Feral Omega: A Dark Reverse Harem Omegaverse Romance (Ghost Alpha Unit Book 1)

The chopper’s blades whir overhead as we descend toward a sprawling compound nestled in a valley between snow-capped peaks. I clutch the oversized leather jacket around my shoulders, the alpha’s scent still clinging to it. Pine and smoke, with an undercurrent of something darker. Something more primal.

Thane. That’s his name.

I sneak a glance at him from the corner of my eye, trying to reconcile the brutal reputation of the spec-ops team known as the Ghosts with the man sitting across from me.

Broad shoulders, chiseled jaw, eyes like shards of obsidian. A face that could have been carved from stone. Leonine. Regal.

And yet, when I gathered the nerve to spit in that face, he didn’t retaliate. Didn’t backhand me into submission like any other alpha would have. Just wiped it away with a flicker of amusement in those otherwise unreadable dark eyes.

Unreadable.

My least favorite trait.

I burrow deeper into his coat, telling myself it’s only for warmth. It doesn’t mean anything. I won’t let myself believe it does. I’ve seen too many omegas fall for an alpha’s act, lured by a few scraps of feigned kindness, only to end up broken and bleeding.

Or worse.

I won’t let my guard down. Not around him. Not around any of them. I don’t care if he hasn’t forced me to kneel at his feet.

Yet.

But he will. They always do.

The chopper banks, circling the sprawling compound nestled in the rugged valley between mountains below. A formidable wall of rough-hewn logs, easily twenty feet high and topped with vicious coils of razor wire, encircles the perimeter. It’s an imposing sight, more fortress than pack estate.

Within the confines of the wall, a collection of squat, utilitarian buildings dot the grounds, all concrete and steel. No graceful architecture or manicured gardens here. Everything is functional, almost brutally so.

A far cry from the sprawling luxury estates most important packs occupy, with their grand mansions, meticulously landscaped grounds, and ostentatious displays of wealth and power. Those places are designed to intimidate in a different way, to cow visiting packs with opulence.

This place, in contrast, seems built for a different purpose entirely. Several outbuildings look like barracks, while others have the distinct appearance of an armory, a training facility, vehicle depots. At the center of it all looms the main structure, larger than the rest but no less severe. Narrow windows, too small to easily breach, are spaced at strategic intervals. The few visible doors look heavy enough to withstand assault from a tank.

I was feral long enough to know this is a base of operations, not a home.

But as Emilia said while I was prepared as the sacrificial lamb, the Ghosts aren’t like most packs. She insinuated they’re more likely to hunt me for sport rather than fuck me.

Guess there’s a silver lining after all.

Thane’s voice rumbles over the roar of the blades. ‘It’s not much. But it’s better than that prison they had you in.’

I keep my eyes fixed on the window, watching the ground rush up to meet us. I don’t answer. The Refinement Center was a gilded cage—at least the upper levels—but a cage all the same. I’m not naive enough to believe this place, which actually looks the part of a prison, will be any different.

As the landing skids touch down, Thane rises, looming over me. He offers a hand to help me out of the chopper, but when I skirt it and jump down on my own, he snorts a laugh, a frosty cloud puffing through his lips into the mid-morning air.

‘Come on,’ he says, already lumbering toward the largest building.

I trail after Thane, keeping a wary distance as we approach the main building. A bunker is more fitting than a mansion for a pack that deals in death. A few men in winter gear and goggles—nothing Thane seems to feel the need for—look up from their chores, watching us curiously and nudging each other until all eyes are on us. Servants, I’m guessing, not fellow prisoners.

The door groans open and Thane strides inside without so much as a backward glance. I hesitate on the threshold, pulse hammering in my throat. I could run. Disappear into the wilderness and take my chances alone.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

But I’ve barely taken a step when Thane’s rumbling voice drifts back. ‘Don’t even think about it.’

Bristling, I slink inside, flinching as the door clangs shut at my back with grim finality.

I’m in the wolves’ den now.

They’re gathered in a sprawling common area, all stone and steel. A fire crackles in a massive hearth, throwing shifting shadows across the assembled alphas. Five of them, including Thane. All male, all huge, all watching me with predatory gazes like I’m a scrap of meat dangled before a pack of starving dogs. Some of their eyes are hidden behind masks, but I can still feel them locked on me all the same.

Thane’s hand clamps on my shoulder and I barely suppress a shudder. He propels me forward, into the center of the room. Into the crosshairs.

‘Ghosts, meet our new omega.’ His voice is laced with dark amusement. ‘Her name is Ivy. Word from the Center is she’s a runner, so gather around and commit her scent to memory.’

The alphas prowl closer, surrounding me in a loose half-circle. I feel the weight of their stares, heavy and hungry, as they size me up like a prize to be won.

Or prey to be devoured.

A shiver courses through me as the alphas press closer, their heat and hunger palpable, suffocating. I keep my spine straight, my chin high, but inside, I’m quaking.

I’ve never been this close to so many alphas at once. Never felt so utterly surrounded, cornered.

Helpless.

I take them in with a quick, darting glance, trying not to let my gaze linger on any one of them for too long. As if meeting their eyes directly might provoke them to pounce.

There’s an alpha wearing a mask like some kind of dystopian plague doctor, all gleaming lenses and sculpted metal, his long black hair pulled back in a low ponytail. Then there’s a younger looking alpha with a burly build, unruly chestnut hair and a devil-may-care smirk on his lips. A third looms like an executioner, face obscured behind a leather hood with two holes for eyes and nothing but shadows behind them.Original content from NôvelDrama.Org.

But it’s the fourth that sends real fear skittering down my spine. He’s a giant even compared to the rest of them, a vented gas mask that echoes with every breath concealing the lower half of his ruined face. Jagged scars mar what little I can see of his cheeks, hinting at much worse horrors beneath the mask. His left eyelids are torn, and I’m not sure he can fully close that eye.

Not that he’s closing the other one, either. His icy blue gaze pierces me from the shadows of his hood and choppy black hair, intense, unreadable.

Thane’s voice cuts through the charged silence. ‘Plague. Whiskey. Valek. Wraith.’ He indicates each alpha in turn with a tilt of his chin. I don’t miss the way his hand tightens on my shoulder as he says the last name.

It’s fitting. Wraith looks like something out of a nightmare.

All of them do, really. Except for the one named Whiskey. He just looks like an asshole.

‘What happened to her?’ the one called Plague demands, but I can’t tell if he’s offended he’s being presented with a subpar offering or concerned. Knowing alphas, I’m sure it’s the former.

‘There was an incident at the Center,’ Thane mutters.

I don’t know how much they told him about what actually happened, but given the way he reacted when Emilia brought out the collar and leash, I doubt it was the full truth.

Not that it matters.

If anything, they’d probably return me if they knew how badly I was used by the betas at the Center. I refuse to stay here, but I like my odds of escaping from this place better than back in that dingy basement.

‘You did say she was scrappy,’ drawls Whiskey, his smirk sharpening into something that would make me nervous if he wasn’t the one wearing it. ‘Aren’t you a pretty little piece? Gonna be fun having you around, darlin’.’

His gaze rakes over me, lingering in all the places it shouldn’t before he leans in close enough that his breath disturbs the little hairs on my neck and breathes in deep to catch my scent. I resist the urge to shrink back, to cover myself. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

Yep. Asshole.

‘Keep your hands to yourself, Whiskey,’ Thane growls, a thread of warning in his tone. ‘She’s not here for your amusement.’

Whiskey’s grin only widens, but he steps back, hands raised in mock surrender. ‘Sure thing, boss. Just appreciating the view.’

The one in the plague doctor mask—Plague, I remind myself, not that it’s hard to remember—takes a step closer, head cocked. Studying me like I’m some sort of specimen. A moth pinned and fluttering beneath glass.

He leans in next to get my scent, even though I’m not sure how he can smell anything under that strange mask. Seems like the kind of mask built so the wearer can’t smell anything.

‘She’s thin,’ he remarks as he pulls away, his voice a metallic rasp behind the mask. Clinical. Detached. ‘Malnourished, actually. If she’s to be of any use, that will need to be remedied.’

I bristle at that, my nails biting into my palms. I’m not a broken doll for them to fix so they can play with it. Not some fragile bird with a broken wing.

The one called Valek—if that’s even a code name—says nothing. But I feel the weight of his stare behind that leather mask, heavy and cold as a blade against my skin. Assessing. Calculating.

Like he’s deciding where to cut first.

My whole body stiffens as he steps closer for his turn. He pulls off the hood, revealing a chiseled face that’s much more handsome than I expected. He gives me a wolfish grin, all white teeth and sharp canines, and his stone cold gray eyes light when they meet mine.

But I’ve been in this world long enough to know some of the worst monsters are also the most beautiful.

A malicious gleam of amusement flares in his gaze as he leans down, his platinum hair falling into his eyes. There are three thin scars on his temple, small yet noticeable where they vanish into his hairline, as if someone had scratched his face while they were fighting for their life.

When he gets close to my neck, he takes a deep, savoring breath. I feel more like food than breeding stock.

‘Exquisite,’ he purrs in an accented voice. Must be Vrissian. He sounds like the few soldiers from the arctic region who passed through the camp now and then, but his voice is deeper. Velvety and rough at the same time. An unusual combination that immediately sets me on edge.

Wraith remains motionless, impassive. A monolith of muscle and menace. But I can feel him watching me too, those uncanny blue eyes tracking my every breath, my every tremor.

I feel flayed open. Exposed. Like they can see straight through to all the secret, vulnerable parts of me no matter how deep I try to bury them.

When it’s Wraith’s turn to inspect me, the massive alpha approaches me like a stalking panther. His heavy boots thump against the floor, covered in leather straps with rivets that jangle faintly until he comes to a stop right in front of me. He has to bend so far down just to get to my neck. My heart hammers in my chest, an instinctive reminder of who is predator and who is prey in this scenario.

He leans in just close enough for the strange sound of his breathing echoing in the tubes and vents of his mask to drown out the thunder of my heartbeat. His breathing grows louder, deeper, as he takes in my scent, and for the few seconds that takes, I find myself unable to breathe at all.

His gaze is empty. The stare of a wild, rabid beast.

When he finally steps back, I’m trembling in spite of all my attempts to remain calm. To show no weakness.

Thane’s fingertips dig into my shoulder, grounding me. I take a slow, steadying breath, trying to compose myself. I can’t let them see how rattled I am. Can’t let them smell my fear.

But it’s too late for that, I think. They’re alphas. Apex predators. They can probably taste it on the air, metallic and heady. And now, they have my scent.

There’s nowhere they can’t find me.

Thane steps forward, positioning himself subtly between me and the others. ‘She’s not a toy,’ he says, his voice low and laced with authority. ‘I expect you all to be on good behavior while she gets settled in.’

It doesn’t go over my head that he says nothing about what comes after that, but I guess at least I can expect a day or two to get my bearings before they jump on me. Assuming they follow the rules laid down by Thane, who seems to be the head of the group, even if each of these men is formidable in his own right.

Good. That gives me time to plan my next move.

The others exchange glances, something unspoken passing between them. Something I can’t quite read. Their behavior is so different from betas. Every motion, every word, is charged.

Whiskey is the first to break the silence, his grin razor-edged. ‘Whatever you say, boss.’

And with that, he turns on his heel and saunters off, whistling a jaunty tune. The others disperse as well, fading back into the shadows of the bunker until only Thane and I remain.

I let out another breath, my shoulders sagging as I allow myself to relax, if only just a little bit. I don’t trust Thane at all, but he seems to be the least psychotic member of this pack of human wolves.

I’m acutely aware of his proximity, the heat of his body, the musk of his scent. Pine and smoke and alpha.

But he just looks at me, something inscrutable in the depths of those onyx eyes. I hate how unreadable he is. It doesn’t make me feel any better at all about my new situation.

My new prison.

‘Come on,’ he finally says, his hand falling away from my shoulder. ‘Let’s get you settled.’

And what choice do I have but to follow?

I’m in the heart of their den now, with nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. I’m completely at the mercy of the Ghosts.

And something tells me they have none to spare.

Thane leads me down a long corridor, our footsteps echoing off the concrete walls. I try to keep track of the turns we take, mapping the layout of the bunker in my mind, but it’s a labyrinth of identical passages and doors.

Finally, he stops in front of a nondescript door and pushes it open, gesturing for me to enter. I hesitate, my heart lodged in my throat.

Is this some sort of trap?

A cell where they’ll keep me locked away until they have use for me?

I’ll bite their dicks off.

But Thane just looks at me expectantly, one brow arched, and I force myself to step over the threshold.

And then I stop dead, my breath catching in my chest.

It’s a bedroom. A real bedroom, with a bed and a dresser and… is that a desk by the window?

I blink, certain I must be hallucinating. But no, it’s real. The bed is made up with a thick quilt, felt blankets, and pillows. The dresser is sturdy oak, and the desk…

I drift toward the window as if in a dream, my fingertips grazing the smooth wood of the desk. Outside, the wilderness beyond the concrete and steel buildings stretches as far as the eye can see, a sea of evergreens dusted with snow. The sky is a crisp, cloudless blue, the sun casting long shadows across the valley.

It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

‘I know it’s not much,’ Thane says from behind me, his voice startling me out of my thoughts. ‘We didn’t have much time to prepare. I’ll have materials shipped in so you can nest, but until then, you can at least have blankets.’

I turn to stare at him, my mouth hanging open. Not much? This room is nicer than anything I’ve ever had in my life, even at the camp where Mom and I shared a tent on the outskirts during a period of brief but blissful freedom.

And he’s apologizing for it?

‘I… I get my own room?’ I manage to croak out, my voice rusty from disuse.

Thane’s brow furrows, confusion flickering in his dark eyes. ‘Of course. Where else would you sleep?’

I almost laugh at the absurdity of the question. Where else, indeed? On the floor, most likely. Or chained to the foot of his bed like a dog. Maybe even in a cage.

‘I just… I didn’t expect…’ I trail off, unsure how to put into words the magnitude of what he’s offering me.

Privacy.

Personal space.

A small slice of autonomy in a world where I have none.

It’s more than I ever dared to hope for.

Which means it’s going to be snatched away from me when I least expect it. I can’t let my guard down. I’m sure that’s exactly what he wants.

What they all want.

Thane studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable as ever. Then he nods, as if coming to some sort of decision. ‘This is your space, Ivy. No one will enter without your permission. Not even me.’

I blink at him, sure I must have misheard.

‘I can’t say the same for outside these quarters,’ he continues, his voice low and rough. ‘And I won’t pretend we’re not just a pack of feral alphas, but I think you’ll find this place is better than what you’re used to. Which isn’t saying much, if what I saw back at the Refinement Center is any indication.’

I say nothing, watching him closely, looking for any sign that he’s lying.

Not that he has any reason to. He can do whatever he wants to me without facing any consequences.

Any alpha can.

‘Well, I’ll let you get some rest,’ he says, backing toward the door. ‘We usually have meals in the mess hall, but I’m assuming you’re tired, so I’ll have one of the servants bring you some food later along with the extra blankets and some supplies.’

I watch as he leaves, shutting the door behind him, and wait until I hear his heavy footfalls go down the hall before I hurry over and lock the door. Not that it’ll do any good if one of the other alphas decides to prove him wrong. I’m sure any of them could break a door off its hinges without breaking a sweat.

I sink against the wood, letting out a slow breath.

So this is it. My new prison.

He’s right about one thing—it’s a hell of a lot nicer than the last. But I’m not enough of a fool to believe I’m anything more to these men than I was to the alphas at the Refinement Center.

Fresh meat.

Breeding stock.

It’s all the same in the end. But it’s the first time I’ve had a space I can call my own since I can remember, and as I go back over to the window, pressing my hand against the glass, freedom is so close I can taste it.

I just have to be smart about it.

I just have to bide my time.