Page 1 of Feral: Part One

Slate

The air in the Veltmoor consultation room reeks of chemicals and stale hope, a combination that has never sat right with me and yet it’s the only home I’ve known for as long as I can remember. Veltmoor is supposed to be some elite Omega Center but it’s really just a prison, showcasing what great babymakers and servants we can be to the highest paying Alpha.

And then there’s me, still trying to figure out how the world works and failing miserably.

I sit slumped in a metal chair, my left arm strapped across my chest, completely useless. The fresh bandage on my shoulder itches, the skin beneath raw from the latest bond bite being carved out. The doctor said that another bond removal could kill me but that’s the least of my worries. Death would be a sweet release.

Someone clears their throat, my attention drifting across the luxurious mahogany desk to the head chair of Veltmoor Omega Refuge, Victoria, herself. She’s the perfect picture of elegance and poise with a touch of softheartedness that she wields as a weapon. Beside her, Nurse Clara fidgets with a clipboard, avoiding my gaze. Typical.

“Slate,” Victoria sighs my name like it’s a plague. “I thought I made it very clear that I didn’t want to see you back here. That I hoped you would be happy in this new pack of yours.” Her nose scrunches up in disappointment as she taps the folder in front of her. She’s not wrong. I had hoped the same.

After five failed packs, I was desperately hoping that this last Alpha would be everything an Omega could hope for. And he was. And then six months after he promised me forever, he returned me to the very steps of hell I had been trying to escape.

I twist my hands in my lap, nervous about the outcome of this meeting. Victoria rarely meets with the Omegas here and those that she does are always the ones that are in need of a little extra push in the right direction. It doesn’t help that I should be the favorite Omega. I can be meek and softhearted and care for an Alpha but time has left behind jagged pieces and this latest surgery has made it almost impossible to lean into those Omega instincts unless I have to.

Victoria manages a small smile, softening her expression. “I’ve spoken with the Veltmoor Council and they think it’s best that we try something a little different. They’re granting you one last chance. It’s Wolfscorge or the mental institution.”

Fear explodes in my chest but I keep my face neutral. A mental institution would lock me away forever, barring me from the option of ever finding a pack. But Wolfscorge? That’s the place of nightmares. The name alone conjures images of blood-stained concrete and screams echoing down dark corridors. It’swhere they send the worst of the worst, the Alphas and Betas too broken for society, the Omegas too feral to tame.

Like me.

However, it’s not my fucking fault I’m feral. It’s the fact that every time I’m returned to Veltmoor, it’s custom to have the doctor inspect me from head to toe and then remove any connections from my last pack. No explanations, no reasoning, nothing to give me closure.

And now, they want to ship me off to a hell much worse than this one.

I shift in my seat, wincing as pain shoots through my shoulder. I try to resituate my shirt, the frayed turtleneck barely covering up the scars that map my body like a butcher’s chart. “Why can’t I stay here?” A bit of a whine seeps through, my scent neutral, nothing more than the vague floral hints that have been left behind.

Victoria folds her hands together, her gaze observing me with an intensity that makes me squirm. She holds herself like an Alpha but she’s no more than a Beta. “Because Veltmoor is meant to protect Omegas from the outside world. We’re not equipped to house a feral Omega indefinitely. Your outbursts are, frankly, horrific.”

The word stings, but I don’t flinch. I’ve heard worse from the six packs that chewed me up and spit me back here. Each one bonded me, marked me, then rejected me. I can’t scent properly anymore, can’t pick up the pheromones that make Omegas pliable. All I smell is the bitter tang of my own sweat and the faint copper of blood seeping through my bandage.

I glare at Victoria, then at Clara. The Omega’s round face softens with pity, which only makes my stomach churn. “You’ll leave in the morning,” she says quietly. “With any luck, you’ll find peace with one of the Wolfscorge packs.”

There’s no fucking way I’ll find peace with a bunch of criminals. Wolfscorge is a prison dressed up as rehabilitation, a place where nightmares are born. I’ve heard the stories, some of which I know have to be fantasy but it’s not a place for happy endings. The darkness there will only feed into my feral self and in the end, there might be nothing of me left.

Victoria slides a pamphlet across the table, the wordWolfscorgein bold red letters, surrounded by images of smiling people and green fields. It looks like a fucking retreat, all sunshine and lies. A sharp, harsh laugh falls from my lips, anger bristling beneath my skin. “No need to pretty it up, Victoria. I’m going to die in there, aren’t I?” Any other Omega would cower or bow or plead but my instincts to immediately submit have died along with the rest of me.

It gets me nowhere but a little snark? That gets me answers.

Victoria scoots out of her chair, the wood scraping on the floor echoing in the office. “At least there, you’ll have a chance at a pack. It’s more than you’ll get in an institution. Make a decision by tomorrow morning, Slate. If you don’t, I’ll assume that you’ve chosen Wolfscorge. I’m sorry we couldn’t do more here for you.”

Her goodbye feels… off but I’m in no place to argue so I just escape down the hallway and back to my room. It’s the last bit of freedom I’ll enjoy, roaming the halls of a place I used to call home. I once was one of the bright-eyed and bushy-tailed Omegas believing that I’d find a pack to take care of me, to love me, to cherish me enough to give them children.

Not anymore.

The only thing I want now is to disappear into the darkness. Some part of me wished I hadn’t survived this last bond removal. Half the time, I’m in agony and the other half, everything is just confusing. My biology no longer knows what to do—submit, search, mate… I can’t make sense of anything anymore. And it pisses me off.

There’s a few murmured hellos but for the most part, the other Omegas give me a wide berth. After all, a few outbursts classifying me asferalmeans that I’m dangerous as fuck. Unpredictable, inconsolable, and unable to respond to an Alpha’s bark. I’m just theperfectpackage, aren’t I?

Sweet relief comes when I slip into my room and close the door behind me before collapsing onto my bed. I pull out the crumpled pamphlet and smooth it out, staring at the fake happiness of individuals on the cover.Wolfscorge Rehabilitation Center: A Path to Redemption.

An institution or Wolfscorge. They’re both shit options but the compound is a death sentence with a different name.

Kael

The kitchen smells like burnt coffee and Preston’s slick, a heady mix of hazelnut and vanilla that makes my cock thicken in my pants until it’s almost painful. Even slouched at the kitchen table, my legs spread wide, my attention is only on our Omega, who is currently dancing across the cracked tile. He’s in nothing but yellow lace panties, the fabric so sheer I can see the outline of his leaking cock, a dark wet spot spreading at the front. Slick glistens on his inner thighs, Preston twirling a lace shawl above his head, the fabric gliding behind him.

His hips sway from side to side, a sensual dance that slowly pulls me in.

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