Page 3 of Desperate Omega

And—

The bottom of the duct gives way beneath us, followed by the sound of breaking plaster, and all of a sudden, we’re both spinning through open air. My stomach lurches into my throat. I see Markus land on the second-floor balcony, his fall broken by the bodies of the alphas who are up there.

My own body misses the balcony by a hand’s breadth, and I continue tumbling toward the ground floor below.

CHAPTER 1: SYRA

Nine years later…

I race through the darkness, a shadow among shadows. My feet are as soft as whispers against the forest floor. My senses are as sharp as the point of the spear I hold in my hands.

Silvered shafts of moonlight penetrate through the branches above me. The warm air is laden with the rich smell of humus and bitter scent markings of the wolves who roam this territory. Somewhere nearby, a night owl sings a hooting song. He is a hunter, like me.

Other omegas would never dare to travel through the forest alone, especially not at night, but I’m not like other omegas. Almost as soon as I started to walk, my fathers took me with them on their hunting excursions. They taught me how to use a spear and how to follow the spoor of wild creatures—of wolf and deer, bear and boar.

When I got older, I started hunting on my own. My fathers didn’t like that. They didn’t like it at all. Syra, you could get hurt, they said. Syra, you could get lost. Syra, you could die.

They soon learned the futility of their warnings. I am stubborn. It is a trait I inherited from my mother, or so I’ve been told.

Well, I haven’t died yet, and I’ve always managed to find my way back home. I may have gotten hurt once or twice along the way, but I wear my scars with pride, as an alpha would do.

But tonight I have not ventured into the wilderness to hunt.

I am here for another reason. A shameful one.

I am dressed in my usual garb. Two flaps of softened deerhide cover my loins and backside, but leave my legs bare and free for running. A similar piece of material encloses my chest, with laces running up the front. I’ve got the laces pulled tight, to keep my stupid breasts from bouncing all over the place while I run. My hair is tied back in a knot to keep it out of my eyes. My feet are bare, the soles tough as leather from years of running.

In my hands, I carry a spear that I fashioned with my own hands. A wooden haft as long as I am tall, tipped with a steel blade I scavenged from the ruins. Over my shoulder is slung a leather satchel. It is filled with other tools—tools which I did not fashion, and which I have never used before tonight.

Topping a rise in the terrain, I pause and look back the way I came. Through the gaps in between the trees, I can just make out the Central Ruins, many miles behind me.

My home.

Long ago, that city would have glowed the whole night through, so the elders say. Now it is dark, save for a few sentry fires that glimmer like fallen stars in the distance.

I often wonder what it would have been like to live back then. Back before everything changed. If I’d been born back then, I wouldn’t be a stupid omega. I wouldn’t have to worry about going into heat. I wouldn’t have to endure the hungry stares of the alphas. Nobody would care if I made babies or not. Literally every single problem in my life would not exist.

But if I’d been born back then, my fathers are so fond of telling me, then I wouldn’t be me.

Sometimes I wish I wasn’t me.

Sometimes I wish I was an alpha, like my fathers. I wish I was tall and strong like them. If I was an alpha, my fathers wouldn’t worry about me going off to hunt by myself. I could go wherever I want, whenever I want. If I was an alpha, I could—

A sharp twinge in my lower abdomen breaks me from these thoughts, and between my legs, wet arousal seeps out of me, reminding me that I am not an alpha. I am an omega.

An omega who’s going into heat.

I turn and continue onward, deeper into the wilderness, my spear clutched tightly in my fists, my ears straining for even the faintest hint of danger.

And by danger, I mean alphas.

I hear nothing however, and soon the forest opens up before me, revealing a wide open clearing awash in moonlight. I pause at the treeline, scanning the clearing for any signs of life. There’s an old farmhouse on the other side, but the windows are dark, and tall weeds signal that no one has stayed there for a long, long time. An ancient barn stands beside the house, warped and weathered and leaning.

The place looks safe, but I’m hesitant. I remain in the cover of the forest, watching. I watch until another, sharper twinge in my abdomen sets me moving again. I head for the barn.

I’m halfway across the clearing when a funny feeling prickles the back of my neck. A sense of being watched. I spin and face the trees.

“Who’s there?” I growl, keeping my voice low. My heart is pounding like a drum. “Show yourself!”