he locked his arms around the other Alpha's throat. "Follow her trail. I've got this."

Every instinct screamed at me to help, to ensure that the threat was neutralized before continuing pursuit. But Damian was already moving, calculating that Harrison could handle one opponent while Scarlett's trail grew colder with every second we delayed. He jerked his head toward a gap between two towering trees where broken branches marked her passage.

I followed without question, though the feral part of me recognized pack dynamics even when my rational mind rejected them. I noted how easily I accepted Damian's tactical leadership. Three packless Alphas shouldn't be able to coordinate like this, shouldn't be able to divide responsibilities without descending into competition and chaos. Yet here we were, functioning like pieces of some impossible puzzle that somehow fit together. We were a pack. There was no question about it.

Behind us, the sounds of Harrison's fight echoed through the forest, grunts of effort, the impact of flesh on flesh, the crash of bodies hitting trees hard enough to shake leaves from their branches. But there was something methodical about it, controlled in ways that spoke of someone who knew the difference between necessary violence and sadistic pleasure.

"He'll be fine," Damian said, reading the tension in my shoulders. I nodded and we pushed deeper into the forest.

The scent grew stronger as we moved, recent enough that she might only be minutes ahead. My heart pounded against my ribs with anticipation that felt dangerous, intoxicating, like standing at the edge of a cliff and wondering what it would feel like to fall.

Behind us, Harrison's fight reached some kind of conclusion marked by a sound that might be surrender or unconsciousness. Soon, he'd catch up and rejoin our pursuit, no matter of whatever damage he'd taken. Until then, it was just Damian and me, following a trail that called to parts of ourselves we were still learning to understand.

Moments later, Harrison appeared through the trees like something carved from violence and determination, his brown hair disheveled and a thin line of blood trickling from a split lip that he wiped away with the back of his hand. He didn't speak, didn't need to, he just fell into formation beside us as we continued following her trail deeper into territory that felt more hostile by the minute.

The river ahead cut through the forest. It was the kind of natural choke point that smart hunters used to funnel prey into kill zones. Damian halted and put his hand up in the air. I narrowed my eyes. “What?”

There goes the shushing again. I rolled my eyes. Then I saw them. Two more Alphas, positioned apart from each other, but still lying in wait for their prey. Crossing the river would leave us exposed and vulnerable. The wind carried their scent across the water, aggressive and desperate in ways that spoke of men who’d been hunting the same prize and weren't interested in sharing or negotiating.

"Ambush," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper as I studied the treeline for movement. "Far bank, maybe twenty yards upstream from the obvious crossing point."

Harrison's jaw clenched as he processed the tactical situation, his protective instincts were at war knowing that a frontal assault across open water would be suicide. But it was Damian who took control, his dark eyes scanning the terrain with the type of calculating intelligence that had kept him alive on streets where hesitation meant death.

"Felix," he said, his voice carrying the muted authority of someone who'd learned to command without raising his voice. "You're the smallest, fastest. Can you make noise downstream and draw their attention?" His scarred hands gestured toward a section of bank where fallen logs created natural cover. "Give them something to focus on while Harrison and I flank from here."

“Well, shit... you want me to be bait?”

Damian nodded, smirking. I rolled my eyes.

The plan formed in my mind even as he spoke, simple enough to execute, but complex enough to work against opponents who thought with their fists instead of their brains.

"What about the trap?" I asked, noting the way vines hung from branches over the river, thick enough to support weight but positioned where someone crossing might not notice until it was too late.

Damian's scarred face split into something that might be a grin, if grins could carry that much sharp-edged anticipation. "Leave that to me."

I worked my way downstream through undergrowth that was thick enough to conceal movement but sparse enough that I could move quickly when the moment came. Behind me, I could hear Damian and Harrison moving.

Our scents were blending into one, I realized with something that felt dangerously close to satisfaction. Coffee, chocolate, and whiskey, mixing until we smelled less like three separate threats and more like something unified and purposeful.

Pack.

The word surfaced in my mind without permission, carrying implications I wasn’t sure I was ready to examine. Packs shared everything, not just territory and resources, but mates too. The thought of sharing the Omega should have triggered every competitive instinct I possessed, and had me calculating how to eliminate Harrison and Damian as threats to my claim. Instead, it filled me with something that felt almost like relief.

Maybe she was too complex for any one of us to handle alone. Maybe what she needed wasn’t an Alpha to claim her, but a pack to protect her.

The thought was interrupted by my movement as I broke cover downstream, snapping branches and cursing loud enough that the hidden Alphas' attention swung toward my position, like a compass needle finding north. Through the trees, I could see them shift their positioning, moving to intercept what they thought was a careless target stumbling toward their trap.

Then Damian sprung his own trap.

The vines he’d rigged fell across the river like a net, weighted with rocks and positioned so that anyone who tried to cross would tangle themselves in loops that tightened under stress. But it wasn’t just the physical barrier, it was the distraction, the moment of confusion when the ambushers realized they’d been outmaneuvered by someone who thought three moves ahead.

Harrison hit the water at a dead run, his powerful frame cutting through the current like something built for this kind of violence. The first rival Alpha tried to bring his attention back to the original crossing point, but he was caught off-balance, literally tangled in vines that were supposed to snare us instead of them.

The sound Harrison made when he connected wasn’t quite human. It was something between a roar and a growl; and when his fist connected with the tangled Alpha's chest, the impact drove air from lungs in a whoosh that carried across the water.

The second Alpha tried to flank me, but I was already moving, using my upstream position to cut off his escape route. He was bigger than me, stronger, but size was a disadvantage when you were trying to navigate terrain that required agility over brute force. My shoulder caught him in the midsection just as Harrison's opponent hit the ground hard enough to stay down.

Within minutes, it was over. Two more rivals neutralized, their unconscious forms secured with the same vines that had helped trap them. Harrison breathed hard as he swam back across the river, water dripping from his clothes and something like satisfaction written across his features.

"Efficient," he said, approval clear in his voice as he looked between Damian and me. "We work well together."

The observation hung in the air between us, carrying implications that went beyond simple tactical cooperation. I could smell how our scents had continued to blend during the fight. How the adrenaline and shared purpose had created something that smelt almost like... belonging.

We continued following Scarlett's trail, and it was Damian who noticed the signs first. There were deeper footprints in the soft earth beside the river, occasional blood smears on leaves where she had brushed against thorns with wounds that hadn't fully healed. The evidence of her exhaustion was written in every step.

My hands clenched into fists as I studied an obvious print, noting how the edge of her foot showed the type of deep impression that came from someone favoring an injury. She was hurting, pushing herself beyond reasonable limits because the alternative was to be captured by someone who might not care about her wellbeing.

The protective instinct that flared in my chest felt like molten metal, burning away the calculated cynicism I'd spent years cultivating. This wasn't about claiming anymore. It was about ensuring she survived long enough to make her own choices, even if those choices didn't include us.

"She's close," Damian said, his voice rough with something that might have been anticipation or dread. "The trail’s getting fresher."

Harrison knelt by the footprint, inspecting it, then rose to his full height. His shoulders tensed beneath fabric that’d been torn by our passage through hostile territory, and when he looked at me, there was something in his eyes that made my survival instincts sit up and take notice.

"When we find her," he repeated, his voice calm. "Remember, we agreed to work together. We agreed that she deserved protection, not possession."

I nodded. “Agreed. We’re a pack now. We protect her. She's our Omega,” I said.

Harrison smiled, and we looked at Damian.

He nodded once.

The agreement settled between us like a truce that might hold until dawn or might shatter the moment we caught her scent on the wind. But it was something, a foundation built on respect instead of possession.

Dusk bled through the forest canopy, turning everything the color of old blood and deeper shadows, and then we found it... evidence so fresh it might as well have been a beacon.

The torn, bloodied rag lay along the trail. I picked it up, so it didn’t clue any other Alphas to her whereabouts. I looked at it and my blood ran cold. It was covered and fresh. Shit. Do lions smell blood? Would Rory find her before me? My heart pounded at the thought of finding our mate, then losing her all in the same week.

I continued walking, on guard for any lions, tigers, or bears, and then I saw her, my fallen doe, cradling her body, compressed on a bed of moss and leaves. I swallowed back the need to take her there and then. Instead, I watched as she slept. Her deep breaths soothing my thoughts as I saw the ragged beauty she’d become. My girl had been through hell and back out here. I took a step forward just as Harrison and Damian caught up. Harrison gasped, and all three of us edged closer.

Then it hit me. The coppery tang in the air mixed with her scrumptious gingerbread scent. Blood. I rushed to her side and saw her failed attempt at a bandage around the gash on her thigh. She was still bleeding, granted only small amounts, but still far too much for my liking.

“That wound is going to get infected,” Damian growled, almost annoyed at her carelessness.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “I don’t think she had a med-kit out here, do you?”

Harrison dropped to one knee beside her, scanning her body with intensity. His nostrils flared as he inhaled, and I watched a possessive hunger flicker across his features as he licked his lips. Yet somehow, I knew he wouldn’t hurt her.

Harrison swallowed back a growl and tore his shirt, placing it around and over her wound. She whimpered in her sleep, but didn’t move. She must have been exhausted.

“Damian, your shirt,” I said, holding my hand out for it. He rolled his eyes and pulled it off, leaving only a sweater underneath. I smirked. “What? I would have used mine, but I kinda need it!”

“Maybe you should have thought about your dress sense before you entered the games?” he moaned.

“Ok, yeah, so next time I get grabbed, I’ll tell them to hold on while I change...” I rolled my eyes again, and he huffed.

Harrison laughed. When he’d finished, I stooped and picked her up in my arms, covering her with Damian's shirt. She needed warmth, body heat, and fluids. “We need to head to the stream,” I said, remembering how far back it was. “It’s the only source of naturally filtered water that we’ve seen.”

“Agreed,” Harrison said, pursing his lips. “That cut needs cleaning, and she needs to drink to replenish the blood she’s lost.”

Damian nodded. “Follow me.”

We continued following Damian, hoping that when our girl awoke, she would forgive the manhandling and know that we would always do what was best for her, no matter what.

Chapter 14 - Scarlett

Iawoke to the sound of running water, having slept more peacefully than I had in a long while. My eyelids fluttered open, and the early morning sun rose to greet me. I sat up, noticing the log I lay besides, and the shirt that covered my fallen body. My brow furrowed. Where was I? My eyes widened. More importantly, whose shirt is this?

My bandaged arm throbbed with each heartbeat, the makeshift dressing now removed and the cut clean and re-bandaged. I didn’t remember doing that. What the hell had happened? Pursing my lips, I thought back. Hollow tree, tunnel, fingertips, fire, and glasses. Shit! Did I pass out? I must have passed out.

I glanced left and right, then tried to stand. But agonizing pain gripped my leg, forcing me back down. I looked down at my thigh, it had also been cleaned and bandaged.

Moments later, I saw them.

Three silhouettes emerged from the forest shadows with the fluid coordination of wolves who'd learned to hunt as a pack, their movements spoke of careful planning rather than the chaotic crashing I'd heard from the other Alphas. My chest seized as recognition hit. One of them was familiar, the one from the stream. He’d found me. They'd found me.

Their scents hit me like a tsunami of sensation that made my heat flare with renewed intensity. Dark chocolate wrapped around me first, rich and protective in ways that made my rebellious body want to melt into it like I was some kind of confection designed for consumption. Oak and whiskey followed, steady and grounding, the type of scent that promised safety even while my mind screamed warnings about trusting any Alpha with anything that mattered. And underneath it all, coffee undertones sparked against my overloaded senses like electricity seeking earth.

My heart hammered against my ribs so hard I was sure they could hear it, the sound echoed in my ears like a beacon announcing my location to anyone within a mile radius. Cold sweat broke across my skin despite the fever cooking me from the inside out, and my muscles coiled with the desperate energy of prey that knew the hunters had found its hiding place. Every instinct Draven had ever drilled into me screamed run, run now, before they could corner me or spring whatever trap this careful approach concealed.

But there was nowhere to run. The forest around offered no sanctuary that wasn't already compromised.

“It’s ok,” the brown-haired God told me, stepping close with his hands up, palms facing me. “We’re not here to hurt you,” he said, and even from ten feet away, I could hear the strain in his voice, see the tension in his shoulders that spoke of someone fighting every Alpha instinct evolution had programmed into his DNA. The words came out rough, like he'd been swallowing gravel, and when he took another careful step forward, I saw the way his hands trembled with the effort of maintaining control.

The next Alpha I remembered. He materialized from behind a massive pine with a silent grace that spoke of years spent moving through places where noise meant death. His scarred face remained neutral, but his dark eyes tracked my every movement with the focused attention of someone who understood how dangerous cornered prey could become. He didn't approach. He just stood at the edge of my peripheral vision like a guardian angel wearing a face marked by violence.

"You're safe," he said, his voice carrying the quiet authority of someone who'd learned to defuse situations before they exploded into chaos. "We just want to talk."

Safe. The word tasted like bitter laughter on my tongue, because nothing about this situation felt safe. Not the way their combined scents were making my body respond with embarrassing intensity. Not the way the first Alpha's protective posture made something deep in my chest want to uncurl and trust. Or the way my familiar Alpha’s steady presence felt like an anchor in a storm I hadn't realized I was drowning in.

Felix stepped around them, walking toward me like some kind of ginger-haired nightmare, landing in a crouch before my legs, which I cradled close to my body. He should have triggered my fight-or-flight response, but instead, he made me freeze like a rabbit caught in headlights. His brown eyes sparkled with barely contained energy, and when he straightened up, there was something in his expression that looked almost like... amusement?

"Well, this is awkward," he said, sitting cross-legged in front of me and running his fingers through hair that caught the filtered sunlight like copper wire. His mouth quirked into a half-smile that was both disarming and dangerous. "Three Alphas, one Omega, and nobody knows the rules."

The casual observation broke through my paralysis like a slap, reminding me that despite their careful approach and respectful distance, I was still outnumbered three to one in a forest designed to turn Omegas into barbequed entertainment. My lips pulled back from my teeth in what might have been a smile if smiles could cut glass, and I felt something that had been cowering in my chest straighten its spine and bare its claws.

"The rules are simple," I said, standing myself upright, gritting my teeth to bear the pain. "I run, you chase, someone gets claimed or killed. Isn't that how these games work?"

But even as the defiant words left my mouth, something about their positioning bothered me. They weren't surrounding me, weren't cutting off escape routes, or establishing the territorial dominance every Alpha manual recommended. Instead, they maintained careful distances from each other and from me, forming a loose triangle that felt more protective than predatory. I watched them as they stood there, words unspoken between us. Then I sighed, sat back on the log behind me and thought, fuck it. It wasn’t like I could outrun any of them with my thigh hurting so much.

"Why me?" The question burst out before I could stop it, raw with confusion and vulnerability. "There were other Omegas on the starting platform. Ones who'd probably spread their legs and say thank you, instead of running through underground death traps. What makes me worth tracking through Rex's funhouse of horrors?"

The three of them exchanged looks that carried entire conversations I wasn't privy to, and something in the first Alpha’s expression softened in ways that made my traitorous body want to step closer instead of bolting for the treeline.

His jaw worked like he was chewing words too complicated for his mouth to form, his heterochromatic eyes reflecting something that might have been desperation or wonder. His massive hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, muscles jumping under tanned skin as he fought whatever instincts were howling at him to close the distance between us. When he finally spoke, his voice carried the rough edge of someone trying to explain the inexplicable.

"It's like nothing I've felt before," he admitted, and the honesty in his tone made something treacherous flutter in my chest. "I've been around Omegas my whole life—my sister, her friends, but this..." He gestured helplessly between us, his protective facade cracking enough to show the confusion underneath. "This is different. Your scent doesn't just call to me; it rewrites everything I know."

The admission hung in the morning air like smoke, and I watched the way it affected him, the tremor in his hands, the flush that crept up his neck, the careful distance he maintained even while every line of his body strained toward me. This wasn't the controlled aggression of an Alpha who'd claimed what he wanted. This was someone drowning in sensations he couldn't categorize or control.

The familiar Alpha stepped forward with the fluid grace of someone who'd learned to navigate dangerous situations through careful observation and measured responses. His scarred face remained neutral, but his dark eyes held mine with an intensity that made my skin feel electric. When he spoke, his voice carried a calm authority that could defuse riots or start revolutions, depending on his intentions.

"A scent-match is rare," he said, his words chosen with the precision of someone who understood that language could be both a weapon and a tool depending on how you wielded it. "Most Alphas and Omegas experience basic chemical attraction. Pheromones that signal genetic compatibility and reproductive potential. But true scent-matching goes deeper than biology."

He paused, and I caught the way his nostrils flared as the wind shifted, carrying my scent toward him like a physical caress. His control didn't slip, but I saw the cost of maintaining it in the tension that coiled through his shoulders.

"It means we're compatible on levels greater than normal," he continued, his voice roughening despite his efforts to keep it steady. "Mental, emotional, something that recognizes home in another person's presence. It's not about dominance or submission. It's about completion."

Completion. The word hit me like a physical blow, accompanied by a surge of heat. My treacherous body responded to his explanation with intensity, warmth pooling low in my belly while my skin prickled with unwanted sensitivity. Every breath brought their combined scents deeper into my lungs, where they seemed to settle into my bloodstream like some kind of natural drug designed to dissolve resistance.

Felix shifted his weight with the restless energy of someone whose feral nature made staying still feel like torture, his ginger hair catching dappled sunlight as it filtered through the canopy above. When he spoke, his voice carried the rough edge of someone whose control was measured in heartbeats rather than hours, but his words were somehow both honest and disarming.

"Basically, you smell like heaven, and we're all going crazy trying not to act like typical knot-headed Alphas," the ginger-haired wild one said, his mouth quirking into a half-smile that didn't quite hide the desperation in his brown eyes. "Three days ago, I would have laughed at anyone who’d suggested I could share an Omega. Now I'm standing here fighting every instinct I've got because the alternative is becoming exactly the kind of monster you've been running from."

His admission carried the weight of someone confessing sins to a priest who might not offer absolution, and I saw the way it cost him; the tremor in his hands, the flush that spread across his freckled cheeks.

But it was the truth in his words that shattered something in my chest, some wall I'd built to protect myself from exactly this kind of vulnerability. They weren't trying to convince me with lies or manipulation. They were laying themselves bare, admitting to sensations and urges that probably terrified them as much as they terrified me.

My body betrayed me with responses I couldn't control, a flush of warmth that had nothing to do with fever, a quickening of breath that spoke to needs I'd spent my life denying, a treacherous softening in my chest that wanted to trust what they were offering. The surrounding forest seemed to hold its breath, leaves rustling in a breeze that carried our combined scents, making the air feel thick enough to swim through.

“What are your names?”

The first Alpha smiled, stepped forward, and sat on the ground before me. “Harrison,” he said. I nodded. The one still standing ten feet away put his hand up and waved.

Then the ginger-haired God smirked and said, “That dark ninja is Damian, and I’m Felix.” I smiled. “What do we call you, beautiful?”

I laughed. “Well, not that. How about Scarlett... or Scar?”

“Scarlett it is,” Harrison said.

“I prefer Scar,” Damian finally said and I chuckled under my breath.

“Either is fine with me.”

“I’m sticking with beautiful, because that’s what you are.” Felix grinned.

I rolled my eyes. “Does that line work on all the girls?” I asked, smirking.

He laughed. “Only you, beautiful, only you.”

Chapter 15 - Scarlett

Istretched out under the morning sunshine, talking with the Alphas before me. It was a pleasant change from running. They reminded me of my brother's pack, and part of me, the part that responded to Harrison's protective instincts, Damian's steady strength, and Felix's fierce honesty, wanted to believe that what they were offering was real. That these three Alphas could actually work together instead of competing, could offer partnership instead of ownership, could see me as more than breeding stock wrapped in convenient packaging.

The earthy scent of soil and decomposing leaves mixed with our combined pheromones until the air felt charged with possibility and threat in equal measure. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in shafts that turned the forest into something cathedral-like, a sacred space where impossible things could happen if you believed hard enough.

But belief was another luxury I'd learned to live without, and no matter what words spilled out of their mouths, one dire thought remained at the back of my mind... could I trust them?

My concern amplified everything: the heat still burning through my system, the way my scent seemed to pulse with each accelerated heartbeat, the electric tension crackling between the four of us. I could smell myself, the way they must smell me, sweet gingerbread now edged with something sharper, more desperate, more undeniably Omega approaching the intensity of a heat that would make hiding impossible.

The change hit them like a physical blow. Harrison's carefully controlled posture cracked as his nostrils flared, his eyes widened with something that looked like hunger wrapped in horror. His massive frame swayed forward before he caught himself, but that single involuntary step sent panic shooting through my system like ice water in overheated veins.

Do I trust them? Don’t I trust them? The questions raced through my mind at breakneck speed. I couldn’t risk it. Draven would tell me to run.

"Stay back!" The words ripped from my throat as I saw his blown-out irises, his posture stiffened as he tried to keep control.

My heart hammered against my ribs so hard it felt like it might crack bone, and my heat, hell, that had taken on a life of its own. Every nerve ending sparked with unwanted sensitivity. The air between us felt thick enough to swim through, charged with pheromones and possibility.

Harrison froze mid-step, his face cycling through expressions that spoke to the war between instinct and intellect raging behind those mismatched eyes. His hands rose, palms facing me in surrender, but I could see the tremor in his fingers that spoke of someone whose control was costing him everything he had.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice rough with self-recrimination. "I didn't mean—your scent is just—" He cut himself off, jaw clenching as he forced himself back the step he'd taken, then another for good measure. “Wait, I won't move closer. Not without your permission.”

Permission. The word hit me like a revelation wrapped in confusion, because how many Alphas had ever asked for permission to take what their biology told them they deserved?

The question flickered through my mind even as Damian's voice cut through the tension. "Your choice matters to us," he said. "That's what makes this different from everything else you've experienced. That's what makes us different."

The words should have sounded like manipulation, careful lies predators used to lure prey into a comfortable striking distance. Instead, they carried the weight of truth spoken by someone who understood what that truth might cost him. His dark eyes never left mine, and in their depths, I saw something that looked like respect mixed with a desperate hope that came from recognizing something worth protecting.

Felix nodded in agreement, though his brown eyes flashed with barely contained energy that spoke to the feral part of him fighting for dominance over rational thought. "We could have claimed you already," he said, his voice rough with an honesty that felt dangerous to acknowledge. "At the stream, when you were vulnerable. In the forest, when exhaustion had you stumbling. Hell, right now, when your heat is calling to every Alpha instinct we've got."

His freckled face was flushed with more than exertion, and I could see the cost of his restraint in the tension that coiled through his compact frame like a spring wound too tight. But he held his position, held his distance, held to whatever code of ethics had kept him from becoming just another predator in a forest full of them.

"But we didn't," he continued, his mouth quirking into something that might have been a smile if smiles could carry that much pain. "Because claiming isn't the same as choosing, and we want you to choose."

The words hung in the air between us like a bridge spanning an impossible chasm, and for one breathless moment, I felt myself teetering on the edge of something that might have been trust. Heat bloomed low in my belly, accompanied by a flush that had nothing to do with fever and everything to do with the way they were looking at me. Not like prey to be claimed, but like something precious that deserved protection.

Our eyes met, and I felt an electric connection snap into place like a circuit completing itself. It lasted maybe three seconds, but in that time, I saw past their Alpha facades to something raw, honest, and terrifyingly appealing.

My body betrayed me, as heat flared with renewed intensity. Unwanted warmth pooled between my thighs, and my skin prickled with a sensitivity that made every breath feel like a caress. The flush that spread across my cheeks had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with the need I'd spent my life denying, the chemistry that reduced years of careful conditioning to ash and vapor.

But my mind rebelled against what my body was demanding, and the war between them left me shaking with more than just biological imperatives. I wasn't some romance novel heroine who could be swept off her feet by pretty words and respectful behavior. I was Scarlett fucking Blackwood, raised by Alphas who'd taught me that strength meant never surrendering control, and letting no one else's needs override my own choices.

The moment shattered like glass hitting stone, and suddenly I was moving. Biting back the tears of pain from my leg and shuffling away through the underbrush with the desperate grace of prey that knew capture meant death in ways that went deeper than biology. I eased myself over roots and stones, guided by muscle memory and desperation.

Behind me, I heard the sharp intake of breath that meant their hunting instincts had kicked into overdrive. Heard the rustle of movement that suggested they were fighting every Alpha impulse screaming at them to give chase. But they held back, actually held back, when everything in their DNA must be demanding immediate pursuit.

"She'll come back," Harrison's voice carried through the forest, strained but certain in a way that made my chest flutter with unwanted hope.

"On her terms," Damian added.

Felix's laughter followed me through the trees. "I like her already," he called, and the words hit me like benediction and challenge wrapped in the same breath.

I continued until my lungs burned, and my legs felt like water. But even as I put distance between myself and the impossible offer of the pack that they'd made, part of me kept looking back, kept wondering what might have happened if I'd been brave enough to choose something other than solitude.

Chapter 16 - Scarlett

The stream whispered secrets over stones worn smooth by centuries of water, and I knelt at its edge like a penitent seeking absolution for sins I'd never chosen to commit. My bandaged thigh throbbed with each heartbeat. The water ran clear and cold over my cupped palms, carrying away the grime and dried blood that painted my face like war paint I'd never asked to wear.

Time felt elastic here, stretched thin by exhaustion. How long had it been since I'd run from those three impossible Alphas? Minutes? Hours? The sun had moved enough to shift the shadows, but my internal clock had stopped working somewhere between the underground tunnels and the moment the Alphas had offered me a choice instead of claiming dominance.

My reflection stared back from the water's surface, and I barely recognized myself. My ginger hair hung like rats' tails, tangled around a face that paled from stress. While my green eyes held a brightness that came from running on adrenaline and desperation long past the point where my body wanted to collapse.

The water numbed my scraped palms as I splashed it across my face, washing away dirt that tasted of concrete tunnels and smoke-filled corpses. Each droplet felt like absolution, clean and honest in ways nothing else had been since this nightmare began. For just a moment, I could pretend I was back home, cooling off in the creek behind our house while Draven played pirates, back when we were both smaller versions of ourselves. I pursed my lips. I wonder if he would like my Alphas? My eyes widened. There... I’d said it ‘my’ Alphas. Subconsciously, I must already see them as mine, otherwise the words wouldn’t have slipped out. I half-smiled with a nervous energy that made me want to seek them out again. Mine. Maybe they were mine.

A twig snapped behind me with the sound of bones breaking, sharp and final. I'd been so focused on washing away evidence of my recent trials that I'd forgotten the first rule Draven had drilled into me: never let your guard down when you're prey on someone else's hunting ground. My head whipped around, water dripping from my chin as my heart slammed against my ribs.

A stocky rugby player of an Alpha emerged from between two towering pines like something carved from violence and malice, his massive frame blocked out the dappled sunlight that had been filtering through the canopy. He was even larger than I remembered from my earlier encounter, built like a mountain that had taken human form and terrorized smaller creatures for entertainment.

The tattoos covering his face and arms told stories of horror, pale sketches over skin that looked like leather left too long in harsh weather. But it was his eyes that made my blood turn to ice water. They were small, dark and burning with the type of hunger that had nothing to do with food and everything to do with the pleasure he found in causing pain.

Recognition came too late to matter. Shit. My jaw dropped. It was Brock. How the hell did he survive?

"Brock found you again, little bitch," he said, his voice like gravel, as he took a step that brought him close enough for me to smell the rank aggression rolling off him in waves. “You think pushing me off a cliff will kill me?” He laughed. “You didn’t check to see if I fell all the way!”

I lunged to my feet, water dripping from my hands as I spun toward the treeline. But he was already moving with the terrifying speed that massive predators could achieve when they stopped pretending to be civilized. His hand clamped over my mouth like a vice, cutting off the scream that would have echoed through the forest and announced my location to anyone within hearing range. His other arm snaked around my waist, pinning my arms with a crushing force that drove the air from my lungs in a whoosh of desperate protest.

His scent hit me like a physical assault, unwashed skin, old blood, and something underneath that made every instinct I possessed recoil in terror. This was what happened when Alphas stopped pretending to be human, when they let their worst impulses reshape them into creatures that wore familiar faces while harboring alien hungers.

"No more running," he growled against my ear, his breath hot and foul as he forced me toward the ground with inexorable pressure. "No more games. Time to show you what happens to little Omegas who think they're too good for claiming."

The forest floor rushed up to meet me as my legs gave out under his weight. Moss and fallen leaves provided no cushion against the impact that drove fresh spikes of pain through my already-abused body. He pinned me face-down with one massive hand pressed between my shoulder blades, his bulk settling over me like a landslide that promised to bury me alive.

"Going to break you good and proper," he continued, his free hand tearing at what remained of my clothes with a casual violence that spoke of experience with unwilling partners. "Going to make you scream and beg and thank me for teaching you your place. Been thinking about this since you got lucky with that cheap shot."

His teeth scraped against the vulnerable curve where my neck met my shoulder, and I felt him inhaling, as he positioned himself for the mating bite that would mark me as his property. I writhed under him, trying to break free, but he was too heavy. Too strong. If he bit me, it would be the end of any chance at freedom. I’d want him. Need him. I almost vomited in my mouth at the thought of it. The claiming bite was permanent, irreversible, a brand burned into DNA itself that would override any choice I might make about my future.

Terror gave me a strength I didn't know I possessed, and I bucked against his weight with everything I had left, trying to dislodge him before those filed teeth could break skin and seal my fate.

"Fight all you want, little bitch," he purred, adjusting his grip to better control my thrashing. "Makes it more fun when you finally break."

A roar split the morning air like thunder given voice; primal, furious and carrying a rage that made the forest itself seem to hold its breath. Brock's head snapped up from my neck, his grip loosening just enough for me to drag in a desperate breath as three shapes exploded from the treeline with the coordinated precision of predators who'd found something worth protecting.

Harrison’s face was a mask of fury that made him look less like the controlled Alpha I'd met and more like some ancient God of war given flesh and purpose. Behind him, Damian and Felix flanked wide, their movements tactical, even in the grip of rage that made the air around them shimmer with barely contained violence.

"Get your fucking hands off her," Harrison snarled, his voice carrying an authority that could shatter mountains, or stop hearts, depending on which side of his protection you found yourself on.

Brock's weight lifted from me like a nightmare dissolving at dawn, but the relief lasted only until I heard the impact of bodies colliding with enough force to shake leaves from branches. Harrison reached me first, his powerful hands sliding under my arms to pull me upright. He scanned over my torn clothes and exposed skin, cataloging damage with the clinical precision of someone whose worst fears were being confirmed in real time.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice rough with barely contained violence even as his touch remained impossibly gentle. "Did he—" The question died on his lips as his nostrils flared, reading the truth in my scent and by the sight of me, better than words could convey. But I still shook my head.

Behind him, the clearing had transformed into a battlefield. Damian threw punches, and Felix jump-kicked. The impact connected with a sound like splitting wood, snapping the larger Alpha's head back hard enough that I heard vertebrae pop in protest.

But Brock was a mountain of flesh, and mountains didn't fall from single blows. He absorbed the hit with a rolling motion that spoke of experience with violence, letting momentum carry him into a counterstrike that caught Damian across the ribs and drove him back three steps.

Felix hit him from the side like a ginger-haired missile. They went down together, rolling across the forest floor that became churned earth under the weight of their struggle.

"Stay behind me," Harrison ordered, his massive frame moving to position himself between me and the chaos, while his hands trembled with the obvious urge to join the fight. Every line of his body screamed protective instinct pushed beyond rational limits, but he held his ground like an immovable wall between threat and sanctuary. "Don't move from this spot."

The command should have triggered every rebellious instinct I possessed, should have made me bristle at being treated like helpless cargo instead of a person capable of making my own decisions. But I was injured, and sometimes it was ok to admit you needed help.

But warmth became ice when I watched Felix slam into a massive oak with enough force to strip bark from the trunk. Brock had broken free from their grappling match, using his size advantage to throw Felix across the clearing like a discarded toy. He hit the ground hard and didn't immediately get back up, one hand was pressed to his ribs while blood trickled from his nose in a thin red line.

"Felix!" Damian's shout carried genuine fear as he lunged toward his fallen packmate, but Brock was already moving, capitalizing on the distraction. His massive hands closed around Damian's throat, lifting him off the ground with the casual ease of someone picking up a child.

Damian's scarred face went white as his oxygen was cut off, his hands clawing at fingers as thick as steel cables, while his legs kicked at empty air. The sounds he made were not human, but wet gasps that spoke of someone whose windpipe was being crushed by someone who enjoyed the process.

"Watch your little pack Alpha die, Omega," Brock called over his shoulder, his voice conversational despite the effort of holding Damian's full weight suspended by his neck. "Watch what happens to Alphas who think they can protect what belongs to me."

Harrison's control snapped like overstressed steel, and he took a step toward the fight that would have left me undefended if I hadn't already been moving. I’d seen what I needed, a fallen branch, maybe three feet long and as thick as my wrist, solid oak aged to the density of iron by seasons of weather and time. Draven's voice echoed in my memory as my fingers closed around it: "Size doesn't matter if you know where to hit them, Scar. Big things fall just as hard as little things when you find the right pressure point."

"No!" Harrison's shout followed me as I darted around his protective bulk, but his reflexes were focused on Brock instead of containing someone whose survival instincts had just overruled every reasonable fear. The branch felt solid in my hands, weighted perfectly for what I intended to do, and my academy training in "proper Omega deportment" had never covered what to do when your pack was being murdered in front of you.

Because they were my pack, I realized with crystal clarity that cut through the fear, the heat symptoms, and every rational objection my mind tried to raise. These three impossible Alphas who'd found each other through shared recognition of something worth protecting. Who'd offered me a choice instead of claiming dominance. Who were dying because they'd tried to save me from the monster who thought ownership and love were synonymous. They were my pack.

Brock's attention was focused on Damian's desperate struggles, savoring the slow strangulation with the clinical appreciation of someone whose pleasure came from watching others break. He never saw me coming, never noticed the small figure moving through his peripheral vision.

The branch connected with the back of his skull with a sound like a melon hitting the pavement, as solid oak met bone with enough force to rattle my teeth and send shockwaves up my arms. His grip on Damian's throat loosened straight away as his nervous system tried to process a trauma that shouldn't have been survivable. Damian, my scarred Alpha, dropped to the ground, gasping like a landed fish.

But Brock was still standing, still conscious, still turning toward me with eyes that burned with an almost demonic rage that promised retribution measured in broken bones and screaming. Blood ran down his neck from the impact site, but mountains didn't fall from single blows, even when those blows came from desperate Omegas wielding tree branches like weapons of war.

"You little bitch," he snarled, his massive hands reaching for me with the inexorable certainty of avalanches. "Gonna make you pay for that."

The smart thing would have been to run, to let the three Alphas who'd risked themselves for my protection handle the mountain of violence bearing down on me with murder written in his face. But smart was a luxury that belonged to people who hadn't spent their lives being told they were too weak to fight their own battles, too fragile to choose their own fates. I didn't retreat. Instead, I dropped the branch and scooped up a handful of loose earth, rich forest soil mixed with decomposing leaves that would serve my purposes better than any weapon the academy had ever taught us to avoid.

Brock's massive hands were inches from my throat when I hurled the dirt into his eyes, grinding particles of earth and debris into organs that couldn't function when blinded by someone desperate enough to use whatever tools the forest provided. His roar of pain and fury shook leaves from branches as he stumbled backward, clawing at his face with fingers that left bloody furrows across his cheeks in his desperation to clear his vision.

"Clever little bitch," he snarled, but the words carried grudging respect along with the promise of retribution. Blood and dirt streaked his face like war paint as he squinted through damaged eyes that watered from the assault. "Should have just laid down and taken it. It would have been easier for everyone."

Behind him, Felix had recovered enough to regain his feet, one hand pressed to ribs that were probably cracked but still functional enough to support the feral aggression that made him dangerous despite his size. Damian sucked air through a throat that would bear bruises for weeks, but his scarred face had settled into the icy determination of someone whose tactical mind was already calculating angles and vulnerabilities.

And Harrison, well, he moved like an earthquake given human form, his protective instincts transformed into something that belonged in myths about vengeful Gods defending what they cherished most. His eyes turned wild with something that transcended simple Alpha aggression, burning with a fury that came from watching someone he cared about face death rather than submission.

They came at Brock from three directions. Felix went low, diving for his knees. Damian flanked the left, his street-smart experience reading the way Brock favored his right side, where old injuries would ache in damp weather. Harrison charged straight ahead, using his size and strength to draw attention while his packmates positioned for maximum effect.

The combination was devastating. Felix's tackle sent Brock stumbling sideways into Damian's precisely placed uppercut, while Harrison's massive fist connected with his chest. The impacts came within seconds of each other, a crescendo of violence orchestrated by three Alphas who'd discovered they fought better together than apart.

Brock went down hard, crashing through the underbrush with the sound of breaking branches and crushing vegetation. But even as he fell, he was rolling, using momentum and desperation to avoid being pinned by opponents who might decide that defeating him wasn't sufficient justice for what he'd attempted.

When he regained his feet, blood ran from his nose and mouth, while his scarred face showed swelling that spoke of serious damage to bone and cartilage. But it was the calculation in his small, dark eyes that made my skin crawl. The weighing of odds that suggested he was considering whether continued fighting would yield better results than a tactical retreat.

"This isn't over," he spat, backing toward the treeline while keeping all four of us in sight. His voice carried the flat certainty of someone making promises rather than threats, stating facts about future violence with the casual confidence of a weather forecaster predicting rain. "Three against one might seem like good odds, but numbers change. Situations change."

His eyes found mine across twenty feet of charged air, and what I saw there made ice form in my veins despite the heat still burning through my system. It wasn't the mindless rage of someone whose pride had been wounded. It was the cold planning of a predator who'd learned from this encounter and would adapt his tactics accordingly.

"You'll regret choosing these weaklings over Brock, little bitch," he continued, gesturing at the three Alphas who'd positioned themselves in front of me. "When they're dead and you're begging for someone strong enough to protect you, remember that you could have made this easy."

He melted back into the forest with the unsettling silence of something that belonged in the shadows, leaving behind only the metallic scent of blood and the promise that this fight was far from over. The clearing felt larger without his presence, but somehow less safe, like we'd won a battle while ensuring the war would continue.

Harrison approached me with careful movements that spoke of someone whose protective instincts were warring with respect. His massive hands hovered just short of actual contact, seeking permission even in the aftermath of the violence that had almost claimed our lives. Blood decorated his knuckles like abstract art, and his blue-green eyes swept over my torn clothes and exposed skin with clinical precision that somehow was thorough without feeling invasive.

"Let me see," he said softly, his voice rough with residual adrenaline and something that might have been awe. "Let me check if he hurt you."

His examination was gentle but comprehensive, fingers tracing the edges of bruises that were already darkening across my ribs where Brock's weight had pressed me into the unforgiving forest floor. When he found the torn fabric at my shoulder where teeth had grazed my skin without quite breaking through, his jaw clenched with a controlled fury that spoke of someone imagining creative revenge scenarios.

Felix limped over with blood still trickling from his nose, but his brown eyes sparkled with something that looked close to admiration. When he spoke, his voice carried the rough edge of someone whose ribs were probably cracked, but whose spirit remained stubbornly intact.

"You didn't have to do that," he said, wiping blood from his lip with the back of his hand. "We could have handled him."

The words should have stung, should have sounded like a dismissal of my contribution to what had been a group effort. Instead, they carried the weight of someone trying to process the reality that the Omega they'd been protecting had just saved their lives through quick thinking and desperate courage.

I met his gaze, feeling something settle in my chest that had nothing to do with my upcoming heat, and everything to do with the recognition of bonds that went deeper than biology. These three impossible Alphas had risked themselves for someone they didn’t know. They had offered protection without demanding submission, and had treated me like someone worth fighting for, rather than something to be claimed.

"I protect what's mine," I said, the words emerging with a muted certainty that belonged to fundamental truths rather than conscious decisions.

The statement hung in the air between us like a bridge spanning impossible distances, and I watched the way it hit them. Harrison froze, eyes wide. Damian took a sharp intake of breath, and Felix's slow smile transformed his battered face into something luminous. They understood the implications, recognized the claim being made even as I was still processing the reality of what I'd just declared.

Mine. Not theirs, mine. The distinction mattered as it spoke to partnerships built on choice rather than conquest, protection offered freely instead of demanded through force.

Chapter 17 - Felix

The change hit me before my eyes registered what was happening. Scarlett's scent shifted from the familiar gingerbread sweetness and defiance into something that made my knees threaten to buckle. Heat pheromones flooded the clearing like invisible smoke, and my pupils blew wide as every muscle in my body went rigid with recognition that bypassed rational thought entirely. My hands clenched into fists hard enough to drive the fingernails into my palms.

Beside me, Harrison made a sound that might have been a growl or a prayer. His eyes darkened as his massive frame swayed forward before he caught himself. Damian's scarred face went blank with a stillness that spoke of someone fighting for control with everything they had. We'd been a functioning pack for all of three days, but in that moment, our bond was the only thing keeping us from becoming the monsters Scarlett had spent her life running from.

I forced myself to breathe through my mouth, trying to minimize the assault on my senses, but her scent had already soaked into my lungs like honey mixed with lightning. The coffee undertones of my own scent spiked in response, creating a feedback loop that made thinking feel like swimming through syrup. But thinking separated us from the animals this place wanted us to become, so I grabbed onto consciousness with both hands and refused to let go.

Harrison's eyes found mine, then Damian's, and something passed between us. Not words, but understanding. We'd made promises with our actions, if not our voices. We'd fought for her right to choose. That didn't change just because her biology was screaming surrender in a language our bodies desperately wanted to answer.

Scarlett doubled over, cursing, as a wave of fresh pain enveloped her body. She dropped to the ground and hunched against a massive oak. The sight drove ice through the fire in my veins. Her slight frame shook with tremors, skin flushed and gleaming with perspiration that made her torn clothes cling to curves I had no business noticing. But it was her face that made my chest ache with something deeper than desire. Her eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched against sounds she refused to make, every line of her body speaking of pain she was trying to endure alone.

Her hands clutched at her abdomen like she could hold back the waves of heat rolling through her system. Each breath came in sharp gasps that made her chest rise and fall in rhythms that called to every protective instinct I'd ever possessed. This wasn't the controlled heat the academy had tried to prepare her for. No, this was raw biology amplified by whatever chemicals they'd forced into her system, to turn her into a torturous snippet of entertainment.

I took a step forward before I could stop myself, dead leaves crackling under my boots. The noise made her head snap up, and her eyes, those fierce green eyes that had stared down death rather than submit, locked onto mine with a mixture of helplessness and unwanted arousal that made my stomach twist.

"It hurts," she whimpered, her voice breathy and weak. Her pupils were blown wide, leaving only a thin ring of green around black depths that reflected my own struggle. She pressed herself harder against the tree trunk, as if she could phase through solid wood if she just wished hard enough.

"Come on, beautiful," I said, keeping my voice low and steady despite the way her name wanted to come out as a growl. "We're here to—"

The words died in my throat as unfamiliar scents hit the wind. Multiple Alphas were approaching from different directions, their pheromones aggressive and eager in ways that made my hackles rise. They'd caught her scent, of course. Every unmated Alpha within miles would be drawn to an Omega in heat like moths to a flame. But these moths thought they were dragons, and were coming for what they believed was theirs by right of strength.

I counted at least four distinct scents, maybe five, circling our position. They were being careful, assessing the situation, which meant they were smarter than the average arena fodder. Smart meant dangerous. Smart meant we were about to fight a proper battle instead of just scaring off desperate loners.

Harrison had already shifted into a combat stance, his bulk positioned between Scarlett and the most likely approach vectors. Damian melted into the shadows, ready to pounce on anyone who got too close. And me, well, I paced around my beautiful Omega like the feral protector I vowed to be.

But even as we prepared for battle, Scarlett's scent grew stronger, sweeter, more insistent. I could see the way it affected Harrison, the tremor in his hands as he fought to maintain his protective position instead of turning toward what his body insisted he claim. Damian's breathing had slowed, each exhale measured and deliberate. And me? I was drowning in coffee and gingerbread.

The first shadow moved between the trees to our left, followed by another to our right. They were testing our defenses, looking for weaknesses in our formation. They'd find none. We might be a new pack, but what we had worked.

The forest exploded like a grenade, bodies launching from concealment with the suddenness of spring-loaded traps. Five Alphas converged on our position. Harrison's voice cut through the chaos, "Felix, left flank! Damian, get her up and mobile!" He didn't wait for acknowledgment, just stepped forward to meet the largest attacker head-on with a confidence that came from knowing exactly how much damage he could absorb and dish out in return.

I was already moving before his words finished echoing through the trees, my body responding to pack dynamics that shouldn't exist between Alphas who'd known each other for less than a week. The first rival came at me low and fast, built like a wrestler with shoulders that could’ve bench pressed a small car. His scent hit me; pine, aggression and the sour tang of someone who'd been tracking too long without rest.

We collided with the sound of thunder made personal, his shoulder driving into my midsection while my hands found purchase on his head and neck. The impact drove us both backward, but I'd grown up scrambling through trees and over rocks, and my balance held where his faltered. We hit the ground in a tangle of limbs and curses, rolling through undergrowth that tore at exposed skin with thorny fingers.

But Scarlett's scent was everywhere. It coated my tongue with a sweetness that made my fighting style shift from calculating to something more primal. My teeth found his shoulder through worn fabric, biting down with a force that had nothing to do with technique, and everything to do with the territorial rage flooding my system. He howled and tried to throw me off, but I'd locked my legs around his torso like a vice, riding out his thrashing while my hands sought soft targets.

The crack of Harrison's fist meeting someone's jaw punctuated our struggle, followed by the sound of bodies hitting trees at speeds that didn't bode well for continued consciousness. But I couldn't focus on the larger battle, not when my opponent had flipped our positions and was now trying to drive his elbow into my ribs with prejudicial force.

Scarlett cried out. It wasn’t a scream but a gasping sob that cut through the combat noise like a blade through silk. My head whipped toward the sound just in time to see Scarlett double over again, clutching her abdomen while her legs shook with the effort of staying upright.

"I can't—" she gasped, the words torn from her throat like confession under torture. Her heat was spiking, pheromones flooding the clearing with a renewed intensity that made every Alpha in range stumble like we'd been hit with chemical weapons.

The wrestler on top of me froze for a split second, his pupils dilating as her scent wormed its way past his aggression into something simpler. It was all the opening I needed. My knee found his groin, and he folded like wet paper. I shoved him aside to see Damian trying to shield Scarlett with his body while fending off two attackers.

More Alphas poured from the trees, not just our original five, but others drawn by the beacon of Scarlett's intensifying heat. Seven, eight, maybe more, their eyes wild with hunger. Harrison roared something that might have been a warning or a war cry, his massive frame moving to intercept three at once.

I fought like something possessed, which wasn't far from the truth. Each breath brought more of Scarlett's scent into my system, turning my movements wild and vicious in ways that my brother's careful training had never covered. An Alpha with a scarred throat tried to flank Damian's position, and I caught him mid-stride, using his momentum to drive him face-first into a tree trunk that left bark embedded in his cheek.

We were both outnumbered and overwhelmed, fighting a losing battle against biology and numbers while Scarlett's heat turned the clearing into a pheromone soup that made thinking feel impossible.

Through the chaos, I caught glimpses of her watching us. Not with the pure terror I'd expected, but with something more complex. Horror, yes, at the violence exploding around her. But underneath that, buried deep but undeniably present, was something that looked like arousal. Her green eyes tracked our movements with dilated pupils, watching as we threw ourselves between her and danger over and over again.

Harrison caught an Alpha mid-leap, using the man's momentum to slam him into the ground with enough force to leave a body-shaped impression on the forest floor. Damian's scarred hands found another's throat, applying pressure with the clinical precision of someone who knew how much force would incapacitate without killing. And me... I'd gone fully feral, using teeth, nails, and absolutely no honor as I fought off anyone who tried to breach our position.

Blood painted the clearing in abstract patterns, mostly belonging to our attackers, but some of it was ours. Harrison's lip was split, dripping crimson down his chin. Damian moved while nursing his injured ribs. My knuckles were raw from impacts with faces, trees and anything else that got between me and protecting what was ours.

Because she was ours. The way she watched us fight for her, the way her scent spiked when we drove back another wave of attackers, the way her body swayed toward our position even as her mind probably screamed warnings. It spoke of bonds that went deeper than logic or choice.

Another Alpha lunged for her, and I intercepted him with a prejudice that would have made my brother proud and my mother horrified. He staggered backward, blood streaming from his nose and one arm hanging at an angle that suggested our discussion about personal boundaries had been quite emphatic. His retreat seemed to signal something to the others, a recognition that perhaps this Omega came with more complications than they'd bargained for. But I knew better than to mistake tactical withdrawal for surrender. They'd be back, and when they were, we’d be ready.

"Move," Damian ordered, his voice rough from the chokehold he'd barely escaped. He slipped one arm under Scarlett's shoulders while I took her other side, and together we half-carried, half-guided her toward the rocky slope that promised higher ground and better defensive positions. Her body trembled between us, radiating heat that had nothing to do with exertion and everything to do with biology winning its war against willpower.

The loose rocks shifted under our boots, each step sending small avalanches of pebbles cascading down behind us. Harrison brought up the rear, his massive frame providing a wall between us and any pursuers stupid enough to follow. Blood decorated his knuckles like war paint, and his split lip had swollen enough to give his face an asymmetrical cast that somehow made him look more dangerous rather than less.

Scarlett's legs buckled without warning, nearly taking all three of us down. The sound that escaped her was pure frustration mixed with something that might have been despair, and when she spoke, the words came out between gritted teeth like she was fighting every syllable.

"I can't think straight," she gasped, her fingers digging into my arm hard enough to leave bruises. "Everything's... everything's too much."

Her scent had reached levels that made my control feel like tissue paper in a hurricane. Every breath brought more of her into my system. I could feel myself getting harder, my pheromones spiking in response to hers, creating a feedback loop that threatened to drown us all.

But drowning would have been merciful compared to what was still to come.

Chapter 18 - Scarlett

Surging, all-encompassing pain radiated throughout my body. It ached, burned, screamed out for their touch. I needed more of it. Yearned to have them inside me. I gripped Felix, and he turned to face me, stopping for a moment.

A wave of need hit me hard enough to make my knees buckle, and all I could smell was them—coffee, chocolate, and whiskey mixed with blood, sweat, and victory. My skin felt too tight, too hot, too everything.

“Are you ok?” he asked, his brow furrowed.

“Kiss me,” I demanded, leaning in to him.

“Are you sure?”

I growled, pulling him closer. “NOW!” I yelled, crashing my lips onto his. He laughed and pulled away.

“Well, if you ask nicely, I might...”

Harrison swatted him on the shoulder and spun me around. “Come here,” he said, placing his soft lips on mine. His tongue searched, exploring every inch of my mouth as he deepened the kiss, and I groaned, while slick pooled out of me. Felix growled from behind, grabbing my waist hungrily. But then I was pulled away, picked up into Damian's arms, and carried away.

“Will you kiss me too?” I asked, watching his stern face.

His lips creased into a half-smile. “I won’t just kiss you Scar. My tongue will glide over every part of your body, sucking, and teasing you. But you won’t come until I tell you to... and when you do, the stars will twinkle in the night sky, clouding your vision with their beauty, as you drift softly to sleep in my arms.”

There was no stopping it. I moaned under his spell, my hand drifting up his chest, cupping his neck. Slick soaked my panties, needing to be sated. He growled.

"We need to get her somewhere safe," Harrison said, appearing next to us, his voice carrying a protective concern that made my heat-addled brain purr with satisfaction.

"Cave," I gasped, recognizing the area, and pointing vaguely upstream. "Found one near here. Hidden."

They exchanged looks over my head, some silent communication passing between them that I was too exhausted to interpret.

"Which way?" he asked.

I pointed with shaking arms toward the cave I had found the first night I was here.

When we arrived, Felix moved the vines aside and checked for a lion. Apparently, they now lived in the forest too. I’d have rolled my eyes at him, but after seeing that Omega torn apart, maybe he wasn’t hallucinating after all. But what I cared about right now, was what I craved, and this cave meant privacy. Privacy to suck, kiss, knot and mark. Everything I needed was only footsteps away. I just wished it was the nest I yearned for. Pillows and blankets, soft textures and dim lighting. I sighed inside. One day, when we’re out of this hellhole... I’ll have the next I deserve!

Damian ducked under the vines and carried me inside. Each step sent fresh waves of heat cascading through my system, the desperate desire to let my Omega come out and play. Let her feel their touch on my body, their teeth on my skin. It was like being consumed from the inside out.

Inside, the temperature dropped. The cave wasn't large, but it was dry and defensible, with a puddle of water still blessing the indented stone near the entrance. At the back there appeared to be a narrow tunnel, hidden by shadow and leading to god only knows where!

Damian lay me down, then stripped off his T-shirt and placed it below my head.

“Much better,” he growled. I grabbed his arm and pulled him next to me.

“Don’t go, I need you.” Another crashing inferno of burning ricocheted through my body.

Another wave hit me like a physical blow, and I couldn't suppress the whimper that escaped through clenched teeth. My skin felt too tight, like it might split open from the pressure building inside. Every nerve ending had become hypersensitive, making even the brush of air against exposed skin feel like a caress, the sensation amplified beyond bearing. The torn remnants of my dress clung to sweat-soaked skin, and I plucked at the fabric desperately, trying to find relief from material that felt like sandpaper against over-sensitized flesh.

Damian's mouth was on mine in an instant, swallowing my cries as his touch eased the pain I felt.

His hands roamed my fevered skin, each caress sending sparks of relief through the burning. I arched into him, desperate for more contact, more of whatever magic he could work on my tortured system.

"Easy Scar," he murmured against my lips, that dark edge still present even as his touch gentled. "We've got you. You’re going through a heat spike"

Harrison's dark chocolate scent hit me then, mixing with Damian's oak-smoked whiskey. He knelt beside us, his eyes dark with concern and something else, something primal that made my Omega instincts sing. Felix appeared on my other side, his hot coffee scent wrapping around me like a blanket.

"The heat's spiking hard," Harrison said, his voice rough. He brushed damp hair from my forehead, and I turned into his touch with a needy whine I couldn't suppress. "We need to—"

"We need to take care of her," Felix finished, his usual playful demeanor replaced by Alpha intensity. His hand found mine, fingers interlacing. "All of us."

The meaning hung heavy in the night air. Through the haze of heat, I understood what they were offering, what my body was screaming for. Three Alphas. Three scents mingling, creating something intoxicating that made the burning ease into something else entirely.

I could picture them all over me, their naked bodies smothering my own. Love bites decorating my body as delicate kisses caressed me, and I moaned, “More.”

Felix chuckled. He responded by trailing kisses down my throat, finding that sensitive spot where my neck met my shoulder. "Such a demanding little Omega," he teased, but his hands were gentle as they worked at the remains of my dress.

"Please," I gasped, not even sure what I was begging for anymore. Just knowing I needed them, all of them, with a desperation that should have frightened me, but only made me arch into Felix’s tongue as he trailed past my breasts, all the way down to the top of my panties.

He growled, pulling them off. “Are you ready for me, beautiful?” he asked.

“Yes,” I panted, before my mouth was filled suddenly with Damian's kiss.

Harrison pulled off his top and trousers. “Are you ready for all of us, Omega?”

“Mmm...”

Felix's breath was hot against my core as he spread my thighs wider, his copper hair tickling my sensitive skin. “So fucking hot,” he murmured before his tongue found my clit,

Circling it with devastating precision. The sensation shot through me like lightning, and I cried out, hands fisting in his hair, pushing him down onto me. My back arched off the ground as Felix groaned against me, the vibration sending shockwaves through my already sensitive body.

Above me, I heard the distinctive sound of a belt buckle, and my eyes flew open to see Damian kneeling beside my head, his impressive length now free from his trousers. My mouth watered at the sight, and I reached for him.

"Not yet, little Omega," he said, voice rough with restraint as he caught my wrist. "Let us take care of you first."

Felix lifted his head from between my thighs, his brown eyes dark with desire as he licked his lips. "She tastes like heaven," he growled, then moved up my body with predatory grace. His mouth crashed onto mine, and I could taste myself on his tongue, the intimacy of it making me moan into the kiss.

As Felix claimed my mouth, I felt Damian shift into position, his hands gripping my thighs as he settled between them. The anticipation made every nerve ending sing, and my body arched up, desperately seeking contact.

Harrison's warm mouth closed around one nipple, sucking gently at first, then with increasing pressure that sent jolts of pleasure straight to my core. He watched my face as he lavished attention on first one breast, then the other, his tongue making me gasp against Felix's lips.

"So responsive," Harrison murmured against my skin, the vibration of his words adding another layer of sensation. His hands kneaded my breasts as he continued his sweet torture, alternating between gentle sucking and the occasional graze of teeth that made me see stars.

Damian's fingers traced patterns on my inner thighs, teasing, always just shy of where I needed him most. "Tell me what you want," he commanded, his whiskey-scented breath hot against my skin.

Felix broke our kiss just long enough for me to gasp out, "Please, Damian, I need—"

But Felix swallowed the rest of my words, his tongue dancing with mine while his hands tangled in my hair. The coffee scent of him mixed with Harrison's dark chocolate and Damian's whiskey, creating an intoxicating blend that made my head spin.

Damian teased me with just the tip, making me buck my hips desperately. "So impatient," he chuckled darkly. "But you'll take what we give you, won't you, Omega?"

"She's shaking," Felix murmured against my lips, his freckled face flushed with desire. "Should we give her what she needs?"

Damian pushed in another inch, just enough to make me moan into Felix's mouth. "Not yet. I want to hear her beg some more first."

My entire body felt like a live wire, every touch sending sparks through me. The heat that had been painful was now pure need, centered where they all teased me. Harrison's mouth on my breasts, Felix's tongue tangling with mine, Damian's cock barely inside me. It was too much and not enough all at once.

"Please," I whimpered when Felix pulled back to let me breathe. "I need... I need all of you."

Felix claimed my mouth again, swallowing my cries as Damian finally pushed inside, inch by torturous inch. The stretch was exquisite, filling the empty ache that had been consuming me. My body clenched around him, trying to draw him deeper.

"Fuck," Damian hissed, his hands tightening on my hips. "So tight, Omega. Taking me so well."

The praise made me whimper, and Felix smiled against my lips. "Our perfect Omega," he whispered, one hand tangling in my hair while the other traced patterns on my throat. "Made for us."

Harrison nibbled my other breast, his teeth grazing the peak just as Damian moved. The dual sensation had me crying out, my body caught between pleasure points as they worked in devastating synchronization.

Damian's hips flexed, pulling almost entirely out, then slamming back in, hitting that sweet spot inside me over and over. My nails raked his back, drawing blood as Felix drew back from his kiss and positioned his cock on my lips, kissing them with his cum. I opened up, urging him inside. He threw his head back, moaning aloud, joining Damian's rhythm with long, deep thrusts. “How much can you take, beautiful?” Felix asked, panting.

I moaned as he pushed deeper. “Can you take some more?” Moaning on his cock, I tried to nod, but before I could he pushed in deeper, much deeper, all the way until he deep-throated, tickling my tonsils with his cock. I gagged, grabbing at his bottom, trying to get more. I needed more. In and out he pushed, more and more, faster and faster. Damian matched him.

“I think we should all play. What do you think, Harrison?” he asked, his eyes wide with hunger.

“Yes, definitely yes!”

Felix and Damian pulled out, and I whimpered. “Hush, beautiful, I’ll be right back.”

“I want you to take what you need Scar,” Damian said. “Now, stand up. I pushed myself up, careful not to catch my thigh.

“Harrison, how about DP?”

Harrison nodded, and I furrowed my brow. Felix laughed.

“Oh, beautiful Scarlett, looks like we have a few things to teach you!”

Damian lay on his back, and Harrison knelt behind me to take my ass. “Now sit!” Damian demanded. I bit my lower lip and knelt as Harrison used my slick to soothe my anus. I looked at Harrison, who was leaning up on his elbows. “Go on, Scarlett...”

So I did as I was told, easing myself down on Damian. I could feel Harrison’s cock twitching at the entrance to my anus. Hands gripped my buttocks, spreading me, as he slowly pushed his cock inside, widening me inch by inch, filling me. I stilled for a moment, trying not to clench, allowing him deeper. My eyes closed, moaning for more. Heck, I’d never felt so satisfied in my life. When I opened my eyes, Felix was stood in at the side of me, his cock tickling my lips.

“Open up, beautiful,” he said, pushing himself back into my mouth. For the first time in a long time, I felt content.

Every touch, every kiss, every moan drove me higher, closer to the edge. My nails dug into Damian's shoulders as I arched my back, desperate for more.

"So beautiful," Harrison whispered from behind. I felt him thrust harder, faster into my anus. I matched his speed, grinding on Damian’s cock like there was no tomorrow.

Heat spiked as it circled me. Shudders of pleasure filled my body, rising and exploding out of me. My body stiffened, my back arched, and I gripped Felix harder. As my walls tightened, I gripped Damian milking him until there was nothing left.

My cries vibrated on Felix, making him groan as he forced himself deeper still, gripping my head and holding me in place. I came apart in their arms, shaking with the force of it. Damian pushed himself up and lapped at the glistening beads of sweat on my skin, while Harrison continued to pound into me relentlessly. His cock jerking rhythmically inside me as he found his release. Cum filled my mouth, dribbling down my chin as I lapped it up.

In the aftermath of our storm, we collapsed together in a tangle of limbs and sweat-dampened skin. Damian remained knotted, brushing my skin with his fingertips. We rolled onto our sides so he could pull me into his embrace. "Our perfect match," he murmured against my hair. I smiled against his chest, feeling safe and sated for the first time in forever.

They gathered around me, each claiming a piece of me, whispering sweet nothings in my ear until my heart rate slowed down.

With a sigh, I closed my eyes and let myself drift towards sleep, already looking forward to the next time we would be together like this—three Alphas and their Omega, working in perfect harmony.

Chapter 19 - Scarlett

As the sun rose higher in the sky, casting its warm golden rays over us, I felt a sense of contentment wash over me. My body ached pleasantly from the night before, but it was a good ache, a reminder of how much these three amazing men cared for and adored me.

Damian wrapped his arms protectively around me, his strong chest nestling against my back, while Felix rested his head on my stomach with a satisfied sigh.

"So," I started quietly. "What now?" In answer, they both looked at each other before turning back to me with matching grins on their faces.

Damian spoke first. "Well, Scarlet darling," he purred into my ear, his lips trailing kisses down to my neck. “Next, we have breakfast.”

I grinned, kissing him, and smelling the glorious scent of smoke and cooking meat, my mind swam up from depths where dreams and reality had tangled like fishing lines in a storm. The cave walls danced with orange light, shadows stretching and contracting in rhythm with flames that hadn't been there when exhaustion had finally claimed me. My body felt different... still tender from the heat's assault, but no longer burning from the inside out like I was being consumed by chemistry.

The fire crackled near the entrance, small but steady. Damian groaned as I unwrapped myself from him, kissing him softly. Pulling my panties on, I put the tattered dress over my head, then walked toward the fire. Above it, skewered on a makeshift spit fashioned from straight branches, a rabbit turned slowly, its skin browning to the color of autumn leaves. The smell made my stomach clench with a hunger I hadn't noticed through the haze of heat and adrenaline.

Harrison sat cross-legged beside the fire, his massive frame silhouetted against the entrance like a guardian carved from living stone. His swollen eye had gone down enough that he could see through it again, though the bruising had spread into spectacular purples and greens that would have been beautiful if they didn't represent pain absorbed on my behalf. He held a stick in his scarred hands, turning the rabbit with movements that suggested this wasn't his first time cooking over an open flame.

"You're awake," he breathed. "How do you feel?"

I took inventory of my body. My heat had broken, leaving me wrung out but clear-headed for the first time since the tunnels.

"Better," I said, and meant it. "Clearer. Like I can think in straight lines again instead of circles made of fire." I shifted against the wall and sat beside him. “Thank you,” I said, smiling.

He looked at me and matched my smile with one of his own, then kissed my forehead. “You never have to thank me, Scarlett. I will always be there for you.” I leaned into him, and he placed his arm around me.

The rabbit fat hissed as it dripped into the fire, sending up small flares that illuminated Harrison's face in irregular intervals. Each burst of light revealed new details, like the careful way he monitored the cooking meat, the alertness in his posture despite obvious exhaustion, the way his eyes kept returning to me like I was something precious that might disappear if not watched carefully.

"You caught that?" I asked, nodding toward our dinner. "When?"

"Felix did. Turns out he's handy with improvised snares." Harrison tested the meat with the tip of his knife. My brow furrowed. Where had he gotten a knife? "Should be ready soon. You need to eat something substantial."

I nodded. He was right, though I hadn't realized how hungry I was until the scent hit me. My last proper meal felt like a lifetime ago, consumed in a different world where my biggest concern had been avoiding forced pack bonds rather than surviving death matches and amplified heat. My stomach growled at an embarrassing volume, making Harrison's expression soften into something genuinely warm.

“So, where’d you get the knife from?” I asked, eyes narrowed but smirking.

“Felix... he, err, ran into some trouble.”

I looked back over at him. He was stretching, talking to Damian.

“When? I thought everyone had slept through the night.”

He smiled. “Neh, we took shifts, ensuring you were kept safe.”

My bottom lip wobbled, and I snuggled into him some more.

“That’s so sweet of you,” I said.

“So sweet of me, don’t you mean?” Felix said.

“Of course!” He took a seat next to me and kissed me on the cheek. “So, the knife?”

“Yeah, strangest thing. Two guards were shifting something in a plastic wrap, so I jumped them. Turns out they had a knife. Well... they ‘did’ have a knife!”

I nodded. “I’ve seen those two before. They’re disposing of bodies in an incinerator.”

“Well, shit!” Felix said, sitting upright.

Damian walked over, and I explained what I’d found in the hollow tree. Then showed them the Omega's bloody glasses.

“Do you remember your way back there?”

I pursed my lips. “I could try...”

“That’s what we do then. We play these fools at their own game and get the hell out of here,” Felix said, grabbing a leg from the skinned rabbit and passing it to me.

We shared the meal in comfortable silence, too hungry to talk. The rabbit was gamey but satisfying, cooked through without being dried out.

I studied Harrison's hands as he ate. The careful way he portioned the meat to ensure I got the choice pieces, and the slight tremor that still occasionally ran through his fingers when my scent shifted with movement.

"Your family," I said eventually. "You mentioned them before. When you were talking about traditional beliefs and handing Omegas over like property."

Harrison's hands stilled, a piece of meat halfway to his mouth. For a moment, I thought he might deflect, change the subject to something safer than whatever pain lived inside of him. Instead, he set down his portion and stared into the fire.

"My twin sister, Lola," he said finally, his voice rough with more than smoke inhalation. "She presented as an Omega when we turned eighteen. Perfect timing, according to our parents, because they'd already arranged her pack bond with some Alpha from a 'suitable family.'" The contempt in his voice could have stripped paint from metal. "Didn't matter that she'd never met the pack. Didn't matter that they were all twice her age and had a reputation for... disciplining their household with more than words." I took a deep breath and stiffened. I’d hit a nerve.

I watched the firelight play across his features, illuminating anger that ran deeper than surface irritation. This was personal fury, the kind that lived in your bones and shaped every decision you made afterward.

"They just handed her over like she was property being transferred between owners," Harrison continued, his massive hands clenching into fists that could probably dent stone. "Contract signed, dowry paid, future generations secured. Then she turned up at a family dinner covered in bruises. He’d pummeled his fists into her. I bit my lip. But when I tried to intervene, when I tried to get her out of there after the first time, my parents made their position clear."

“What assholes!” Felix exclaimed. Damian narrowed his eyes, breathing through his nose.

"Which was?" I asked, though I suspected I already knew. I'd heard variations of this story before, whispered in the academy dormitories by Omegas whose families had similar definitions of duty and honor.

"That I was disrupting the natural order. That Alphas who interfered with proper pack dynamics were dangerous to society." His laugh held no humor, just the bitter recognition of betrayal by people who should have protected what they claimed to love. "They cut me off completely. Disowned me rather than support their son trying to protect their daughter from an abusive pack bond they'd arranged."

The fire popped, sending sparks spiraling toward the cave ceiling like falling stars made of anger and regret. I watched Harrison's face cycle through expressions that spoke of wounds which had never healed.

"Is she still with them?" I asked, dreading the answer but needing to know the scope of the damage his family's choices had inflicted.

"As far as I know. Last I heard before entering this nightmare, she'd produced two pups for them and was expected to have more." Harrison's voice carried the weight of someone who'd been carrying guilt that wasn't his to bear. "I tried reaching out through mutual friends, tried to let her know I was still there if she needed help to escape. But her pack monitors all communication. She's as isolated as they can make her."

I felt my own hands curl into fists, nails digging into my palms as fury rose in my chest like smoke seeking the sky. The injustice of it all made me shiver. That poor woman was trapped in an abusive nightmare because her family had prioritized social standing over her safety. It made me want to break things with my bare hands.

"We should help her when we get out of here," I said firmly, the words emerging with a certainty that surprised me. "Find a way to extract her from that situation and give her the choice she should have had from the beginning."

The moment the words left my mouth, I realized what I'd said. Not "you should help her" or "someone should help her," but "we." Like I'd unconsciously included myself in Harrison's future, in plans that extended beyond survival and into something that looked suspiciously like a life built together.

Harrison's reaction was immediate and profound. His blue-green eyes widened, and for a moment, he looked like someone who'd been given an unexpected gift and wasn't sure whether he could keep it.

"We?" he repeated, his voice soft with something that might have been wonder. "You said we."

I felt heat rise in my cheeks that had nothing to do with fever, and everything to do with the realization that I'd just revealed more about my intentions than I'd decided. But looking at his face, I couldn’t backtrack. In fact, I found I didn't want to take the words back.

"We," I confirmed, my voice steady despite the way my heart hammered against my ribs. "Pack means we protect each other's people too, right?"

The smile that transformed Harrison's battered features was worth every moment of vulnerability, that it cost me to speak that truth aloud.

Chapter 20 - Scarlett

Damian shifted position, and dancing firelight caught the edge of a scar that ran along his forearm, thin and precise. It was too straight to be accidental. When he noticed my attention, his jaw tightened, but he didn't hide the mark. Instead, he seemed to make some internal decision, his posture changing from guarded to something that might have been resignation.

"You want to know about trust," he said. “About why I keep expecting everything to fall apart?”

I leaned forward, drawn by something in his tone that spoke to depths I hadn't suspected lay beneath his composure. Felix had stilled; his usual restless energy focused with laser intensity on Damian's words. Even Harrison seemed to sense the gravity of whatever confession was building behind Damian's careful control.

"I was eight when they died," Damian continued, his eyes fixed on the fire rather than meeting anyone's gaze. "My parents. Murdered by the man that owns this fucking place. He thought they had information worth killing for. Wrong place, wrong time, wrong assumption about what my father might have known about his employer's business practices."

The words fell into the cave's quiet, like stones dropped into water, creating ripples that touched each of us despite the flat delivery. I watched his scarred hands clasp together, knuckles white with pressure.

"The foster system lasted maybe six months before I figured out that the people who were supposed to protect children were just as dangerous as the ones everyone warned us about. Different predators, same essential hunger." His mouth twisted into something that bore no resemblance to a smile. "The streets were cleaner, in their way. At least there, people told you honestly that they wanted to hurt you."

I cataloged details I'd missed before; the careful economy of his movements suggested someone who'd been taught by necessity to always have an exit strategy. Even here, surrounded by people who'd proven themselves willing to bleed for him, he sat positioned to reach the caves main entrance in three quick steps.

"You learn that the strong take what they want, and Alphas take the most. Doesn't matter if you're thirteen and starving, if you've got something they need, they'll take it. Food, shelter, safety, dignity. Are all just resources to be claimed by whoever's got the biggest fists or the sharpest teeth."

Felix made a sound that might have been understanding or anger, recognizing damage to someone who'd learned to survive in places where civilization was just a pretty word for organized cruelty. The firelight caught the sudden brightness in his brown eyes, and I realized he was seeing Damian differently now. Not just as an ally, but as someone whose scars matched his own in ways that went deeper than skin.

"How old were you when you stopped expecting help?" Felix asked, and something in his voice suggested he knew the answer from personal experience.

"Fourteen, maybe fifteen. Hard to remember exactly when you realize that the people who claim they want to help you are just predators with better marketing." Damian's fingers moved unconsciously to trace the scar on his forearm.

I studied his hands more carefully, noting calluses that spoke of hard work and harder choices. His knuckles bore scarring that came from hitting things harder than flesh, brick walls, stone surfaces, anything that would provide an outlet for rage that had nowhere else to go. But underneath the evidence of violence survived, I saw something else: careful grooming, clean nails, the type of personal maintenance that spoke to someone who'd refused to let circumstances strip away all traces of dignity.

"The tactical thinking," I said, understanding dawning like sunrise after the longest night. "The way you read situations, plan three steps ahead. That's not military training."

"Street education," Damian confirmed with a nod that carried no pride, just acknowledgment of skills gained through necessity rather than choice. "You learn to think like prey if you want to stay alive long enough to become the predator."

The cave felt smaller somehow, as if his words had drawn the walls closer together. I realized I was holding my breath and forced myself to exhale as pieces of his behavior began falling into place. The way he maintained distance even in moments of connection. His careful analysis of every situation before committing to action. The controlled way he offered help without revealing vulnerability.

"But you're here," Harrison said softly, his voice carrying careful hope. "Trusting us. Fighting with us."

Damian's dark eyes finally lifted from the fire to meet Harrison's gaze. And what I saw there was raw honesty wrapped in defiance. "I'm trying," he admitted, the words seeming to cost him physical effort. "Fifteen years of conditioning doesn't disappear overnight. Part of me keeps waiting for you to decide I'm more useful dead than alive. Or for you—" his gaze flicked to me "—to realize that damaged goods aren't worth the investment."

"Damaged?" Felix's voice carried the kind of sharp edge that belonged to people whose tempers had been lit by injustice. "You think survival makes you damaged?"

For the first time since he'd started speaking, Damian's careful composure cracked enough to show something raw underneath. "I think spending years believing that trust is just another word for stupidity leaves marks that don't heal with time and good intentions."

The admission hung in the air between us like a confession that demanded a response, but I found I didn't have words adequate to the magnitude of pain he'd revealed. Instead, I shifted position, closing maybe six inches of the distance between us. It wasn’t enough to crowd him, but sufficient enough to show that his honesty hadn't driven me away.

"Good thing we're all a little broken," I said finally, my voice soft with understanding that came from recognizing kindred damage. I held out my hand, and he took it instinctively, then smiled. "Maybe that's why this works."

Felix nodded with sudden fierceness, his usual humor replaced by something harder and more certain. "Broken things can still be sharp enough to cut anyone who threatens the pack."

The pack bond between us shifted, deepened, and strengthened by a shared knowledge of wounds that might never fully heal but didn't have to define us. We were all damaged goods, in our own ways. But we were choosing each other anyway, building trust from the ground up with hands that knew how to break things but were learning to hold them instead.

Felix had been growing restless throughout Damian's confession, his usual kinetic energy taking on a unique quality, less protective, and more agitated, like someone fighting the urge to run from truths that cut too close to personal wounds. His hands moved constantly, fingers tapping against his thighs, running through his ginger hair, picking at loose threads in his torn clothes with the nervous precision that spoke of someone whose mind was racing faster than his body could accommodate.

When Damian's story concluded and the weight of shared understanding settled over our small circle, Felix's restlessness reached a breaking point. He stood abruptly, paced to the entrance, stared out into the sunrise for a long moment, then returned to his position with movements that carried visible reluctance. His brown eyes, usually bright with mischief or determination, had gone dark with something heavier.

"My turn, I guess," he said, his voice lacking its usual calm confidence. The grin that normally seemed attached to his freckled face had disappeared, replaced by an expression that made him look younger and more vulnerable. "Though my story's not about survival or family betrayal. It's about conspiracy and murder dressed up as workplace accidents."

He shifted position again, unable to find comfort in stillness when whatever he carried demanded movement. The firelight caught the tension in his compact frame, illuminating muscles coiled with barely contained energy that had nowhere productive to go. This was Felix, stripped of his usual humor and bravado, reduced to raw honesty that cost him more than physical pain.

"My brother Ryan wasn't like me," he began, his voice taking on the careful neutrality that seemed to be our shared defense mechanism for discussing trauma. "He was a Beta, steady as stone, and believed in working hard to create change, instead of burning things down from the outside. He got a job at the Birthing Grounds through connections, thought he could make things better for Omegas by documenting abuses and reporting them through proper channels."

I felt my blood chill.

"He started noticing discrepancies in the records," Felix continued, his hands now clenched into fists that spoke to rage held barely in check. "Omegas who entered the games but never left, either as being claimed or as casualties. Numbers that didn't add up. Documentation that disappeared between reports. When he started asking questions, he was told to focus on his assigned duties and stop looking for problems that didn't exist."

The cave felt colder somehow, as if Felix's words had drawn winter upon us. Harrison's massive frame had gone completely still, his protective instincts triggered by implications that extended far beyond individual cruelty.

"But Ryan was stubborn. He kept digging, kept documenting, started building a case that he planned to take to authorities outside the Game’s influence." Felix's laugh carried no humor, just the bitter recognition of naivety punished with extreme prejudice. "He found out too much about where the 'unsuccessful' Omegas went. What happens to the ones who don't get claimed and don't die in the games?"

I didn’t need to ask. The memory of the Omega's pale fingers, chipped nails, and bloodied palm as her hand dropped from her corpse when they took her to burn her.

Felix looked at me, his eyes narrowed. “You know, don’t you?” he asked. I nodded, biting my lower lip.

“I saw it.” He blinked slowly, squeezing my arm in comfort.

“That’s not everything beautiful. Those that survive but don’t get ‘chosen.’” He paused, looking me in the eye.

"What happens to them?" I asked hurriedly, though part of me dreaded the answer. The systematic nature of the arena's operation, the way everything felt designed not just for entertainment but for some larger purpose... the pieces were clicking together in patterns that made my stomach clench with horror.

“Breeding facilities,” he said, and I gasped. “Industrial-scale operations designed to produce the next generation of Alphas and Omegas for the system." Felix's voice had gone flat, mechanical, like he was reciting facts from a report rather than describing his brother's discovery. “They break the ones who won't submit willingly, use drugs and conditioning to override resistance, then breed them like livestock until they produce the quota or die from the strain.”

The silence that followed his words was deafening. I found I couldn't breathe, my lungs refusing to process the air that carried the weight of such systematic evil. The Alpha Games weren't just entertainment... it was recruitment, a selection process for a machine that consumed Omega autonomy and converted it into profit and population control.

"Ryan documented everything. Names, dates, locations, and financial records showing who was funding the operation." Felix's voice cracked, the first sign of emotion breaking through his careful recitation. "They said he fell down some stairs while working late. Tragic accident, full investigation pending, nothing to see here. But I saw the body before they cremated it. Those weren't injuries from falling downstairs."

"They murdered him," Damian said quietly, and the words carried the weight of someone who'd seen enough violence to recognize its signatures. "To protect their operation."

"And covered it up so thoroughly that asking questions about his death would just draw attention to what he'd discovered." Felix's hands were shaking now, tremors that spoke to rage and grief held in careful check. "So, I stopped asking questions and started planning. Found ways to get information about recruitment, volunteer programs, anything that might get me inside where I could finish what Ryan started."

"That's why you're here," I realized, understanding flooding through me like cold water. "Not just because you got caught up in the selection process, but because you chose this. You volunteered."

"Seemed like the best way to get close to the truth." Felix's mouth twisted into something that might have been a smile if it hadn't carried so much pain. "I didn't count on finding pack bonds that matter more than revenge."

The admission hung in the air between us, carrying implications about choices and priorities that none of us were quite ready to examine. Felix had entered this nightmare with a mission that required him to risk everything for justice. But now he’d discovered that survival had given him something worth protecting beyond the memory of his murdered brother.

It was Harrison who finally broke the charged silence, his voice gentle despite its natural power. "We'll help you finish what Ryan started," he said simply. "When we get out of here, we’ll expose what they're doing. All of it."

"We," Felix repeated, and I heard the same wonder in his voice that Harrison's had carried when I'd made the same unconscious declaration. "You'd do that? Risk yourselves for a dead Beta's crusade?"

"Pack protects pack," Damian said with quiet certainty. "And pack justice extends to family, even family we never got to meet."

The weight of their acceptance, their willingness to take on dangers that weren't theirs, settled into my chest like warmth spreading through cold bones. These three Alphas who'd found each other through impossible circumstances, who'd proven that competition didn't have to define Alpha relationships, who were now offering to risk everything for justice and family and the protection that went beyond personal bonds.

Which meant it was my turn to be honest about the fears that had driven every decision I'd made since presenting as an Omega.

"I'm terrified of disappearing," I said, the words emerging without conscious permission. My voice sounded small in the cave's acoustic space, but steady enough to carry the weight of confession. "Not dying. I can handle the thought of dying if it's my choice, my sacrifice for something worthwhile. But disappearing into someone else's idea of what I should be."

I drew my knees closer to my chest, seeking comfort in the familiar defensive position while trying to find words for fears that felt too large for language. "I've spent my whole life fighting not to be just another Omega, just another body to be claimed and controlled and reduced to whatever function someone else decides I should serve. The thought of mate-bonds that override my mind, that make me want things I've never wanted just because biology says I should..." I trailed off, unable to complete the sentence that led to the heart of my terror.

"I can't become someone's property," I whispered finally. "I'd rather die fighting than live as a willing slave to someone else's needs."

Harrison's reaction was immediate and visceral—he shifted forward, stopping just short of reaching for me, his eyes blazing with something that looked like protective fury. "That's not what we want," he said firmly, his voice carrying the certainty that could anchor ships in storms. "Not from you. Not from anyone."

"The mate-bond doesn't have to mean ownership," Damian added, his tactical mind already working on problems of autonomy and connection.

Felix nodded, his ginger hair shimmering in the firelight as he leaned forward with renewed energy. "We've already proven that we can work together. Why can’t we prove that pack bonds can be built on choice rather than conquest?"

"You'd really want that?" I asked, hardly daring to voice the question that had been building in my chest like pressure seeking release. "A pack bond with someone who'd never stop fighting, never be the kind of house-trained Omega that traditions say you deserve?"

"We don't want traditional," Harrison said with quiet intensity. "We want you. Exactly as you are. Fighting, fierce and free."

The honesty in his voice, in all their voices, hit me like a physical impact. These weren't men who wanted to break me into more manageable pieces. They were Alphas who'd found something worth protecting in my refusal to be broken. Who saw strength instead of defiance, partnership potential instead of problems to be solved.

Outside the cave, the sun had eased into the sky, casting shadows that danced by the firelight. We'd shared our deepest wounds, our greatest fears, our most dangerous secrets in this space, and somehow, instead of driving us apart, honesty had made us stronger than steel and more precious than safety.

"When this is over," I said slowly, testing the words for truth as they emerged, "when we've exposed the conspiracy, rescued Harrison's sister and survived whatever else this nightmare throws at us... We'll have choices to make about what comes next."

"We will," Felix agreed, his brown eyes bright with possibility despite everything they'd seen and survived. "All of us. Together."

Pack. The word no longer felt like a cage but like a compass, pointing toward a future built on mutual choice rather than biological imperative. We were damaged goods, all of us carrying scars that would never fully heal. But we were choosing each other anyway, building something new from the wreckage of what we'd been taught to expect.

As dawn painted the cave walls in shades of hope and determination, I felt the last of my walls crumble. These three Alphas had earned my trust through blood and choice, and the patient respect that proved protection didn't require possession.

Whatever came next, we'd face it as a pack. As a family. As something the Games hadn't counted on when it tried to break us.

We were writing new rules, and our story was just beginning.

Chapter 21 – Rex Calloway

The monitors flickered like dying stars, each one a window into my kingdom of curated pain. I tapped my fingers against the console, rapid and precise, the rhythm fueled by the fury rising in my chest. Grease smudged the pristine surface—marks of my impatience. The control room had been spotless this morning. Now it bore the evidence of my agitation, my frustration.

Sector Seven was still littered with unconscious Alphas, bodies sprawled like broken toys on the riverbank. That wasn’t supposed to happen. My calculations had accounted for resistance, but not... this.

Sector Twelve. I growled. That was goddamn empty except for the lion. Somehow, everyone had stayed out of its path since it ate that whiny Omega. I huffed, fisting my hands. It looked like my sweet little pack had done the deed. Ratings had soared last night, but she didn’t break. They didn’t mark her. I stretched out my neck. Sitting in this chair was hard work!

Zooming in, I could see her now, in the cave with her Alphas. Center screen, mocking me in high definition. Don’t worry Missy, I know where you’ve been hiding, and I have just the toys to send your way.

I leaned forward, breath catching in my throat as I watched the feed. Scarlett. Surrounded by her pack of protectors, their postures relaxed, their conversation casual. They should have been fractured. Bleeding. Dead. Instead, she sat there like some storybook Omega surrounded by loyal knights. Smiling.

My vision tunneled and my breathing grew ragged.

She was supposed to be broken. Claimed. Gutted. Data, not defiance. She was a goddamn unknown variable, an infection corrupting a controlled system I’d spent years perfecting.

“Fucking impossible,” I hissed, voice thick with saliva and hate.

My scalp itched under the weight of my damp, greasy hair. I leaned in, close enough to fog the screen with every breath. Her face filled the frame. She was radiant, smiling at something that bastard Harrison had said. She glowed with peace. With hope. With everything I’d spent my life proving didn’t exist.

“Three goddamn packless Alphas working together,” I muttered, fists curling until my nails bit into my soft palms. “Forming a fucking pack on my TV show. It’s madness!”

My rage needed somewhere to go. I turned, moving fast despite my bulk, toward the secondary control panel, off-limits to staff, locked behind codes only I knew. My fingers danced over the hidden keys, every stroke a note in a symphony of ruin.

“She thinks she’s clever,” I snarled. “Thinks surviving makes her heroic. Thinks those dogs actually care about more than what’s between her legs.”

The monitors shifted. Surveillance feeds gave way to the labs—my real masterpiece.

There they were. My monsters.

Creatures that had once been wolves, now twisted by gene editing, chemical compounding, and surgical genius. Their skin strained over muscles that had no right to exist. Claws like blades. Jaws that were engineered to crack reinforced bone.

I watched them twitch in sedation, waiting. Wanting. Their minds were stripped of identity, refined for obedience. They didn’t need a purpose. They had programming. And soon, they would have a scent.

I could barely breathe as I scanned each display. Excitement choked me. Twelve years of development. Twelve years of perfecting predators that answered only to me.

“Let’s see how strong those bonds are,” I whispered. “Let’s see how much your pack bleeds before it breaks.”

I hovered over the first release control. Paused. Savored it. Then—click. One by one, the containment units hissed open.

On the screen, shadows moved. Muscle shifted beneath thick skin. Glowing eyes blinked once, twice. Then locked in a direction.

Scarlett.

The ripe Omega in heat. Her scent would call to them like blood in the water. They’d track her through metal, stone, and fear.

I smiled. Or maybe it was just a stretch of flesh pretending to be one.

“Run, little rabbit,” I said to her image, serene on the screen. “Run fast. Run far. Let’s see what love is worth when survival demands sacrifice.”

I pressed the last button. More chambers opened. More monsters unfurled. They moved as one, a pack of predators built to dismantle sentiment cell by cell.

I sank into my chair, breath steadying as the screens filled with motion. The hunt was on.

They’d rewritten the rules. But I still owned the board.

Time to remind them.

Chapter 22 - Damian

Light bled through the cave mouth in slats of gold, painting over the stone like some goddamn illusion of safety. Warmth touched my skin, but it didn’t reach the rot eating away in my gut. The air still carried last night’s fire, smoke curling like ghosts, laced with the scent of sweat, blood, and pack—mine. Ours. Hers.

Scar.

She sat near the back, legs tucked under her, wrapped in Harrison’s spare coat. Her scent—sweet and raw, Omega-rich—clung to the cave like a promise and a curse. It pulled at every instinct in me, forced my focus through layers of pain I didn’t have time to feel. My ribs throbbed where they’d cracked under impact yesterday, but Harrison was working them now, rewrapping the makeshift bandages with steady hands that could crush bone but moved with a tenderness I hadn’t expected when we first met.

“Tighter,” I told him. My voice was low, strained, like it had to claw its way up my throat. “If they’re cracked, I need the pressure.”

He nodded, silent. No hesitation. No pity.

Felix lingered close to Scar, his usual twitchy energy harnessed into something sharp. Alert. Protective. Every time she shifted, his eyes tracked her like a second heartbeat.

And me? I couldn’t stop watching her breathe.

The way her chest rose and fell under the fabric. The way her fingers curled against the rock floor like she was trying to anchor herself in something real. She was bruised, pale, her Omega scent dulled by exhaustion—but she was alive and here.

And I would fucking kill anyone or anything that tried to change that.

“We should move,” I said, glancing toward the cave mouth. “We don’t know where the cave leads. We could be boxed in.”

Harrison nodded. “We follow the stream. It’ll mask our scents.”

Scar looked at me then, eyes wide, scared but steady, and I felt something tighten in my chest, sharp as broken glass. I couldn’t lose her. Not after everything. Not now.

Then it came.

The howl.

My blood ran cold. My instincts lit up.

It rose from somewhere beyond the forest canopy, long and mournful but carrying undertones that made my spine crawl with recognition of wrongness. The sound held intelligence, purpose, and hunger that had been shaped by something other than evolution.

All four of us froze, like prey aware they were being hunted. It didn’t sound like a wolf. It sounded like a throat torn open, forced to scream through metal and wires. A long, hollow sound, layered in tones that didn’t belong in the natural world—half-pain, half-mechanical.

Scar stiffened and Felix instantly moved, crouching beside her. Harrison grabbed one of the weapons we’d fashioned from broken branches and carved stone. I pushed myself upright, pain flaring in my ribs, but I didn’t give a damn.

"That wasn't natural," Felix said quietly, voicing what we all knew. His usual humor had vanished, replaced by the focused attention that belonged to someone whose survival instincts were screaming warnings. "Wolves don't sound like that. Nothing sounds like that."

“What is it?” Scar whispered, her eyes wide, jaw agape.

Another howl answered, closer. Then another. Each one threading through the trees like a needle stitching death into the air.

Felix melted toward the cave entrance with the silent grace that made him such an effective scout, his compact frame moving through shadows. I grabbed Scar and pulled her behind me. She furrowed her brow and picked up a thick branch we kept as a weapon. I rolled my eyes.

Felix pressed himself against the rock wall beside the hanging vines, angling his head to gain visual access to the forest beyond without exposing himself to observation.

“What are they?” Harrison asked.

Felix turned back to face us. “They’re fucking werewolves, man!”

I frowned. Like hell they are.

“Don’t be a dick,” I said. “It’s just some shit they’ve built. Genetically engineered monsters.”

I took a deep breath. “Yes! Thank fuck! That makes sense.” He pursed his lips as Harrison shook his head, smirking.

“How many?” Harrison asked.

“Hard to tell. They’re using the trees as cover.” He paused for a moment. “But they’re fast. So fucking fast.” He wiped his clammy hands on his top.

“They haven’t found us yet, but the one I can see is bloody huge. Claws like obsidian, teeth that could shatter bone... and his eyes... damn! They’re creepy as fuck, man! Like demonic red eyes.” Then he stopped and gasped.

“What?” I asked, still keeping Scar behind me.

“He’s looking right at me.”

“Shit!” I said, positioning myself to protect her with my life.

His sharp intake of breath told us everything we needed to know before he spoke. "There’s movement in the trees," he whispered, backing up towards us. "Big movement. Multiple contacts."

They’re kill units.

Designed to track. Designed to rip a person apart. We won’t stand a chance!

Scar moved toward me without thinking, her fingers finding mine, and that one tiny contact grounded me more than anything else. I turned, making sure I was still shielding her with my body.

They wouldn’t get her.

Not while I was breathing.

Our protective instincts flared like wildfire. Harrison moved to Scar, crouched low, one arm shielding her, even as he offered me his hand to steady me.

Then something hit the mouth of the cave so hard that the stone shook.

Scar gasped, and my heart slammed against my ribs like it wanted out. Dust rained down from above. The vines ripped away, shredded like wet paper.

I caught a glimpse.

God help us.

It was a wolf—but not.

Its body was oversized, twisted, all muscle and speed. Patches of fur were missing, replaced with mesh plating. Skin stretched tight over a ribcage that pulsed with too much breath. Claws gleamed silver. Its mouth unhinged wider than it should’ve, lined with teeth designed to tear through armor. And its eyes—a white-blue glow, focused and intelligent.

Not a predator. A weapon.

“MOVE!” Felix shouted.

We grabbed Scar. Harrison, lifting her effortlessly as we charged for the rear tunnel. The space forced us into a line, him in front, Scar cradled in his arms like she was made of glass, me behind them, fighting every wave of pain just to keep moving.

Behind us, the creature bellowed, a sound like metal being ripped in half. Something slammed into the stone again. The whole goddamn tunnel trembled.

Scar clung to Harrison’s shirt, breathing fast, her scent thick with fear, and I wanted to turn back. Wanted to stand my ground, rip that fucker apart tooth for tooth just to buy her more time. But we couldn’t fight these things, not in here.

We burst from the exit into sunlight, crashing into undergrowth, leaves, and hard-packed dirt that felt exposed after the cave's protective embrace. Harrison twisted, shielding Scar’s body as we landed. I scrambled up, scanning the trees, heart pounding against my ribs.

Morning light seemed harsh after the tunnel's darkness, making me blink and stumble as my eyes struggled to adjust. But there was no time for gradual adaptation. The sounds of pursuit echoed from the narrow passage behind us, stone scraping against something too large for the space it was trying to navigate.

“Put me down, you big oaf!” Scar demanded, and the fury in her features was sweet enough to make me smile. Then the howls grew closer, a pack of gigantic wolves hurtling through the caves.

“Run,” I hissed. “Follow the water. Don’t stop.”

Scar’s hand found mine again. Felix was already scouting ahead, eyes sharp, body fluid.

I stayed at the back.

I needed to see them coming.

I wanted to see them.

Because if one of those monsters so much as touched her, I wouldn’t stop at killing it.

I’d hunt every one of them back to the lab that spawned them, and burn it all to the fucking ground.

Chapter 23 - Scarlett

The world tilted.

My legs buckled, but Harrison caught me before I could hit the ground. His hand curled around my upper arm, strong but careful, like he knew how close I was to breaking. “This way,” he murmured, voice low, commanding. I didn’t question. I couldn’t. So I followed him toward the dense undergrowth, the smell of moss and damp rot heavy in my nose.

“Follow the stream,” he said. “Water will mask our scent.”

So, we ran.

Roots clawed at my sandals, and sharp rocks bit into my soles with every step, the terrain hostile after days of cautious moving. But the fear, the sheer animalistic terror, drove me forward. My lungs burned. My muscles screamed. Behind us, the forest screamed back: wood splintering, something vast tearing through underbrush with force that no natural predator should possess.

They were coming.

Not wolves. Not anymore. These things, these genetically engineered abominations, had once resembled wolves, but had been twisted into something sharper, faster, wrong. Their bodies moved with a mechanical precision, like predators wired for war. We were prey, and this forest was their hunting ground.

Felix darted ahead, a streak of tension and muscle in the corner of my vision. He moved like he’d been born for this chaos, weaving through trees, vanishing and reappearing in bursts of energy.

My body screamed from the pain in my thigh, and I slowed.

Damian caught up. “Let me carry you,” he said.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I’ll only slow you down.” He growled under his breath.

“STOP!” Damian yelled, and everyone stopped suddenly.

“Take a minute, Scar. Catch your breath.”

I rolled my eyes, then smiled at him, thanking him.

“Shit, they’re flanking us,” Felix said as he climbed up a few large rocks, looking for movement in the distance. “Three groups. Their formation, though.” He furrowed his brow. “They’re coordinated. This isn’t instinct. They’re being directed.”

Directed. Like weapons. Like soldiers. We started running again, aimlessly, looking for anywhere to hide.

Harrison ran beside me. He was always there. When a branch reached out like claws to snag my clothes, he swatted it aside. When I stumbled, his hand at my waist steadied me. He didn’t falter. He carried me with him.

But I couldn’t keep going. Not much longer.

“Can’t...” I gasped, the word jagged in my throat. “I—”

“You can,” he said, like it wasn’t up for debate. “Pack stays together. You’re ours Scarlett. We don’t leave ours behind.”

Felix reappeared, his freckles pale against bloodless skin. “They’re herding us,” he said, jaw clenched. “Cutting off the high ground. It’s like they know where we’ll go, before we do.”

It hit me like a slap—cold, cruel, inevitable. We weren’t just being hunted.

We were being driven.

Pushed toward something. A destination chosen for us.

The forest thinned as we climbed, trees giving way to sheer rock and open sky. And then I saw it: the ravine. A deep, jagged wound in the earth, gaping like a hungry mouth. We weren’t safe. We were cornered.

“There,” Damian said, pointing to a narrow crevice between rock faces. “We make a stand there.”

Felix and Harrison moved in tandem, guarding me like they were built for it. I didn’t even have to think. I just followed, heart slamming, legs shaking.

We broke from the tree line into exposed stone.

The pass was two hundred yards away.

Two hundred yards too far.

The first creature stepped from the rock’s shadow like it had been carved from a nightmare. Enormous body, serrated claws that tapped on the rock as it snaked forward. Its phosphorescent eyes gleamed like ghostly fire. Then another. And another. They emerged from nothing, as if the darkness itself had birthed them.

Behind us, more lay in wait. In the trees. In the silence. They were biding their time. Listening to whatever command brought them here.

To the side of us was only air. A fall that would end everything quickly.

“We’re surrounded!” Felix shouted.

No one answered. We didn’t need to. We could feel it. Feel how this moment had been laid out like a trap, each step we’d taken leading us here.

They moved in.

Engineered wolves, designed to hunt with intelligence, closing in with a patience that chilled my blood. Their eyes tracked every movement, every breath. They weren’t animals. Not anymore.

We formed a circle. Harrison stood at the front, a wall of fury. Felix to the left, eyes scanning for gaps. Damian covered the rear. And I... I was scared, sweating, terrified, but ready to fight. I stood in the middle.

One lunged for Harrison, a blur of claws and teeth. He met it like a thunderstorm, smashing a rock into its head. It didn’t fall, just kept coming.

Damian stabbed another with a stick he’d fashioned into a spear. It dodged, learning. Testing us.

“They’re building a pattern,” he said. “Learning how we fight.”

Another rushed him. He wounded it, but it wasn’t enough.

And then one broke formation and came for me.

Straight at me.

I didn’t scream, there was no time for one, it moved too fast. There was no chance to run. No chance to fight. Its eyes locked on mine, and I knew it understood what I was. Knew why I was the target.

The heart of the pack. Break the heart, and the whole thing dies.

But Damian. No! He leapt in front.

He didn’t hesitate, his body slamming into the beast’s path and it’s claws sliced at him. Blood sprayed. But he didn’t fall. He dragged the thing down with him. His eyes met mine in that final moment before it crashed into him. They were dark, burning with something fierce. Not regret.

Love.

The beast roared and Harrison screamed.

The sound he made wasn’t human. It tore from his chest like a storm. He tackled the creature, slammed it into stone, wrapping his hands around its throat until bone gave way and blood gushed down his arms.

Felix was already beside Damian, eyes bright with fury. “Try it again,” he hissed at the others. “I dare you.”

Our circle had broken.

Harrison’s breathless voice shouted, “Rockslide!” As his gaze looked above us, at the cliff. He didn’t wait for permission, but charged up the slope, and used his weight to break loose a cascade of stone. The monsters scattered, momentarily disoriented.

Felix and I grabbed Damian. God, he was so heavy. We ran, scrambling up the side, hands bleeding, feet slipping, until we found a ledge just wide enough for the four of us.

We collapsed in a heap of stuttering breaths, pain and blood. Damian’s blood soaked my palms. His head lolled. He was alive, but knocked out cold from the weight of the wolf landing on him.

Felix pulled his top off, and I used it to put pressure on the wound and curb the bleeding.

Below us, the creatures circled. Watching. Waiting.

Their glowing eyes lit the dark like fallen stars.

Then it happened, a natural rock slide, that thundered as the sky dropped stone over us, raining from the cliff above. There was nowhere to go. No place to hide. We were halfway up a mountain with no chance of rescue and a slow fall to our deaths below.

Rocks hit each of us, knocking Felix out, then Harrison as he backed up and landed on the cliff edge. I covered Damian's body, only to hear a deep thud as pain strangled me and blood trickled down my face.

As I drifted half-conscious, half-mad with pain, I felt teeth burrow deep in my shoulder, and pull me back over the stone into the trees, and through the underbrush into whatever hell waited next.

Chapter 24 - Scarlett

The world became a blur of blood and ash, stone grinding beneath my broken body and the distant roar of crumbling rock still ringing in my ears. I didn’t remember falling. I didn’t remember the pain. But I remembered Damian’s blood on my hands and the impossible snarl of the thing that tore him down. And then...

Nothing.

Now I was being dragged, and damn... I cried out. My shoulder hurt!

Branches whipped against my limbs, ripping at the skin already raw. I was too weak to fight, to scream, to do anything but blink against the moonlight as it fractured through the canopy. The forest above spun in broken patches, upside-down and sideways. My body jolted, heels scraping over roots, and then again over iron.

The air changed. It was humid with something unnatural.

I heard the whirring of electricity sliding something open. Doors. Metal doors.

The scent hit me like a blow: rot and chemicals. And underneath that, something worse. Something alive.

I was pulled across the threshold into the dark and then dropped. My cheek met freezing steel. I tried to push myself up, but my arms wouldn’t answer, and whenever I put any pressure on my shoulder, I couldn’t help but cry at the searing pain.

Every part of me ached, a deep grinding pain in my joints, muscles locked tight from being unconscious in positions meant to restrain, not protect. The floor beneath my cheek was cold concrete, hard, and unforgiving.

Harsh fluorescent light seared my vision when I cracked my eyes open. Chrome fixtures gleamed overhead like polished surgical tools. My dress hung in tatters around me; the fabric soaked in blood and failure. I looked like the aftermath of a lost war.

Cameras blinked from every corner, pulsing like mechanical heartbeats. Watching. Always watching. I didn’t need to see the footage to know what they’d captured. Me, limp and broken, on this polished slab of hell. The walls were pristine white—sickeningly clean here, untouched by human presence except for the bloodstains I’d left behind. My blood. Damian's blood.

Warped voices echoed beyond the ringing in my ears. Then, footsteps receded.

I was alone.

But not for long.

A wet snarl echoed from deeper inside the compound. Followed by another. And another.

Then I heard them.

The wolves.

But no wolf on Earth moved like this. With heavy bodies that didn’t pad or stalk, but thudded and clawed against the concrete like their weight had been engineered for impact. Metal screeched as claws dragged across the steel.

I turned my head—barely. My neck screamed in protest.

Eyes. Dozens of them, glowed like molten wounds in the dark.

One stepped into the light. It was massive, easily the size of a bear, but built leaner, more angular, its limbs elongated with grotesque proportions. Its skin hung wrong, like it had been stretched too far over bone and muscle, not meant to fit beneath it. Hair sprouted in uneven patches, coarse and black, matted with old blood and something worse.

Its jaw hung open, tongue lolling, strings of saliva stretching and snapping as it stared at me, not with hunger, but with intent. Like it knew what I was. What I meant.

Omega.

Not just a designation. Not biology. Me.

The creature inhaled a deep, rattling breath and then snapped its jaws shut with a sound like bones breaking underfoot.

I tried to crawl. I couldn’t.

The others followed. Five, maybe six of them. All emerging from the black like monsters born of nightmares. Their spines curved unnaturally, as though they'd once walked upright and then been forced back down into something bestial. Their claws weren’t claws, they were knives, hooked and glinting, wet with whatever they'd last ripped apart.

One snarled, a ragged, guttural sound that turned into something like a growl-shaped laugh.

I felt it then... not fear. Terror.

Real, primal, marrow-deep terror. The kind that stripped me bare and left only instinct behind. My body screamed to run even as it failed to obey.

They circled me, jaws quivering with anticipation. Ropes of drool slid from between long fangs, pattering onto the floor beside me with soft, sickening splashes. One leaned close, so close I could see bits of flesh caught between its teeth.

Something human.

Its breath was death. Hot, wet, and sweet with decay.

A small, broken sound escaped me. Not a cry. Not a scream. Just... breath.

The creature’s ears twitched.

It knew I was still alive.

And that meant I was still game.

It lunged fast, faster than anything that size should move. But stopped just shy of my face. A taunt. Its teeth snapped an inch from my cheek, and its saliva burned my skin like acid, leaving behind a slick trail of heat and disgust.

From somewhere behind them, a door hissed open.

A distinct sound.

One the wolves knew.

They froze.

Then slowly, reluctantly, they backed away, still watching me. Still snarling. Still hungry.

But obeying.

Footsteps approached. Calm and... human.

The man who stepped forward wore a smile like a mask, and gloves already stained dark.

“Scarlett,” he said softly, with the reverence of a man meeting a god—or a weapon he’d finally pried open. “I see you survived then.”

The wolves didn’t leave. They simply sat, watching me with eyes that remembered the taste of my blood. I could still feel their breath on me. Still taste their hunger.

And I knew then, whatever came next... they weren’t going to kill me.

Not yet.

They were going to make me run first.

THE DOOR OPENED WITH a soft pneumatic hiss, and an obese, greasy-haired man entered like a tumor given human form and taught to walk upright. His bloated body moved with the careful precision of someone who had never doubted his absolute control over every variable in his environment. In his stubby hands, he carried a tablet that glowed with a cold blue light, more suited to a morgue than any human interaction.

"Awake at last," he said, his voice thick with satisfaction that made my skin crawl. "The sedatives were calibrated for your weight and metabolism, but heat symptoms can affect absorption rates. I was beginning to worry we’d miscalculated."

Sedatives? When did they give me sedatives? Could the bite have made me feel this groggy?

He circled me like a predator studying prey that had finally stopped running. His small, piggish eyes caught the glare of the overhead lights, reflecting something that might have passed for amusement. If amusement could be distilled from pure malice. Each step brought him closer to where I had curled against the far wall, my body trying to disappear into the cold metal, as if it could shield me from threats that went far deeper than physical pain.

"I have something to show you," he continued, holding the tablet where I could see its screen despite my attempts to look anywhere else. "Your precious Alphas. Still searching for you with that touching devotion that makes this whole enterprise so beautifully tragic."

The footage showed Harrison’s massive frame moving through the forest undergrowth, scanning every shadow with desperate intensity. Felix appeared beside him, his compact form radiating the kind of lethal energy that came from protective instincts sharpened by grief. And Damian. He was pale from blood loss but still functional, still tactical, still moving despite injuries that should have left him unconscious.

They were alive.

That knowledge hit me like warmth spreading through frozen bones, a relief so profound it made tears gather in eyes that had forgotten what hope felt like.

But his smile told me this was what he wanted. This moment of hope, this flicker of belief. It was just another blade in his arsenal of psychological warfare.

“They’re quite persistent,” he observed, his bloated features arranging into a mockery of affection. “Refusing to accept that you’re gone, that their little pack experiment has reached its natural conclusion. Almost admirable, in its futility.”

“Who the hell are you?” I demanded.

“Why, sweetheart, I’m Rex Calloway. You’ve probably heard of me.”

I shook my head, my shoulder aching in the process. “No... doesn’t ring a bell.” I said, just to piss him I. Of course I knew who he was, his picture was mounted on the wall in the Great Hall of the academy.

“Rex,” he said. “Rex Calloway?” I shook my head again, and he huffed. “You know, the famous owner of the Birthing Grounds?”

“No... I’m not getting anything.”

He growled under his breath. “Well, sweetheart. It’s a name you’ll have ingrained into you.”

He set the tablet aside and produced another device. It was a controller that looked innocuous until I saw the way his thumb hovered over its buttons with the casual threat of someone who had grown comfortable inflicting pain from a distance.

“Let me explain something about the Birthing Grounds,” he said, settling his bulk into a chair that groaned beneath his weight. “The entertainment aspect, the games, the betting... It’s all just window dressing for our real purpose. We’re not running a death match arena, sweetheart. We’re operating the most advanced breeding program in human history.”

The words hit me like ice water flooding my veins, carrying implications that made my stomach clench with a nausea that went deeper than physical revulsion. Everything we’d fought against, every assumption we’d made about death, was now naïve optimism compared to the systematic horror Rex described with clinical precision.

“Losers don’t go free,” he continued, his voice shifting into an educational tone that belonged in classrooms, not torture chambers. “They go to our maternity wing, a specialized facility where their genetic material is harvested for the next generation of perfectly compliant Omegas. They become breeding stock, chemically suppressed until they’re nothing more than biological machinery designed to produce the results our investors require.”

He showed me another screen filled with medical records, with photographs that made my vision blur with tears that I refused to let fall. Row upon row of Omegas hooked up to machines, their eyes emptied of everything that had once made them human. Pregnant bodies reduced to incubators, minds erased by drugs that left only the biological functions Rex’s program needed to perpetuate itself.

“Previous Games,” Rex pointed out, as he explained it with the satisfaction of someone displaying a private art collection.

“Going back nearly a decade. Hundreds of Omegas who thought they were fighting for freedom, only to discover that freedom had never been on the table,” he grinned.

The photographs cycled past with mechanical precision, faces that might have been mine if circumstances had been different. I saw fear replaced by empty compliance, defiance erased by chemical enhancement designed to override every impulse and turn them toward resistance. These weren’t people anymore. They were what Rex wanted to turn me into.

Then I saw him.

It had to be Felix’s brother, Ryan, staring back at me from a medical file. It was dated six months ago. The resemblance was unmistakable: same ginger hair, same freckled features, same brown eyes that had once held intelligence and determination. But in this photograph, those eyes held nothing but the vacant stare of someone whose mind had been dismantled.

“He discovered too much,” Rex said, noticing where my attention had landed. “If I remember right, he was quite the persistent young fellow.” He tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. “He had to be controlled. Put down.”

The file showed Ryan’s progression from intake to termination. A clinical timeline that reduced murder to medical notation. The cause of death was listed as complications during the genetic extraction procedure.

“Your Alphas will receive similar treatment if they continue this futile rescue attempt,” Rex said, his thumb edging closer to the controller’s buttons. “I can have them captured within hours. Dead within minutes after that, if they prove too troublesome to process alive.”

The threat cut through my despair like a blade designed to separate hope from reality.

"Unless, of course, you cooperate," he continued, his small eyes bright with anticipation. "Become a model subject in our program. Accept your new purpose with the grace that evolution intended when it created Omegas to serve Alpha needs."

His thumb found the button, and agony exploded through my nervous system as the tracking chip released an electrical current that floored me. The pain defied description, not just physical, but neurological, attacking the very foundations of identity and will that made choice possible.

I curled into myself on the cold floor, my body convulsing as chemicals flooded my system with artificial compliance that felt like death delivered in installments. Through the haze of pharmaceutical torture, I heard Rex's laughter echo off the pristine walls.

But somewhere beneath the suppressants and despair, something refused to bend. Some core of defiance that recognized Rex’s mistake. He’d shown me his hand, revealed the scope of his operation, and given me knowledge that could burn his kingdom to ash if I survived long enough to use it.

They thought they’d broken me. They thought the chemicals and systematic horror would reduce me to compliance like all the others.

They're wrong.

Hours passed like centuries measured in heartbeats that counted down to nothing. Each pulse of blood through my veins was a reminder that I was still alive despite Rex's best efforts to reduce me to biological machinery. I lay motionless on the marble floor, my body curled around the pain that went deeper than physical damage, staring at chrome fixtures that reflected a girl who looked like she had been hollowed out and refilled with despair.

THE SEDATIVE HAD FADED to a manageable throb at the base of my skull, leaving behind a clarity that felt dangerous in its intensity. Rex had made a mistake showing me those files, revealing the scope of his operation.

My mind drifted despite conscious efforts to stay focused on immediate survival, consciousness slipping sideways into sensory memories that felt more real than the sterile cell I had been forced into while I was too electrified to move. My mind wandered to my Alphas, Harrison's massive hands, gentle against my fevered skin, his blue-green eyes warm with something that transcended biology. The memory triggered a physical response, and my breathing steadied.

Damian's voice cut through the fog of my mind. His tactical precision was wrapped in unexpected tenderness as he guided me through forest passages that had felt like walking through dreams made of danger and possibility. His careful breathing had synchronized with mine, creating rhythms that spoke to pack bonds built through choice rather than chemical manipulation. The recall made my heart rate stabilize, finding patterns that existed independently of whatever Rex had pumped into my system.

Felix's laugh surfaced from depths where I'd buried it for protection, bright, fierce and utterly unbreakable despite everything this place had tried to do to our spirits. The sound echoed in my chest like warmth spreading through frozen bones, reminding me that joy could survive in spaces designed to eliminate every trace of human happiness. His restless energy became mine, flowing through limbs that had forgotten they were capable of movement beyond involuntary convulsions.

Each memory was built on the last layering of sensations that reconnected me to an identity that existed beyond what Rex believed he could control. My skin warmed with more than fever, responding to an invisible touch that spanned distances measured in something stronger than geography.

The memories weren't just comfort; they were ammunition. Every moment of trust earned, every wound tended, every choice made to protect rather than possess became evidence that they were still fighting for me.

Which meant I needed to survive long enough to be worth finding.

The door's pneumatic hiss announced another visitor, but this time it was just a guard carrying a tray that held water and what looked like nutrition bars designed for functionality rather than taste. He was young, maybe early twenties, with the careful neutrality that belonged to people who'd learned not to see prisoners as human beings worthy of individual consideration.

He set the tray within reach without meeting my eyes, his movements efficient but not alert. When he turned to leave, I noticed the door's closing mechanism had a three-second delay that left a gap just wide enough for someone small and desperate to squeeze through if timing and opportunity aligned.

The knowledge sat in my mind like a weapon, waiting for the right moment to be deployed. I remained motionless, letting exhaustion mask the calculations running behind eyes that tracked every detail of the guard's routine. He checked his watch, adjusted his uniform, and made notes on a clipboard that I presumed contained observations about my condition and compliance levels.

When he returned twenty minutes later to collect the empty tray, his attention was focused on the clipboard rather than potential threats from prisoners who'd been subdued into cooperation. The door delay activated again, that same three-second window where security depended on assumptions about broken spirits and pharmaceutical control.

I waited until his back was turned, until he was bending to retrieve the tray, until his guard was as down as institutional training allowed. Then I moved with the fluid precision Draven had drilled into me during combat training.

My elbow found his throat with surgical accuracy, striking the bundle of nerves that could drop someone twice my size if hit with proper force and placement. He straightened and reached for the alarm button on his belt, but my knee drove into his groin with momentum that turned anatomy against itself. The clipboard clattered to the cold, hard floor as his hands moved to protect damaged flesh.

He tried to cry out, but my fingers had already found his pressure points. Two seconds of pressure applied to specific nerve clusters, and consciousness abandoned him like water flowing out of a broken container.

His body hit the floor with the solid sound of muscle and bone meeting the ground without conscious control. I was already moving, checking his pockets for the keycard that would open doors designed to keep people like me contained, and finding the communication device that might provide intelligence about the facility’s layout and security protocols.

The keycard felt warm in my hands, still carrying residual heat from the guard's body. The radio crackled with periodic status updates that suggested I had maybe ten minutes before someone expected confirmation that everything remained under control in Rex's private torture chamber.

I dragged the unconscious guard behind a chrome desk that provided some concealment from casual observation, and arranged his limbs in positions that might buy me some additional time if discovered by someone who didn't look too closely. His breathing remained steady, and his pulse felt strong under my fingertips. He was unconscious but not dying, which mattered more than it should, given what he represented.

The radio in my hand hummed with electronic menace, but for now it remained inactive. Rex assumed the sedatives would keep me compliant for hours. That I’d lose hope, caged up like a wild animal.

He was mistaken. Hope didn't die. It just learned to hide until the moment came to burn everything down.

Chapter 25 - Harrison

Dawn bled through the forest canopy in shades of amber and regret, painting the clearing where I stood in light that felt too gentle for the violence eating at my chest. My frame swayed with exhaustion that ran deeper than sleepless nights, deeper than the forty-eight hours I’d spent combing every inch of terrain around the cave. The scent-match bond that had once burned like a beacon inside now flickered like a candle in a hurricane, each weakening pulse a reminder that distance was stealing what connection remained.

I scanned the ground, desperate to decode the secrets it held. Near the base of a lightning-scarred pine, I spotted a broken twig lying perhaps three feet from it, snapped clean rather than weathered by time or wind. I dropped to a crouch beside it, calloused fingers running over the break with practiced focus. Fresh. This had to be a clue! She’d passed this way during the night, moving fast... or more likely, being moved.

But it was the drag marks that stole my breath.

Long, irregular furrows disturbed the moss and topsoil, the kind made by a body being pulled against its will. The pattern was messy. There were signs of resistance. Scarlett hadn’t gone willingly. The tracks wove around roots and rocks, interrupted in places where she’d likely kicked or been dropped. And alongside them. Prints. Massive. Deep. Paw-shaped.

A wolf had dragged her through the woods. A giant fucking beast of a thing.

I pressed my palm flat against the disturbed earth. Dampness seeped through my skin as something shifted in my chest. The bond flickered brighter, just for a second. Not imagination. No. It was hope. Real. Resonant. She was alive. Injured, probably. Terrified, almost certainly. But she hadn’t given up. She was still fighting. And that meant she was still mine to find.

If only I had marked her. The bond would be so strong that it wouldn’t feel like finding a needle in a haystack. I sighed, but hope remained in my chest. We would find her. We had to.

The memory of her hit me like a punch to the ribs: standing tall in that clearing three days ago, chin lifted, eyes blazing. She was compact and fierce, radiating protective energy like heat from a wildfire. Even then, she hadn’t flinched, hadn’t surrendered. She never would.

That same fire had carried her through tunnels and forests. It had drawn us to her and would carry her through this too. I had to believe that.

Grief twisted my throat, sharp and bitter, but I didn’t have the luxury of drowning in it. Every hour she spent in Rex’s domain was another hour of chemicals and cruelty, trying to rewrite the parts of her I loved. Every minute mattered.

I stood slowly, muscles protesting after days of pushing past even my enhanced limits. My mind shifted gears, emotions folding into strategy. I cataloged the terrain. The trail pointed northeast. That direction held both risk and reward: escape routes and ambushes. Dense undergrowth to hide in. Rocky outcroppings for defense. If she was being taken to a holding point or escape vehicle, that was likely the direction.

I sniffed the air, dissecting any chemical traces. Pollutants drifted from the south. It was where it all began. The facility. The north held cleaner air, unmonitored wilderness, and maybe a sanctuary if she could make it far enough.

My hands checked the makeshift weapons I’d scavenged—metal shards, blunt stones, strips of cloth. Not much, but enough. Enough to fight. Enough to kill, if it came to that.

A vow settled in my chest, sharp as a blade: I would find her. No matter how far she’d been dragged, what they’d done to her, or who I had to go through to get to her. She was my Omega. My pack. My privilege to protect.

The bond might flicker, but it hadn’t broken. I turned northeast and started walking, tracking the faint signs only someone who loved her this much would know how to read. Exhaustion hardened into fuel. Despair sharpened into purpose.

The search wouldn’t end until I found her, or died trying.

Chapter 26 - Damian

The shallow cave held the metallic scent of fear and blood, shadows pooling in corners where daylight feared to venture despite the dawn breaking somewhere beyond stone walls that had sheltered predators for generations. I crouched beside the bound guard with a controlled stillness that belonged to people who'd learned to make violence into art. His dark eyes reflected what little light penetrated their temporary sanctuary. The man on the cave floor bore the aftermath of professional interrogation, a split lip, blackened eye, and ribs that moved wrong when he breathed.

The guard was young, maybe twenty-five, with the kind of institutional haircut that spoke to someone who'd learned to follow orders without questioning their moral implications. His uniform identified him as perimeter security rather than core facility personnel, but even peripheral access meant knowledge I needed to extract before time ran out and search parties discovered where their missing colleague had been taken.

The three of us had split up. If we found any sign of Scar, we would holla through the trees to let the other two know. So far... I had nothing.

"I'll ask again," I said, my voice carrying the measured tone I'd perfected during years when survival depended on reading people like tactical manuals written in flesh and desperation. "Where do they take the high-value prisoners? The ones marked for special processing rather than standard containment."

The guard's breathing came in quick gasps that spoke to ribs that might be cracked, but his eyes still held a defiance that belonged to people who'd been taught that loyalty meant accepting torture rather than betraying institutional secrets. Blood trickled from his nose where my precise strikes had opened vessels without causing damage that would impair speech.

"I don't know what you're talking about," the guard wheezed, the words distorted by swelling that made his face look like abstract art painted in purple and red. "We're just... just perimeter patrol. They don't tell us about internal operations."

Damian's tactical mind processed the response for verbal tells that might show deception versus genuine ignorance. Elevated heart rate, check. Increased perspiration despite the cave's coolness, check. But the eye contact remained steady, and the defensive posturing suggested someone protecting the information he possessed rather than someone genuinely lacking knowledge.

The incomplete bond with Scarlett ached like a phantom limb, sending waves of discomfort through my chest that made concentration feel like swimming upstream against currents designed to drag me toward panic.

I closed my eyes briefly, forcing my breathing into patterns that would center my focus despite the emotional chaos that threatened to overwhelm tactical objectives. In the darkness behind my eyelids, memory provided what physical connection could not... Scar's laugh during that moment when we'd shared food around the fire, bright and fierce and utterly unbreakable despite everything the games had tried to do to our spirits.

"She's small, red hair, shitty dress, and a nice ass," I continued, picturing her. I grinned. “She would’ve been brought in unconscious, maybe a day ago.”

Something flickered across the guard's battered features. It wasn’t surprise at the description, but a careful neutrality that belonged to people who'd been trained not to react to information they were supposed to ignore. His pupils dilated, and his breathing pattern shifted in ways that suggested recognition despite his continued denials.

"Rex doesn't... we don't get briefed on his personal projects," the guard said, but his voice carried the subtle strain that belonged to truth. "High-value prisoners go to sublevel processing. But access requires clearance I don't have."

I felt my pulse quicken as intelligence finally began emerging from the interrogation that had tested my patience and the guard's pain tolerance in equal measure. Sublevel processing... it was a term that carried implications about facilities designed for purposes beyond simple containment.

"Which sublevel?" I pressed, allowing the faintest edge of increased aggression to enter my voice while my hands moved to positions that would enable rapid escalation if cooperation continued to prove insufficient. "How many guards? What kind of security systems?"

The guard's resolve finally cracked under the combined pressure of pain and recognition that his information was specific enough to be verified through other sources. "Sublevel three," he whispered, the words emerging like confessions that cost pieces of his soul. "Biometric locks, a rotating guard schedule every four hours. But it's not just holding cells down there. It's laboratories. Processing facilities. Things they don't want anyone seeing."

I absorbed the intelligence with the type of focused attention that turned information into weapons, my mind already mapping the facility’s layout and calculating extraction scenarios that might be possible with sufficient preparation and acceptable risk levels. Sublevel three meant depth that would complicate escape routes, but it also suggested isolation from main facility traffic that could provide operational advantages.

"How many other prisoners?" I asked, though part of me dreaded the answer. If Scarlett were just one victim among many, rescue became more complex than the simple extraction of a single individual.

"Dozens," the guard said, his voice breaking slightly as conscience finally overwhelmed institutional conditioning. "Maybe more. They rotate them through different programs.”

“Like what?” I asked through gritted teeth.

“Breeding trials, chemical testing, genetic modification. Most don't... most don't come back the same."

The words hit me like a physical impact, confirming fears that had been building since we'd discovered the scope of Rex's operation. This wasn't just individual cruelty; it was the systematic processing of human beings into biological resources, an industrial-scale atrocity disguised as scientific advancement.

My hands moved before conscious decision engaged, finding the pressure points that would end the guard's suffering while ensuring no intelligence reached supervisors who might upgrade security in response to compromised personnel. The technique was quick, humane by my standards, but final in its efficiency.

The body went limp with the sound of vertebrae separating under applied force, and I arranged the remains in positions that might delay discovery while buying time for extraction operations that now carried urgency beyond simple rescue. Scar wasn't just imprisoned. She was being processed, reduced to raw material in systems designed to eliminate every trace of the fierce independence that made her impossible to break through conventional methods.

I left the cave with information that felt like acid burning through my tactical composure. But it was intelligence that might mean the difference between saving Scar and watching my new pack disappear into Rex's machine of dehumanization. Sublevel three. Biometric locks. Rotating guards every four hours.

Time to find Harrison and Felix, and begin planning the operation that required us to become monsters in the service of protecting what we’d learned to love.

Chapter 27 - Felix

The lightning-scarred oak stood like a monument to survival in the small clearing where we'd agreed to reconvene. Its massive trunk had been split down the middle by electrical violence that had somehow strengthened it rather than destroying what it couldn't break. I paced in irregular circles around its base, moving with a restless energy that belonged to people whose grief had fermented into something more volatile than simple sorrow.

Forty-seven hours. That's how long Scarlett had been gone. Each minute counted and catalogued in my mind. I felt hollow, an echo of what had been before. Reduced to whispers that may be imagination rather than genuine resonance with someone whose scent still haunted my dreams.

My nails dug into my palms as I walked, creating crescent-shaped wounds that provided a physical outlet for a rage that had nowhere productive to go. The pain felt appropriate somehow. A punishment for failing to protect what mattered most, for letting pretty lies and convenient rescues deliver her into the hands that specialized in breaking things too beautiful to leave whole. Blood seeped between my fingers, but I ignored it in favor of cataloguing every failure that had led to this moment.

A rock the size of my fist lay near the base of the tree. My boot connected with it in a kick that sent pain shooting through my toes, but launching the stone into underbrush that absorbed its impact with a muffled sound that belonged to a forest keeping secrets. The violence felt good, cathartic, like bleeding poison from wounds that refused to heal.

I hadn't eaten since she disappeared.

The admission sat in my mind like evidence of weakness, but I embraced it anyway because hunger served multiple purposes in my current emotional economy. Physical discomfort provided a constant reminder of priorities that transcended personal comfort, while the growing hollowness in my stomach matched the emptiness where pack bonds should have anchored my identity. Punishment and motivation wrapped into a single sharp sensation that kept me moving when exhaustion threatened to claim what little strength remained.

Heavy footsteps approached from the northeast, carrying the distinctive rhythm that belonged to someone whose size made stealth more challenging than speed. I emerged from the undergrowth that had been disturbed by my passage. My massive frame moved with controlled efficiency, despite exhaustion that showed in every line of my posture.

Damian appeared from the southeast, perhaps thirty seconds later. His approach was silent enough that I only noticed him when shadows shifted wrong near a cluster of pine trees. Harrison arrived soon after.

We converged at the lightning-scarred tree without ceremony. The morning air carried traces of their scents—coffee, chocolate, and whiskey—but the combination felt incomplete, missing the bright defiance that had made their alliance feel like something more than temporary cooperation.

"I found what looked like drag marks. She was dragged by someone, or something, through the forest... that way," Harrison said, pointing into the distance towards the facility. His voice was rough with fatigue and frustration that ran deeper than simple exhaustion. His words carried a weight that encompassed hours of searching, false leads that had consumed time they couldn't spare, hope crushed by evidence that led nowhere useful.

I felt my hands clench into fists that wanted to hit something solid enough to break bones, but forced them to relax because violence directed at the pack served no productive purpose. "Same here," I said, though the admission tasted like failure mixed with copper from where I'd bitten my tongue to avoid screaming at the forest that had swallowed her without leaving adequate traces.

Damian pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “This is a hand-drawn map that shows facility layouts.” I took the scrap piece of paper and studied it.

It had depth that spoke to information extracted through methods none of them would discuss in daylight. "Sublevel three," Damian said, unfolding the crude diagram on the lightning-scarred oak's broad trunk. "Biometric locks, rotating guard schedule every four hours. But it's not just holding cells or laboratories. There are breeding facilities, and things designed to break people down into parts."

The intelligence hit me like a physical impact, confirming fears I'd been trying not to voice. Industrial-scale processing of Omegas into biological resources, operations that required killing witnesses to protect trade secrets worth more than individual lives. I shook my head and took a few deep breaths to stop myself from vomiting.

Harrison's massive hands hovered over the map, his tactical mind engaging despite emotional exhaustion. "Access routes?" he asked, his voice carrying the controlled intensity that belonged to someone calculating acceptable losses against mission objectives.

"Service tunnels, emergency exits, ventilation systems large enough for someone small and desperate," Damian replied, pointing to sections of the facility that offered potential entry points. "But security's designed to contain people from inside. Getting in might be easier than getting out."

Felix stared at the map, processing implications that made his stomach clench with something beyond hunger. "What if she's..." he began, then stopped, because finishing that sentence would make possibilities real in ways his mind wasn't prepared to handle.

The words hung in the air like toxic gases that threatened to poison what little hope remained, and Felix found he couldn't complete the thought that had been building in his chest like pressure seeking release. What if she was already broken? Or if Rex's chemicals had succeeded where conventional torture had failed? What if they were planning rescue operations for someone who no longer existed in any meaningful sense?

Harrison's scarred hand landed on my shoulder with the gentle pressure that belonged to a person who understood how close others were to breaking under accumulated stress. "She's alive," he said firmly, his voice carrying a certainty that transcended rationality. "I'd feel it if she weren't. The bond's weak, but it's still there."

"Barely," I whispered, the admission emerging despite my attempts to maintain optimism that felt increasingly fragile. "Sometimes I think I'm imagining it. Like phantom sensations, wishful thinking disguised as connection."

Damian folded the map with movements that conveyed the decisions made and preparations underway, despite odds that would discourage rational people from attempting rescue operations in a heavily defended facility. “Real or not, we proceed.” I nodded.

"We go in tonight," Harrison said, his voice carrying a silent authority that belonged to people who'd learned to make command decisions when all available options involved a significant risk of death or worse. "Fast extraction, minimum engagement, out before they can coordinate a response."

I felt my pulse quicken as planning shifted from abstract possibility to concrete action, my restless energy finally finding an outlet in preparations that might matter. "What about the others?" I asked, thinking of the dozens of prisoners Damian had mentioned. He had said Omegas were being processed into biological machinery by systems designed to eliminate every trace of humanity.

"We get Scar first," Damian replied, though something in his voice suggested the decision cost him pieces of conscience he'd been saving for situations that demanded moral compromise. "Then we burn the whole fucking place down and make sure everyone knows what Rex has been doing to people."

The plan felt incomplete, desperate, and likely to result in their deaths rather than the successful extraction of anyone. But action was preferable to continued searching that consumed time, while Rex's chemicals worked to erase everything that made Scarlett the Omega we loved.

I looked up at the lightning-scarred tree, its massive trunk split but still standing, growing despite the damage that should have killed anything less resilient. Sometimes, survival meant accepting scars that would never fully heal, but refusing to let those scars define what remained possible.

Chapter 28 - Damian

We moved through the forest quickly and carefully. Each Alpha took a position that maximized their strengths while maintaining visual contact with the others. I kept to the middle path, where undergrowth provided concealment.

Above me, Harrison's massive frame navigated high ground with surprising grace, using ridgelines and rock outcroppings to maintain the elevation advantage while his enhanced vision scanned approaches that might conceal threats or opportunities.

Felix ranged low near the ravine's edge, his compact form moving through dense vegetation with liquid efficiency that spoke to someone whose survival had once depended on being impossible to track through hostile territory. The coordination felt natural now, instinctive, like we'd been operating as a tactical unit for years instead of discovering pack dynamics through shared desperation.

The morning air carried scents that spoke of industrial operations disguised as research facilities. Chemical signatures that didn't belong in wilderness environments, metallic undertones that suggested large-scale processing of materials that might once have been human.

Harrison froze. The stillness wasn't sudden or dramatic. But I recognized the subtle shift in posture, the way his massive frame went from controlled movement to absolute focus. His nostrils flared, and my pulse quickened.

I moved toward Harrison's position with efficient silence, my stomach protesting the pace, but thankfully, having stopped bleeding days ago. Felix appeared from the ravine's edge. He emerged from vegetation that should have been too dense to permit passage without creating a visible disturbance.

We met beneath a cluster of pine trees whose canopy provided concealment from aerial surveillance while maintaining sightlines toward approaches that might conceal threats or opportunities. Harrison's breathing had changed. It was deeper, more controlled. A respiratory pattern that belonged to people processing atmospheric information that normal senses couldn't detect.

"Scarlett," he whispered, the single word carrying a weight that encompassed hope, determination, and relief that felt too dangerous to trust completely. "I felt her. It was faint, but unmistakable."

“Our girl’s reaching out to us,” Felix said, smiling.

My pulse strengthened as pack bonds that had been reduced to whispers carried clearer signals, traces of connection that proved she remained alive and fighting despite whatever chemicals Rex's facility had used to maintain compliance during transport and processing.

We fanned out in a formation that became instinctive, following traces that grew stronger as we moved deeper into territory that offered concealment and multiple escape routes.

Continuing towards the facility, I took time to mull over everything that had happened. I hadn’t seen another Alpha or Omega in a few days. Maybe the wolves got them too. Maybe they’re all dead or free? I sighed. Damn, I hope they’re free!

Hope surged through me, like electricity finding grounded circuits, strengthening connections that had been reduced to phantom sensations during days of desperate searching. Scar was alive. For now, I didn’t need to know anything more, just that she was alive.

Chapter 29 - Scarlett

The scent of my heat hit me like a freight train, and I knew I had exactly three minutes before every Alpha within a mile radius would be hunting me down. I needed to hide. Get somewhere safe. But where do you hide when you’ve been taken against your will and caged up like a dog?

My hands shook as I fumbled my way along the sterile corridor. Sweat beaded on my forehead as another wave of heat rolled through my body, making my knees buckle.

"No, no, no," I whispered, pressing my palm against the cool metal door at the end. "Not again!" What the hell had they done to me while I was unconscious? My heat never came on this quickly!

But my body had other plans. It was rebellious to the core, just like the rest of me.

I fumbled with the key card. The door finally clicked open, and I stumbled inside, slamming it shut behind me. My fingers flew over the security panel, engaging every lock, every barrier between me and the outside world. But I knew it wouldn't be enough. Not when my scent was already seeping through the ventilation system, calling to every unmated Alpha like a siren's song.

I pressed my back against the door, chest heaving. Through the thin walls, I could already hear movement along the corridor. Footsteps. Voices. The guards were close. If they’d entered my cell. If they saw him. Shit! I’m screwed!

I doubled over in pain, clasping my hand over my mouth to stop from screaming out. The taste of blood in my mouth told me I'd bitten my lip again, but at least it meant I was still alive.

As I pressed my back against the cold brick wall, I watched the female Beta guards make their rounds. Their boots clicked against the corridor in perfect synchronization—left, right, left, right—like the ticking of a bomb counting down to my inevitable capture.

Then a terrifying screeching sound blasted through the airwaves.

With adrenaline pumping through my veins, I sprinted down the corridor, my heart pounding in my ears as I raced against time. My senses were on high alert, every sound amplified, as I desperately searched for a way out. The facility, which last time I’d seen it on the small screens had been bustling with activity, was now eerily deserted.

Shit! The overwhelming scream of agony bellowed through my abdomen. I couldn’t help it, I dropped to the floor, crying out in pain.

The distant sound of footsteps approached from either end of the corridor, and panic skittered through my veins. I was cornered, again.

I reached for the only door before me.

"Shit, shit, shit," I hissed, spinning around to face the way I'd come. The corridor stretched out like a throat, ready to swallow me whole. All locked. All useless.

The guard's key card had gotten me this far, but the heavy door in front of me required something more—a biometric scan, maybe, or a higher clearance level than some grunt stationed outside the holding cells. My fingers trembled as I pressed them against the scanner anyway, knowing it was pointless but desperate enough to try.

ACCESS DENIED flashed across the screen in angry red letters.

The footsteps grew louder, accompanied by shouted orders and the metallic click of weapons being readied. They'd found the body. They knew I was loose.

I pressed my back against the door, chest heaving as I tried to think through the panic. Draven had taught me to fight, sure, but not how to take on an entire squad of guards in a dead-end corridor, while screaming through the agony of heat.

A guard rounded the corner, cutting off my only chance at escape.

"Omega!" He boomed. "Surrender now and your punishment will be... merciful."

Merciful. Right. Like anything about this place had been merciful.

I closed my eyes for a moment, seeking solace in memories of Draven and our childhood together. Him pushing me on our swing set. Jumping into the lake on a hot summer day. Those days seemed like a distant dream now, a life lived by another person entirely. What would he think if he knew what had become of his baby sister? A pained growl escaped my lips. Where are you, big brother?

In the next moment, I was knocked out cold, stars twinkling above my head and drifting into a restless sleep.

COLD METAL BIT INTO my wrists as consciousness clawed its way back. My head throbbed, each heartbeat sending waves of pain through my skull. The sterile smell of disinfectant mixed with something else, something chemical that made my stomach turn.

"Ah, there she is. Our little runaway."

That voice. I forced my eyes open, blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights. Rex Calloway stood before me, his greasy face split into a smile that made my skin crawl. He leaned against a metal table covered in syringes and medical equipment, his beady eyes roaming over me like I was a prize cow at auction.

"You've been a very bad girl, Omega." He tsked, shaking his head. "Running from your destiny. Injuring one of my guards. Did you really think you could escape?"

I tried to speak, but my throat was raw. The restraints dug deeper as I tested them—leather straps at my wrists, ankles, and across my chest. The thin medical gown they'd put me in did nothing to protect me from the cold metal chair or his leering gaze.

"But I have to thank you, actually." Rex waddled closer, his breath reeking of stale coffee and cigarettes. "Your little escape attempt proved something very important. Your body accepted the serum perfectly. Better than perfectly."

"What... what serum?" My voice came out as a croak.

"The enhancement formula, of course. We've been developing it for years, trying to create the perfect breeding stock." He reached out and grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him. "And you, my dear, are our first complete success. Your heat cycles will be stronger, more frequent. Your fertility rates are through the roof. You'll be able to carry multiple babies at once."

Horror washed over me as his words sank in. They hadn't just captured me—they'd changed me. Altered my very biology to suit their sick breeding program.

"You're insane," I spat, jerking my face away from his grip.

"Insane?" He laughed, a harsh bark that echoed off the laboratory walls. "I'm a visionary. Do you know how many Alphas are out there, desperate for compatible Omegas? The birth rates have been declining for decades. We're saving our species."

"By turning us into breeding machines?"

His hand cracked across my face, the slap echoing in the sterile room. "You ungrateful little bitch. You should be honored to serve your purpose."

I tasted blood again, my split lip reopening. But I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of crying out. Through the pain and the lingering effects of my heat, I held his gaze, defiance burning in my chest.

"Don’t worry, sweetheart. It begins tomorrow," he continued, wiping his hand on his lab coat as if touching me had contaminated him. "But you won't be going to the regular Breeding sector. Oh no, you're far too valuable for that. We have four unique Alphas lined up for you. Hand-picked for their genetics, their strength, their... compatibility with your enhanced biology."

Four Alphas. The thought sent a shiver through me that had nothing to do with the cold. In my current state, with whatever they'd pumped into my system, I'd have no chance of resisting.

"They've been waiting for someone like you," Rex said, moving to a computer terminal. "Tyrone Jacobs, heir to the Jacobs pharmaceutical empire. Max Phillips, military commander with the highest combat scores in his unit. And Jenson Sterling, the bioengineering genius who helped perfect the serum... oh, and his Beta brother."

“There is no chance on this fucking earth that I’ll comply with anything you want me to do.”

He gripped my chin. “You don’t need to, sweetheart. You’re going to be unconscious when they have their fun. Just like all the other girls were.” He grinned.

A door hissed open behind him, and two Beta nurses entered, wheeling in more equipment. One held a syringe filled with luminescent blue liquid.

"No," I thrashed against the restraints. "No more drugs!"

"This will help stabilize your system," Rex said, nodding to the nurses. "Can't have you burning out before the main event."

The needle pierced my arm, and ice flooded my veins. But instead of dulling the heat, it seemed to amplify it, making every nerve ending sing with need. I bit down on my lip hard enough to draw fresh blood, refusing to give them the satisfaction of hearing me beg.

"Perfect," Rex murmured, watching the monitors that tracked my vitals. "Absolutely perfect. You're going to make us all very rich, little Omega."

“My pack will come for me!”

He laughed wholeheartedly. “You really think three men you’ve just met would drop everything to rescue you?” I narrowed my eyes, tears welling. “They’ve already moved on, sweetheart. They got themselves another Omega as soon as you were taken.”

“No!” I gasped. “You’re lying!”

“If you don’t believe me, then watch this...” He clicked a button and the screens on the other side of the room started playing. It should be Alphas... my damned Alphas tracking a blond-haired omega through the forest. It showed Felix kissing her. My heart sank, and Rex laughed. “See, you’re yesterday's news.” With that he walked out, following the nurses, leaving me strapped to the chair with the video on repeat.

Chapter 30 - Harrison

My lungs burned like I'd been breathing acid instead of the recycled air that tasted of antiseptic and cruelty, each ragged breath scraping through airways that felt too narrow for the oxygen my metabolism demanded. The facility's sterile corridors stretched endlessly before us, white walls reflecting the strobing red of emergency lights that painted everything in shades of alarm and approaching violence. My boots hammered against floors with the kind of desperate rhythm that belonged to someone whose world had narrowed to a single objective: find her, protect her, bring her home.

The alarms shrieked overhead with mechanical persistence that seemed designed to drive rational thought from anyone stupid enough to attempt the infiltration of Rex's kingdom of horror. But rational thought had abandoned me somewhere around hour thirty-six of our search, replaced by something more primal and more dangerous—the protective fury of an Alpha who lost his Omega.

It had been almost three days since we’d seen her. The number echoed in my skull like a countdown to an apocalypse. Each minute that had passed without her a reminder that Rex's chemicals might work to erase everything that made Scarlett, Scarlett. But her scent—her gingerbread deliciousness. It was faint but unmistakable, pulling me forward through corridors that reeked of industrial-strength disinfectant and human suffering.

Behind me, Damian moved with the fluid precision of someone whose tactical mind never stopped calculating angles and probabilities despite the bandages wrapped around his stomach. We’d been lucky enough to find the first-aid room when we walked in here. The nurses had been more than happy to help patch our boy up. Plus, the younger one had told me where Scarlett was. So now, we moved on. Stepping carefully so we didn’t trigger any traps.

Felix followed, monitoring Damian. His brown eyes blazed with the type of feral energy that appeared in people who'd accepted that death was preferable to failing those they'd learned to love.

We hit the first checkpoint like a force of nature, weaponized by desperation and protective instinct. Two guards in tactical gear turned toward the sound of our approach, hands moving toward weapons that might have mattered against normal intruders but proved pathetically inadequate against three Alphas.

I took the larger one, with a controlled violence that transformed protective fury into surgical precision. My fist connected with his solar plexus in a sound like thunder, driving breath from lungs that forgot how breathing was supposed to work. He doubled over, and my knee found his temple with enough force to ensure he'd wake up with gaps in his memory that might include the past several hours.

Felix eliminated the other with movements that belonged in physics demonstrations rather than combat scenarios. He used his compact frame to gain momentum and leverage to redirect the guard's charge into a wall that absorbed impact with the solid sound of a skull meeting concrete. The man crumpled like discarded clothing, unconscious before he finished falling.

"Clear," Damian announced. His dark eyes tracked the corridor ahead for threats that might emerge from intersections designed to channel intruders into killing fields.

We moved deeper into the facility's sterile maze, following her scent trail, which grew stronger with each step. My heart hammered against ribs that felt too small to contain the mixture of hope and terror building in my chest like pressure seeking an explosive release. She was here, somewhere; she was here.

The corridor curved ahead, revealing intersection patterns that spoke of a defensive design, rather than efficient movement. I rounded the corner at a sprint that should have been impossible, but nothing could stop me now.

Until I saw, her.

Scarlett strapped to a chair, crying her eyes out.

Relief flooded through me with the force of a dam breaking, washing away every minute we’d been without her. She was alive, and I wanted to crush her against my chest, to feel her heartbeat against my ribs as proof that she'd survived whatever horrors this place represented. We all ran over. “Hey,” I said, soothing her hair while Felix worked to release her cuffs. She didn’t look up. “Hey, Scarlett, it’s us.”

“Err Harrison...” Felix pointed to the screen, showing a moment where he kissed some blond I never even recognized. “Who the fuck is that?” My brow furrowed.

Damian smacked the screen and sent it flying. It ended. The sound of fake kisses ended. “Scar,” he said, stooping and biting back the pain of his stomach. “Scar, we’re here.”

“I,” she said, wiping her eyes. “But, you...”

“No beautiful,” Felix said. “That never happened. That wasn’t us.”

“But I saw you.”

Felix smiled, placed his hand under her chin, and lifted her face so their eyes could meet. “Would I ever kiss anyone's lips but yours?

She smiled. “But how?”

“It’s the technology they use...” a weak voice said as a young man walked in.

I jumped in front of Scarlett.

He held up his hands. “No, I won’t hurt you.” He smiled. “I’m James, I... well, I used to be friends with your brother, Ryan. He looks just like you, you know.” Felix’s eyes widened.

“What do you know about my brother?” Felix asked.

“I was trying to help him smuggle the information out.” He sighed. “Until he was caught anyway.”

“We have to finish it,” Scarlett said. Finish what Ryan started.

I nodded. "Control center?" I asked James, my voice carrying a focused intensity that belonged to someone whose mission parameters had shifted from rescue to something larger and more dangerous.

Scarlett's expression hardened with the determined fury that belonged to people who'd seen too much evil to settle for a simple escape. “They tricked me,” she said through gritted teeth. I nodded, and she jumped out of the chair into my arms, kissing me hard.

"Three levels down," James said, his voice carrying a weight that spoke of having witnessed too much in this place. "And when you see what they've been doing here, remember, I tried to stop it."

JAMES LED THE WAY THROUGH a maintenance tunnel that squeezed your insides, like a birth canal designed by someone who'd never considered that human beings might need to move through it. I followed James, ensuring Scarlett was in the middle of us, just in case this was a trap.

"The control center manages everything," James whispered, his voice pitched to carry just the distance while we squeezed through passages. "Broadcasting systems, containment protocols, the breeding programs—all of it runs through centralized servers that can be accessed if you know the right codes."

“And do you know the codes?” I asked.

“Yes. Well, I’m not supposed to have them, but after watching that fat fucker input them with his greasy finger several times, I’ve got them saved.”

“Good.”

Behind me, Damian moved, favoring his left side. Every breath he took pained him, but no matter how much we asked, he’d never sit this one out.

Felix brought up our rear, watching for any danger. The collection of bruises decorating his face had darkened overnight, painting his features in shades of purple and yellow that made his brown eyes look more fierce than damaged.

We emerged from the tunnel system into a service corridor that reeked of bleach and fear. Fluorescent lights cast everything in the harsh illumination that belonged in morgues rather than research facilities. James led us toward an intersection where multiple passages converged, his movements suggesting a familiarity earned through exploration.

My enhanced senses caught scents that made my protective instincts surge toward dangerous levels—Alphas, multiple individuals. Not guards or facility security, but something worse: competitors.

"Contact," I growled, positioning myself between Scarlett and the intersection where threat assessment suggested ambush was not only possible but highly probable. My hands found the improvised weapons we'd gathered during our infiltration.

They emerged from concealment like predators who'd been waiting for prey to reach predetermined positions, three Alphas and one Beta. These were weapons built from willing volunteers who'd traded individual identity for collective purpose.

“That’s them,” Scarlett said.

“Who?” I asked, whispering back to her.

“The pack Rex was trying to force me to breed with.”

I growled and saw red. Damian and Felix stood beside me, ready to attack.

"The pretty little Omega belongs to us," the tallest one announced, his voice echoing in the tunnels. "Surrender her, and your deaths will be quick rather than educational."

James backed away, standing beside Scarlett.

Felix laughed with a bright fury that appeared in people who'd found something worth bleeding for. He coiled into a fighting stance that made him look like compressed violence waiting for release. "You want her?" he said, his brown eyes blazing with a feral energy that transformed exhaustion into weapons. "Just try to fucking take her."

The fight erupted with the vicious intensity that belonged in wars rather than facility tunnels. Three Alphas and a Beta that hadn’t counted on facing people whose pack bonds had been forged through impossible circumstances.

The largest one came at me with a speed that defied his massive frame, his reflexes turning his charge into something that belonged in a boxing ring. But I'd learned to use my size as an instrument rather than a blunt weapon, and when his momentum brought him within range, my fist connected with a sound like breaking stone.

He doubled over, gasping for breath that his lungs couldn't quite process, and my knee found his temple with enough force to rattle bones. Blood exploded from his nose as he crashed into the wall, the impact knocking him out cold.

Felix moved like lightning, using momentum and leverage to redirect attacks. Two opponents tried to flank him simultaneously, but he twisted between them with an acrobatic grace that turned their coordination against itself, sending them stumbling into each other while his elbow found nerve clusters that could drop someone twice his size.

Damian fought with his makeshift spear, pulling an attacker off of Felix. His stomach wounds protested every movement, but he soon got the upper hand when he stabbed the Beta in the chest, killing him instantly.

One of the Alphas broke through our perimeter, toward Scarlett, with fists ready to attack. But she was already moving, shifting into the defensive stance her brother had drilled into her during countless hours of training that had seemed excessive until this moment.

Her heel found his instep, driving bones together in ways that made durability irrelevant. He stumbled, struggling to compensate for the damage she’d caused. Then I saw her elbow connect before he could recover his balance. I grinned with pride.

The Alpha, who was easily twice her size, folded around the impact like origami. Her fist crashed into his jaw with a momentum that turned his own forward motion against him, and he hit the floor with the solid sound of unconsciousness meeting concrete.

Silence settled over the tunnels like dust after explosions, broken only by our ragged breathing and the distant wail of alarms that announced security breaches throughout Rex's kingdom of pain.

“Well, that was fun,” Felix said, kissing Scarlett on the head. “Lead the way James...”

Scarlett stood over her fallen opponent with hands planted on her hips, her ginger hair wild around features that carried satisfaction mixed with something darker.

I felt my chest swell with something that transcended simple attraction to become recognition of a partnership that could survive anything. She wasn't just our Omega. She was pack, a fighter, someone whose fierce independence made protection feel like privilege rather than a biological imperative.

"Control center," Damian announced, checking his improvised spear for damage.

"Three levels down," James announced. It was good to see he hadn’t run from us.

Scarlett nodded, her expression hardening with the determined fury that belonged to people who'd seen evil and decided it required a fiery response. "Then we'd better move fast," she said, as we followed James toward service elevators that carried us deeper into Rex's kingdom of industrial cruelty. "The whole world needs to see what they've been doing here."

But another scent, three scents, carried over the air as soon as we began opening the service elevator gates. Scarlett stopped dead. She gasped as the scents drew closer, down the dark tunnel, right towards us.

“Shit!” Felix said, forcing the gates open and positioning himself for another fight.

James stayed at the back, and I stood in front of Scarlett, ready to protect her to the end.

But then, in the darkness, I heard a voice. A deep, rough, anguished voice. “SCAR!” Someone yelled.

Scarlett jumped, her ears pricked, and she darted in front of us before I could grab her. “Scarlett, wait! You don’t know who it is!”

She laughed, running as fast as she could into the darkness. We followed, well, all but James. And Damian grumbled with every running step he took. His stomach was not in good shape.

In the distance, where our girl had gone. I heard giggling, and turned the corner to find Scarlett jumping into the arms of a big, bulky Alpha with black hair, and tattoos all over his arms. He swung her round and squeezed her tight. But the moment was over in a split second, as two other Alphas jumped in front of them, growling, holding Scarlett back.

She swatted the Alpha's arm that was holding her to his chest. “Back off, silly!” she said in a girlish voice. “These are my pack!”

The big Alpha almost dropped her, and the other two turned to face her. “Your pack,” he said, gobsmacked. “Since when did you ever want a pack?”

“Yeah, Scar, what did they do to you?” the wild one with fiery red curls asked. She laughed.

“Nothing, numbskull!” She pushed him, and he tackled her, tickling her. I growled, and the big Alpha at the back laughed.

“Jake!” she yelled between laughter. “STOP!”

My growls turned into smirks. Seeing her laugh like this was the best thing that could ever happen to me.

The bulky Alpha stepped past his two pack mates and pulled Scarlett away from them. “So little sister, are you going to introduce us then?”

Chapter 31 - Scarlett

My body was alight with fire inside. I had everything. My gorgeous boys, my pack, and now my brother Draven and his pack, Cole, and Jake. They’d come for me. All of them. I couldn’t be happier. I pursed my lips as we walked along the tunnels together toward the control center. But they all obviously knew I could handle myself. I smirked. They were just being kind.

Draven had his arm around my shoulder and Felix’s, who hadn’t left my side since they arrived. “So, Felix is it?”

“Yes, sir, err... Alpha... Brother?” he asked, frowning.

Draven laughed, and I smirked. “Draven is fine.” Felix nodded, and I squeezed his hand. “Now, what intentions do you have for my little sister?”

“Err... I, err...”

Cole came over and slapped Draven. “Leave him be, Draven. You’re scaring him.”

Felix huffed. His usually sweary demeanor had disappeared, replaced by clammy hands and sweat beading on his brow.

“Don’t be a mean brother,” I said, trying not to laugh.

Draven held up his hands. “What, me?”

I rolled my eyes.

“So, from what my darling little sister has been telling me. You three fought werewolves for her.”

I furrowed my brow. “They weren’t werewolves! They were genetically enhanced wolves.”

“See!” Felix said. “I told you they were werewolves.”

I huffed. “Great, now we’ll never hear the end of it!”

Draven laughed. My brothers' pack members Cole and Jake were talking to Harrison and Damian, probably putting them through as tough a time... if not worse. I smirked. “Well, this isn’t how I wanted you all to meet.”

“Circumstances, Scar, we’ve been looking for you ever since you were taken to the academy.”

“Oh,” Jake said from behind. “That’s a shitty place! We ended up there.”

My eyes widened, and I stopped just as we came to the door of the control center. “What! You went to the academy? Did they force you to enroll too?”

“Who? Mum and Dad?” Draven said. He shook his head. “No. They had no idea.”

I nodded and smiled. “Good.”

Draven placed his hand on my shoulder. “Look Scar, it wasn’t their fault. They tried to keep you safe. But you know if they continued, they’d have been hung as traitors. They were...”

“What? Trying to protect themselves before their daughter?”

Draven sighed. “No, they were trying to protect all of us. The Taskforce had threatened to hang all of us, Scar, not just them.”

I took a step back. “No!” I lowered my head. “I thought they were stupid enough to murder our parents... even though they’re worth something in society. And I even considered they may come after you three... but I didn’t think they had the balls.”

“Oh, little sister, they did.”

I nodded. “I’m glad I ran when I did. I never wanted to risk anyone’s life, especially not you three,” I said, staring at my brother and his pack.

Felix squeezed my hand, and I smiled at him.

“So, are we ready for this?” I asked.

Draven narrowed his eyes. “For what exactly, Scar?”

“We’re going to take down the whole of the Alpha Games,” I said, a smile beaming from my lips.

Cole laughed from behind. “Well, it wouldn’t be you if you didn’t try to take on the world!”

“Count me in!” Jake said, laughing.

“Fuck’s sake,” Draven sighed.

“Wait,” Cole said, just as I had my hand on the door handle. I stopped and turned around. “Don’t you think you ought to tell her... You know, just in case?”

I pursed my lips, brow furrowed. “What have you done now?” I asked Jake. It was usually him that screwed up in some royal way.

“Hey,” he held up his hands. “It wasn’t just me...” he smirked. “But yeah, screwing was involved.”

Felix laughed as I placed my hands over my ears. “Too much information,” Draven said, chastising him.

Getting ready to listen again, I asked, “So, what did you do?”

“Well...” Draven said, placing his hand on my shoulder. “When we arrived at the academy and you weren’t there, we found something else.”

“Someone else,” Cole corrected.

I looked around, nope, there were definitely only the three of them.

“We found our scent matched Omega, Scar!” Jake burst out.

“Oh wow, really!” He nodded, grinning.

“Just like you, I guess?” Draven said, looking at my three Alphas. I grinned and nodded.

“But ours is now eating for two,” Cole said, smiling.

“Awwwww! She’s pregnant?”

Draven nodded, a smile splashed across his face.

“Aww! When can I meet her?”

He hugged me. “Oh little sister, you can meet her when we get out of this damned place.” I laughed.

“We have found a home,” Cole said.

I smiled. “Can we go there?”

Cole nodded. “Of course!”

“You can stay, Scar! It’s a beautiful place where it doesn’t matter what designation you are. Everyone helps each other.”

“But... how?”

“It’s hidden Scar, safe from the Taskforce.”

I took a deep breath. Damn. That sounded like heaven! I looked over at my Alphas, who all nodded. “Count us in!”

Chapter 32 - Harrison

The control center opened before us like the nerve center of some vast organism designed to feed on human suffering. A cavernous space that stretched beyond imagination. Monitors covered every available surface. Each screen was a window into different sectors of the Alpha Games where human suffering had been refined into an art form for sale.

I saw the breeding chambers in high-definition clarity, pregnant Omegas hooked to machines that monitored fetal development, while maintaining maternal compliance with drug regimens that would horrify veterinarians. The games where entertainment masked recruitment for industrial-scale atrocity. Laboratory facilities where genetic modification was tested on prisoners who'd committed no crime except being born with biology that Rex's investors found useful.

The scope of it hit me like a physical impact, driving breath from lungs that couldn't remember how breathing was supposed to work. This wasn't just the facility we'd infiltrated. The monitors showed a network of organizational dehumanization that processed hundreds of Omegas into biological resources, while the outside world remained blissfully ignorant of genocide disguised as scientific advancement.

Technicians scattered like roaches when lights came on, their white coats fluttering as they abandoned workstations that had been monitoring suffering with clinical detachment. Most headed toward emergency exits that would carry them beyond the reach of justice, but a few froze at their positions, hands raised in surrender that spoke to people who'd been waiting for someone to stop the machine they'd been forced to operate.

"Doors," I barked. Felix ran over and barricaded us in. No one would stop this broadcast!

Scarlett’s brother and his pack stayed by her side as Damian flowed toward the central console complex, already processing the maze of keyboards and displays that controlled broadcasting systems capable of reaching every population center on the planet.

But then, I saw them.

Chained to workstations throughout the control center's vast space, hooked up to IV’s, dozens of Omegas sat with the vacant compliance that spoke to minds chemically suppressed until resistance became impossible. Their bodies showed the aftermath of systematic abuse. Bones were visible under their skin, skin that looked translucent under the harsh fluorescent lighting. They had injection sites that marked where drugs had entered their bodies. But it was their eyes that made my chest clench with fury.

Empty stares that belonged to people whose personalities had been erased through conditioning, vacant awareness that tracked movement without recognizing what they witnessed. These weren't prisoners. They were what Rex's program produced when Omegas stopped fighting long enough for the machine to consume everything that made them human.

Scarlett moved among them with a gentle precision that belonged to people who understood how fragile hope could be when offered to those who'd learned to expect only disappointment. She pulled out the IV, and her hands worked at restraints that had prevented escape while maintaining access to fingers needed for operating equipment.

Scarlett’s family worked on taking out the IVs and removing the restraints on all the other Omegas.

"Look at me," she said to an Omega whose dark hair hung in stringy curtains around her features. "Look at me and remember, you have a name. You had dreams. You're more than what they tried to make you."

The girl's eyes focused, like consciousness surfacing from depths where it had been hiding from trauma too systematic for human psychology to process normally. Recognition flickered behind pupils that had been artificially dilated, and her lips moved soundlessly around words that might have been her own name spoken for the first time in months, maybe even years.

"They've used us," Scarlett continued, her voice rising with power that seemed to echo from the very walls, carrying through air that tasted of antiseptic and evil. "Controlled us. Made us think we're nothing but prizes to be won, bodies to be bred, machinery to be operated until we break and get replaced."

More Omegas began lifting their heads, chemical suppression wavering under the force of words that spoke to something deeper. I watched Scarlett move among them like a general, rallying her troops.

"But look at what we can do together!" She gestured toward the monitors. “We can destroy this. We can destroy it all. Free every chained Omega. Bring justice to a world that has none.”

I stood, smiling, a sense of pride warming in my chest.

The Omegas began standing, some still shaky from whatever chemical cocktails had been keeping them compliant. Their eyes cleared as the fog lifted, revealing intelligence and fury that had been suppressed but never truly eliminated.

"Help us," Scarlett said simply, her voice carrying the weight of someone who'd proven she could fight against anything. "Help us show the world what they've been doing here, and burn this whole fucking operation down."

One by one, the freed Omegas moved toward workstations they'd been forced to operate, but now their fingers moved with purpose rather than compliance. The monitors began shifting to display information that had been hidden behind layers of security. There were financial records, operational procedures, and communications between facilities that revealed the true scope of Rex's industrial nightmare.

Damian looked up from the central console, his dark eyes bright with something that might have been hope if hope could be weaponized into systematic justice. "Broadcast controls are online," he announced, his voice carrying satisfaction that belonged to someone whose tactical objectives had suddenly become achievable. "We can reach every population center, every government facility, every person with access to communication networks."

Suddenly a hidden door opened with a soft pneumatic hiss. Scarlett's brother positioned himself in front of her, and she swatted him again. “You taught me to fight, remember?”

He growled under his breath and stood back from her, giving her room to breathe.

Rex Calloway emerged from concealment that should have been impossible in a room we'd secured, moving with a speed that defied his bloated frame. All the while his small eyes blazed with fury that transcended human expression to become something that belonged in places where suffering was recreational. In his stubby hands, he held a knife that looked like a surgical instrument rather than a weapon, its blade reflecting fluorescent lighting with the type of sterile gleam that belonged in operating theaters rather than confrontations.

He crossed the distance with mechanical efficiency while we were still processing the threat he represented. Before anyone could react, his free arm wrapped around Scarlett's throat, the knife pressing against skin that showed pale beneath the bright metal.

"One move and she bleeds out," he snarled, his voice carrying the controlled malevolence that belonged to someone who had spent years perfecting methods of inflicting psychological torture. His bloated features arranged themselves into something that might have been amusement, if amusement could be distilled from pure evil. "Drop your weapons and step away from the controls, or I paint these monitors with her blood."

I felt my world narrow to the thin line of red that appeared where the knife's edge touched Scarlett's throat, bright droplets that spoke to the pressure applied with surgical precision. My enhanced senses caught the metallic scent of her blood mixed with the chemical signatures of fear and fury that radiated from her compact frame, but underneath it all, I detected something else—calculation, preparation.

A growl built in my chest like pressure seeking explosive release, but I forced myself to a stillness that felt like holding back avalanches through pure willpower. Every protective instinct I possessed screamed for violence that would end Rex's threat permanently, but the knife against Scarlett's throat made action impossible without risking the one thing that mattered more than justice, revenge, or exposure of evil.

My pack. My Omega. My heart was walking around outside my body, where Rex's madness could reach it with surgical instruments designed to end dreams.

Time stretched too thin, each second expanding into crystalline clarity that turned the control center into a freeze-frame photograph of approaching violence. I locked eyes with Scarlett across the knife's edge, expecting to see fear or desperation in features that had learned to mask vulnerability behind defiance. Instead, I found a calculation that made my chest tight with recognition of strength that went deeper than physical capability.

Her posture had shifted. Subtle adjustments that spoke to the countless hours of training with her brother. Her breathing remained steady despite the knife pressing against her skin.

“I suggest you let my sister go,” Draven said. His arms were crossed, and his posture relaxed. How was he so relaxed?

Rex's eyes were bright with satisfaction that belonged to people who'd never doubted their absolute control over variables they'd spent years learning to manipulate. Spittle gathered at the corners of his mouth as he prepared to launch into the monologue that all megalomaniacs used to justify atrocity.

"You think this changes anything?" he wheezed, his bloated features arranging themselves into an expression that mocked the very concept of hope. "You think broadcasting a few videos will stop what's been building for decades? This isn't some rogue operation. This is evolution in action, humanity finally accepting that some people are born to serve while others are born to rule."

His voice rose with each word. Insanity was taking its place in his conscious thoughts. The knife pressed closer to Scarlett's throat, drawing another thin line of blood that made my protective instincts surge toward levels that felt dangerous for everyone present.

"The investors know exactly what we're doing here," Rex continued, his breath fogging the air near Scarlett's ear with exhalations that reeked of chemical enhancement and moral decay. "Government officials have toured these facilities. Military contractors are already implementing our techniques in population centers where traditional methods proved insufficient for maintaining social order."

He paused for breath, his bloated chest rising and falling with exertion that spoke to excitement rather than physical strain. In that moment of inattention, when his focus shifted from immediate threat to grandiose vision, Scarlett made her move.

Her heel found his instep, driving her foot down onto his foot. Rex's yelp of pain cut through his speech like a blade through silk.

The knife wavered as his grip loosened involuntarily, nerves firing signals that overrode his control. Scarlett twisted in his loosened grasp with a fluid grace that belonged in advanced combat demonstrations, her compact frame rotating around her center of mass while his damaged foot struggled to maintain balance.

Her elbow connected with his chest before he could adjust his grip on the knife, driving breath from his lungs. The impact folded him forward, his bloated torso curving around the point of contact while his hands moved instinctively to protect his damaged flesh.

But Scarlett wasn't finished.

Her fist crashed into his jaw with momentum that turned his forward motion against him, knuckles meeting bone in a sound like breaking stone that echoed through the control center's vast space. Rex's small eyes rolled back to show white, and his massive bulk crumpled to the polished floor.

The knife clattered across the polished surface, spinning until it came to rest against a monitor that displayed breeding facilities where the horror continued despite the rebellion building in this nerve center of evil. Rex lay motionless, except for breathing that remained steady. He was unconscious, but not dead.

I rushed to Scarlett's side, my massive hands moving to examine the shallow cuts across her throat where Rex's knife had drawn lines that spoke to pressure applied with surgical accuracy rather than random violence. Blood seeped from wounds that looked worse than they were, bright red against skin that felt warm beneath my fingertips.

"I'm fine," she said, her voice rough but steady. She looked at her brother, and he was already smiling with pride. "Draven's training finally paid off."

He laughed. “See, I knew you could handle it, little sis.”

Felix appeared beside Rex's unconscious form with zip-ties that had been scavenged during our infiltration, his brown eyes bright with satisfaction as he secured his hands and feet. When he finished, he offered an elaborate bow toward Scarlett that conveyed respect, admiration, and barely contained laughter in a single fluid motion.

"Remind me never to get on your bad side," he said, his voice carrying the bright humor that had sustained us. "I've seen professional fighters who couldn't have handled that better."

Damian looked up from the central console. "Broadcast systems are fully online," he announced, his mind already processing the implications of global communication access. "We can reach every population center, every government facility, every person with access to information networks."

The freed Omegas moved with renewed purpose around workstations they'd been forced to operate under chemical compulsion, but now their actions carried the weight of people who'd remembered they had choices beyond simple survival. The monitors throughout the control center displayed evidence that would burn Rex's kingdom to the ground. Financial records showed government complicity, operational procedures revealed genocide, and communications that proved this facility was just one node in a network spanning over continents.

Scarlett stood over Rex's unconscious form with hands planted on her hips, her ginger hair wild around features that carried satisfaction mixed with something harder and more dangerous. Her dress hung from her body like tattered battle honors earned through choices that transcended survival.

"Broadcast it all," she said, her voice carrying power that resonated through the vast space, reaching the freed Omegas who'd begun operating equipment with a focused intensity that belonged to people whose suffering had finally found a productive outlet. "Every file, every video, every piece of evidence that proves what they've been doing here."

She turned toward the main monitor, her reflection overlaying images of breeding facilities, and processing centers that had consumed thousands of lives in service of profit margins measured in generations of genetic slavery. When she spoke again, her words carried the weight of someone who'd survived torture and emerged with their spirit intact rather than broken.

"The world needs to see that we're not victims," she said, her voice steady despite everything she'd endured in this place of industrial nightmare. "We're not prizes to be won or machinery to be operated until we break. We're people, and we fight back."

The rebellion had found its voice, and the broadcast began.

Chapter 33 - Scarlett

The screens blazed with horrors that made my stomach clench like a fist around broken glass, each screen a window into the pain that had been hidden away. I watched footage stream across global networks in real-time. Breeding chambers where pregnant Omegas lay connected to machines like biological factories. The processing facilities where genetic modification reduced human beings to organs ready for transplant, and Rex's private gallery where Omega remains were displayed like trophies in a hunter's den.

My hands trembled against the console's edge, fingertips gone white with pressure that spoke to rage I couldn't quite contain despite the necessity of maintaining tactical focus. Behind me, Harrison's massive presence loomed over James, whose cooperation had made this broadcast possible. He tracked his movements while he sat down and helped.

James’s face had turned as pale as parchment, his breathing shallow. Sweat beaded on his forehead as his fingers moved across the keyboard, each keystroke revealing new layers of horror that painted pictures of suffering and pain.

"I’ll show them the 'graduation ceremonies,'" he said, his voice full of regret.

I nodded. Fury building in my chest like pressure seeking release. "Let them see what happens to the Omegas who 'win' their games."

He swallowed hard, his knuckles white against the dark keys as he accessed files that required clearance levels reserved for Rex's inner circle. The main monitor shifted to display footage from what looked like an amphitheater designed by someone who'd studied ancient Roman execution venues for architectural inspiration. Omegas stood chained in the center while enhanced Alphas circled them like predators evaluating prey, but these weren't mating displays. No, they were archaic ceremonies where victory meant losing everything that made resistance possible.

The audio crackled to life with sounds that belonged in nightmares rather than broadcast media. Screaming that started defiantly and faded to compliance. The mechanical hum of pharmaceutical delivery systems, Rex's voice providing commentary with clinical detachment that reduced human agony to educational content for investors who measured profit in generations of genetic slavery.

"Global transmission confirmed," James whispered, his voice breaking slightly as conscience overwhelmed him. "Every major population center, every government facility, every communication network with sufficient bandwidth to handle high-definition video streams."

Through the monitors, I watched the world's reaction unfold in real-time. Emergency broadcasts interrupted regular programming as network executives realized they were receiving footage that would redefine public understanding of governmental complicity in this atrocity. Social media platforms crashed under the weight of users sharing evidence that proved conspiracy theories had been conservative estimates of the actual horror. Military communication channels buzzed with confusion as officers struggled to process intelligence that suggested their superiors had been aware of operations that violated every international law designed to protect human dignity.

Rex sat upright, then wobbled as he stood himself up, using the control panel to steady himself.

I looked at him, just looked for a moment. This poor excuse for a man didn’t deserve death. He deserved torture. The same torture he had put every Omega and Alpha through. No one had been safe here. No one survived to live their own lives again.

"You think you've won?" He huffed. His words carried violence in their tone. "You think broadcasting a few videos will stop what's been building for decades? You've signed your death warrants, and I'm going to enjoy watching you burn!"

The lights strobed in furious red patterns that painted everything in shades of approaching anger. What the fuck did he press? I ran over, pushing him to the floor. How the hell! He’d pressed a button marked ‘self-destruct’. SHIT!

Felix ran to the terminal. "He's initiated self-destruct!" he shouted without turning from the screen, his voice cutting through alarm systems. We needed to survive the next few minutes. "We've got fifteen minutes before the whole fucking place comes down!"

Fifteen minutes to escape a facility designed to eliminate witnesses, carrying dozens of people whose pharmaceutical conditioning had left them barely functional under optimal circumstances. The countdown began. Each second measured in heartbeats that hammered against ribs too small to contain the mixture of triumph and terror building in my chest.

Draven, Cole, and Jake started helping Omegas up. Some were still a little wobbly after everything.

“Get them out!” I yelled.

“Not without you!” Draven yelled back over the sound of the alarms blaring.

Harrison grabbed me. “We’ve got her!” he yelled back to Draven. “Save them!”

The entire control center vibrated with the whine of activated fail-safes, coolant systems dumping their contents onto floors that suddenly became treacherous with industrial chemicals mixed with mounting panic. Emergency lighting cast everything in crimson shadows that made the freed Omegas look like spirits fleeing some technological purgatory.

I turned to the screens; they had all started counting down from fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes! How the hell do we get out in... Shit, fourteen minutes, 10 seconds now!

Draven nodded. “You better bring her out alive!”

Harrison nodded back, then picked me up, and slung me over his shoulder like I didn’t weigh a thing.

“Put me down, you big oaf!” I yelled, hitting his back.

“There’s no time for your heroics, Scarlett. We’re getting you out of here. Now!”

“But all the data!”

“No!” he yelled.

Damian appeared beside me. “It’s all online. You did it Scar!”

Felix kicked at the compartment Rex had come through. “This way!” he yelled, following Draven, Cole, Jake, and all the stumbling Omegas.

The corridors had transformed into arteries of a dying organism, each step punctuated by the crack and sizzle of ruptured pipes that sprayed superheated steam into air already thick with smoke. I stopped hammering on Harrison's back. There was no way he was putting me down until we were safe and free from this place.

Emergency lighting painted everything in shades of arterial red, transforming familiar passages into alien landscapes where shadows pooled like spilled blood, and every junction offered a potential ambush or dead-end trap. The facility's death throes had started with the mechanical agony of grinding gears, as hydraulic systems dumped their contents onto floors that had become treacherous and slippery. The distant rumble of explosions spoke of structural supports beginning their programmed surrender to Rex's definitive solution.

“I’m going to release the pregnant Omegas!” James yelled, turning off into another corridor.

“But wait!” I called. He’d never make it. “We’ve got to help him!” I shouted, hitting Harrison's back again.

“No, Scarlett, we have to save you.”

“Don’t make me hurt you, Harrison!” I yelled again. He growled and put me down. The four of us ran after James. After seeing the monitor, we knew there were about twenty Omegas in their unconscious state.

James rounded a corner, and we ran up some stairs. He slammed his access card on the door panel to open it. We ran in after him. “Get them unhooked,” he yelled, running for the controls and slamming the lever down. “That will stop the sedatives.”

“Shit... they’re on sedatives?” There was no way they’d wake up in time!

Damian looked at me, then ran to the shuttered window. We were on the ground floor. He yanked the shutters back and grabbed a sheet, wrapping his fist before he smashed it open. What the hell is he doing? I thought and ran over. “What can I do?”

He looked at me and smiled. “Get through the window and escape.”

“Hell no! I’m not leaving you.”

He smirked. “I knew you’d say that, which is why I never asked you to leave. I need you to be on the other side to help carry the sleeping beauties through.”

“Ohhh...”

“Harrison, Felix, start carrying them over.”

They both nodded. “James, you head outside and help Scar.”

“Sure thing!” He climbed out of the window, and I followed. But not before I kissed Damian on the lips. “I love you,” I said. “I love you all.”

Damian, Felix, and Harrison all looked at me and swooned. “Now come on,” I said. “Get the girls out of here!

Chapter 34 - Scarlett

Iwatched through the window as Damian carried a young Omega towards us, who was about twenty weeks pregnant.

He hoisted her up and through the window, his body trembling from the injuries he had. But adrenaline had taken over, and I could see he was constantly alert and tracking all movement for any potential threats.

Felix pressed up behind him and helped him lift the next one. Second by second, time ticked down, and one by one pregnant unconscious Omegas were ferried through the broken glass to safety.

When the last one was ushered through, a few of them had moved, their bodies screaming to wake in an unfamiliar place. I felt for them. They’d lost the games and become nothing more than vessels. Now, when they woke, they would be pregnant single mothers without a cent to their names. We had to help them. All of them.

Draven, Cole, and Jake appeared from the forest; the shortcut they’d taken had secured them passage to an underground bunker. “Scar!” Draven yelled. A group of worn-out Omegas followed them. Some clutched each other for courage, their faces pale with shock that went deeper than simple fear, encompassing the recognition of the horrors they'd been forced to go through. Their wrists were bruised. Their eyes were vacant. Would any of them have the chance at a real life after this?

When they caught up, Draven hugged me. “You made it!” he said, just as Damian, Harrison, and Felix climbed through the window.

“Sure did!” I smiled. “But we need to get as far away from the buildings as possible.”

Distant explosions echoed through the air, each boom followed by vibrations that traveled through the earth. The underground sectors were being destroyed. It could cause the ground to collapse beneath our feet!

Draven and his pack had already started helping the pregnant Omegas up, carrying them to the edge of the forest, away from the blast zone. I helped one more conscious one, while my boys helped carry the rest of them.

Then I heard it. The tannoy inside the building started counting down to the last ten seconds.

Five, Four, Three, Two, One.

I braced myself, and the world exploded before us. It was like a fireworks show. Fireworks filled with the pain and torment that so many people had been put through. We stayed for a moment, took in the display, and I turned to see tears of relief splashed over those we’d managed to save.

“Where to now?” I asked Draven.

He smiled. “Home Scar, Home.”

We left Rex's crumbling empire of control in our wake, while we disappeared into the wilderness toward hope. Hope that one day, when the world finished processing the broadcasted footage of the horrific atrocities that had taken place here. Then one day, we could re-emerge and breathe free air once again.

The End.

If you love Omegaverse Reverse Harem books, check out this series of standalone stories:

Author’s Note

Thank you for reading Omega Amy, I hope you enjoyed the story! I always appreciate your feedback and would be grateful if you could leave me a review on Amazon– just a few words make all the difference!

As with all authors, reviews mean the world to me. It keeps me going, helps me strengthen my writing style and helps this story become a success.

Connect with Bella Donna

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Email: BellaDonnaTheAuthor@gmail.com

About Bella Donna

Bella Donna is a dark Omegaverse author, and lover of animals, southern comfort, beach life, and sleep!

She was born in Ashby de la Zouch, England, and lives with her husband, two fabulous children, little dog Milo, and cat Luna. She loves long walks on the beach, strong cups of tea, and reading a good book.