Dionne
'Get up, Dionne,' my wolf whimpered in the back of my mind, her voice sounding as fractured as I felt. 'You need to get out of this room before she comes."
I groaned as the agony started as a dull ache in my lower back before spreading like wildfire through every nerve ending. My skin felt too hot, too sensitive, as if even the air itself was poisonous.
Every cycle, the outcome was the same. While other Omegas spoke of their heats as a time of softness and nesting, mine felt like a divine punishment. It came quarterly rather than the typical six-month cycle, and each time it grew more intense. It felt less like a natural biological process and more like my body was actively trying to destroy itself from the inside out.
I lay curled on the cold linoleum of the servants' quarters, my knees pressed to my chest. The thin blanket I'd wrapped myself in was soaked through with sweat. A spasm twisted my gut, dragging a ragged gasp from my throat.
The door flew open without warning. I jerked upright instinctively, but the sudden movement sent a fresh spike of pain through my abdomen that left me gasping.
Matron Shaw, the warden of the omega wing, filled the doorway. She was a mountain of a woman, smelling of starch and sweat. She looked down at me as if I were a stain on her pristine floor.
"Still on the ground?" Her voice was like gravel grinding under a boot. "Pathetic. Do you think the Pack pays you to lie about and moan while the rest of us work?"
"Matron," I managed to say, my voice hoarse. "The suppressants I took yesterday barely worked. I don't think—"
She crossed the room in three quick strides. Before I could react, she grabbed my chin roughly, forcing me to look up at her. "You think I care about your comfort? I don't care if you're dying, Dionne. Alpha Thorne is hosting the Solstice Gala, a once in a lifetime opportunity. The entire Northern Alliance is here. We are short-staffed, and I will not have a runt hiding away in the dark."
"I can't," I begged, shaking my head. "My scent... it's too strong. I'll disturb the guests."
She reached down, gripping a handful of my hair, and yanked my head back until my neck strained. Tears pricked my eyes, hot and stinging.
"You have fifteen minutes. Scrub that scent off you and get into your uniform. If you aren't at the service entrance in fifteen, I'll have the guards drag you to the kennels and you can sleep with the hounds. Am I clear?"
I nodded frantically, the movement sending spikes of pain through my skull. She released me with a shove.
"Here." She flicked a small glass vial onto the floor. It rolled to a stop near my hand. "Inhibitors. Double dose. It should numb you enough to be useful."
She turned on her heel, leaving the door wide open to the harsh hallway light. I stared at the vial. We all knew the infirmary issued expired batches to the servants. They were barely effective for a normal heat, let alone a defective one like mine. But I had no choice. I uncorked the vial and downed the bitter, metallic liquid, praying to the Moon Goddess for mercy.
I stumbled to the washing area. The cold water I splashed on my face did little to clear my head. I pulled my curly hair into a tight bun, ignoring how my scalp protested. The plain gray uniform hung loose on my frame. The inhibitors dulled the sharpest edges of the pain, but the fever still simmered just beneath my skin, waiting.
Before leaving, I checked that my bracelet was secure on my wrist. It was a simple copper thing, with a small green stone set in the center. The orphanage matron who raised me said it was pinned to my blanket when I was abandoned as an infant. My name had been written on a scrap of paper tucked inside. It was the only connection I had to whatever family had left me behind.
The great hall was chaos when I arrived. Servers rushed in every direction while pack members in formal attire filled the space. The air was thick with competing scents, perfume, alcohol, roasted meat, and the underlying musk of dozens of Alphas in close quarters.
I kept to the edges of the room, my eyes on the floor, focusing on not drawing attention to myself.
"Dionne." Matron Shaw's voice cut through the noise. She appeared beside me with a silver tray holding a bottle of expensive whiskey and a crystal glass. "Take this tray to the top floor. The East Turret. The VIP guest requires a nightcap."
My stomach dropped. "The East Turret? But that's restricted—"
"Don't argue with me, Dionne. Trust me, you are not my preferred choice for this assignment. The other servers are all occupied, so you'll go. You'll deliver the tray and you'll leave immediately without speaking." Her fingers dug into my shoulder hard enough to bruise.
"If you embarrass this Pack, Dionne, I will personally ensure you are exiled to the Waste. Now go."
Being cast out as a rogue was essentially a death sentence for an omega with no survival skills. I nodded mutely.
The elevator ride to the third floor felt like an eternity as my nerves stretched tighter with each passing second, afraid of whatever lay ahead. The hallway was silent, carpeted, with dim lighting that created long shadows. I found the suite at the end of the corridor and knocked quietly.
No response.
I tried the handle and found it unlocked. I pushed the door open slowly.
The room was dark. Complete pitch black, as though someone had deliberately blocked out every source of light. The door closed behind me with a soft click, and I was completely blind.
"Hello?" My voice came out as barely a whisper. "Room service."
Nothing.
I took a careful step forward, holding the tray with both hands, trying to remember the typical layout of the guest suites. There should be a table just to the right of the entrance.
Then the scent hit me.
It was nothing like the overwhelming mix of scents downstairs. This was singular and devastating. Pine and smoke and something darker, almost like leather. It bypassed every rational thought and slammed directly into the heat that had been simmering under my skin all evening.
My hands went numb. The tray tilted, and I heard the bottle and glass crash to the floor.
A low growl came from somewhere to my left. Deep and resonant, it vibrated through the floorboards and into my bones.
I gasped, backing away, but my legs refused to work.
Heavy footsteps crossed the room. A large hand, scorching hot closed around my wrist. I was pulled forward, and then there was a solid chest against mine, and that scent was everywhere, drowning me.
My wolf howled in recognition, a sound of pure, unadulterated need.
When he lowered his face to my neck and inhaled deeply, something inside me simply broke.
"Mine," a deep voice rumbled, vibrating through my very bones.
I didn't know his face, his face, or know anything beyond the fact that my body had decided he was what it needed, and nothing I could do would change that.
The room disappeared. Matron Shaw's threats, the broken glass on the floor, my own name, all of it dissolved into nothing.
His hands found my skin in the darkness, calloused fingers trailing fire wherever they touched. I gasped at the contact, my body arching toward him. The scent of pine and smoke wrapped around me like a drug, drowning out the pain that had been consuming me moments before.
I felt the rough scratch of his stubble against my neck as he inhaled deeply, a low growl rumbling through his chest that my wolf answered with a desperate whine. When he moved, I moved with him, our bodies finding a rhythm that felt familiar. The sound of fabric tearing, the slick slide of skin on skin, the wet slapping sounds, the way his breath came faster against my ear—these were the only things that existed.
-----
Three Weeks Later
"Did you hear she looked like a corpse when she came down the next morning?"
The words drifted from the washing area where three other omegas were working. I kept my hands submerged in the soapy water, scrubbing at a stubborn stain on a tablecloth.
"A corpse? Please," another voice scoffed. "She looked like a strumpet. I heard her uniform was torn to shreds. She probably threw herself at him, hoping to snag a Mate."
"As if a high-ranking guest would mate with a runt. He probably used her and tossed her aside like the trash she is."
Laughter rippled through the room. I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper. It had been two weeks of this. Two weeks of rumors spreading like a disease through the servant quarters. No one knew who was in that room, Matron Shaw had sealed the records, but everyone knew I had walked out at dawn, disheveled and smelling of a strange Alpha.
I wasn't a whore. I had never been with anyone before that night.
But I couldn't explain what had happened. I couldn't explain the haze, the loss of control, the feeling that I had been possessed by something. But explaining any of that wouldn't even matter. The story was already written in their minds.
Hey, Dionne!" one of the girls shouted. "You missed a spot. Or are you too busy dreaming about your mystery lover to work?"
Laughter echoed off the tile walls.
I ignored them, but the room was suddenly tilting. The heat from the industrial dryers felt suffocating. The smell of bleach and lavender detergent became cloying, twisting my stomach into knots.
Black spots danced in my vision. My hands went numb in the soapy water.
Just breathe, I told myself. Just—
The floor rushed up to meet me. The sounds of the laundry room, the sloshing water, the cruel laughter, all warped into a dull roar, and then silence.
The steady beeping pulled me back. My eyelids felt heavy, and when I finally managed to open them, harsh fluorescent lights made me wince.
I groaned, the light stinging my eyes as I forced them open. The sterile white ceiling of the infirmary came into focus.
"Easy now."
I turned my head carefully. Callum sat in the plastic chair beside the bed, still in his patrol uniform. His blonde long hair was disheveled, and there were lines of tension around his eyes I had not seen before.
"Callum?" I tried to sit up, but my body felt weak and uncoordinated.
"Don't move," he said, standing up. He poured a cup of water and held the straw to my lips. "You took a hard fall. You've been out for three hours."
I drank greedily, the cool water soothing my dry throat. Callum was the only person in the Pack who treated me like a human being. We weren't close, he was one of the junior patrol guards, and I was a servant, but he often slipped me extra food or walked me back to the dorms when the patrols got rowdy.
"Thank you," I said softly. "I should go. I can't afford the medical costs, and Matron Shaw will be furious that I missed my shift." I said, wincing as I moved to get out of the bed.
"Dionne, stop." His voice was firm enough to freeze me in place. "You need to stay here."
There was something in his tone that made my chest tighten with anxiety. He was not looking at me. His gaze was fixed on his hands, which were clasped tightly together.
"Callum, what's going on?"A cold dread began to pool in my stomach. "Did... did I break something? Am I fired?"
He finally looked up. His brown eyes were filled with a profound sadness, a pity that made my skin crawl. He took a deep breath, as if bracing for a blow.
The healer," he started, his voice rough. "He ran a standard blood test when they brought you in. To see why you fainted." He paused, and his eyes dropped briefly to my stomach before meeting mine again. "Your hormone levels are elevated. Significantly."
The heart monitor's beeping seemed to grow louder in the silence that followed.
"What does that mean?" I asked
Callum leaned forward, lowering his voice, as if saying the words aloud made them a crime.
"You're pregnant."