My life was a living hell: no matter how hard I tried, I was never enough. Being an omega was bad enough, but being a male omega was the worst thing that could ever happen. They were rare, those like me, enough to be seen as nothing more than a freak, kept at a distance and mocked even by other omegas. But if, like me, you were the son of the Alpha, the only son besides three younger and two older sisters, things got even more complicated. For my father I was nothing more than a misfortune, a plague. And as much as my mother, the Luna of the pack, loved me, she couldn't go against her mate. But it would soon be over, I kept telling myself: two days and I would be eighteen, free to leave and become a rogue. As bad as it sounded, it was still better than being in a family that treated you like you didn't exist or being punctually beaten by anyone. Just two days and I would be free. But was it really going to be that easy?

Have you ever imagined what it feels like not to be in control of your body, of your actions? To let someone in control, almost like a video game character, allowing a stranger to move every part of you, like a puppet in the hands of a puppeteer? Azrael Kim has lived a meaningless life that was not his, moved by someone whose voice he has only heard, a disgusting being who used his body as an outlet for every most despicable perversion of him. Will he be able to free himself from the chains and escape from a corrupt world driven only by power and perversion? Extract: (..) he wanted to die. Disappear, let go to death and no longer feel those hands on his body, the taste of blood on his tongue, the acrid smell of vomit in that corner of the room that no one ever went near. The gray eyes rose by themselves, settling on the hooded figure in front of him to whom he smiled, touching the half-naked body covered only by those black leather shorts that left very little to the imagination: but instead of approaching, the figure shook his head, handing him the hand covered with a black glove, as if to offer him a way out. But it wasn't Azrael who was in control, not at that moment. It was a matter of a second: the figure grabbed him and placed a handkerchief impregnated with something on his face that made him stagger and blurred his vision, until a black veil fell over him, unconscious, held by that person whose face he had not seen. Was it finally his time to die?