Omegas were lucky to serve the royal family. That's what they told me growing up. I was lucky to wake up early and cook breakfast for the royal family. I was blessed to leave school early and do their laundry. I should've been happy to spend my weekends cooking, cleaning, mopping, dusting. Over and over again until I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs. Lucky? More like unfortunate. Blessed? More like cursed. Happy? More like miserable. It came time for The Calling. The moment where I would stand before the Pack and take my place as an Omega. I was supposed to allow the Beta's son, Dmitry, to reject me and leave him free to date my "best friend". I was supposed to stand there and take it as a good Omega should. I was supposed to turn into my wolf, run a bit, eat a banquet, and then wake up early to begin my life as a servant in the royal house. And the entire time I was supposed to act as if my life were something amazing. Why? The alternative was worse. Omegas who didn't toe the line ended up as Omegas in the Outside. The Outside meant outside the gates to our Pack. Outside meant living in a shack barely big enough for one wolf and eating scraps the Luna would send to us once a week. The Outside meant that I either starved or attacked by Rogue wolves or, more likely, both. Living on the Outside meant I had one year, maybe two, to live. So yeah. Scrubbing and cleaning looked a lot better than starvation. But still. I hated that my life would be reduced to what kind of fabric softener I used for which member of the royal family. Because each one had their own personal kind. Evidently, royals didn't like smelling like one another. When I had a chance to leave it all behind, I did. I took it even if it meant almost certain death. Because that death would've been honorable. That death would've meant my name would go down in history as a survivor. An elite. But I survived. I became revered. I became a warrior. Now my Pack wants me back to claim me as their own.