The Omega's rebellion

Eventful meetup

A smattering of applause filtered through the throng, though based on the tense undercurrent, it seemed this gracing was viewed more as usurpation than honor.

Zachariah gestured a thin, gnarled hand toward the arrogant figure lounging on the dais.

"Alpha Blackwood has come with a somewhat...unorthodox proposal."

Lucas rose in one lithe, economical motion, and when he spoke, I swore his rich timbre caressed over the very core of me like the sinful stroke of a lover.

"I have no interest in feeble preambles, old man," he rumbled with a hint of danger lurking in the velvet weight of that tone. "The fact remains, my pack is in sore need of fertile omegas to revitalize our bloodlines."

A murmur rippled through the crowd at his brash statement, rife with indignation.

Undeterred, Lucas raked the assembled omegas with that heavy stare, openly assessing and evaluating like we were nothing more than prime livestock to be purchased.

When that searing gaze found me, arrowing through the crowd as if drawn by some elemental force, I suddenly felt utterly naked beneath its smoldering weight.

My pulse hammered a frantic tattoo as liquid heat surged through my veins, a Pavlovian response to the dark promise I saw blatant in those scorching depths.

A low, rumbling chuckle seemed to reverberate from the very depths of Lucas's broad chest, and I knew—I just knew—he could sense the betraying flush of arousal creeping across my skin.

The insufferable beast loved having this effect on me.

"As I was saying," Lucas continued in that sinful, smoke-roughened timbre. "My purpose here is to assess and recruit the finest omegas to better ensure the continuation of our proud legacy."

His piercing stare found me once more, holding me immobile and breathless as he uttered his next words with deliberate gravity.

"To that end, all prospective omegas will be...evaluated through a virility ritual of physical endurance and raw, primal power. Those who persevere will earn the right to prove their worth as potential bearers of the Crimson Moon bloodline."

The weight of his meaning settled over the crowd in a heaviness that seemed to leech the very air from my lungs. He couldn't possibly mean...?

"You cannot be serious!" The protest erupted from Celine in a scandalized shriek. "You mean to have us perform like animals for your amusement?"

Rather than take offense, a wicked grin curved Lucas's full lips as he slowly raked his searing regard over Celine's trembling frame.

"Indeed I do, she-wolf. And if my memory serves, you'd hardly be the first animal on display here today."

A chorus of titters and gasps ricocheted through the throng, fed by myriad expressions ranging from outraged shock to lewd, delighted interest.

Celine's face went adorably blotched with mortified fury as she opened her mouth—likely to unleash quite the sulfurous stream of vitriol.

But I never discovered what blistering rejoinder she intended, for in that moment, Ethan spoke in a resonant rumble beside me.

"I accept your terms, Alpha Blackwood."

The words fell like a death knell through the charged air.

Lucas's devastatingly handsome features went utterly unreadable, that arrogant half-smile slipping away as if it had never existed in the first place.

For an endless fraction of a suspended heartbeat, he simply studied Ethan in silence—evaluating, assessing.

At length, he uttered a single word in reply.

"Good."

Then those blazing amber eyes locked onto me once more, searing through every layer, every flimsy barrier until I felt utterly flayed before his hypnotic regard.

In that instant, even through the phantom skim of his sensual energy flickering over my skin, I saw the unspoken truth Lucas had been hinting at all along: that sham of a ritual wasn't meant to determine a bearer for his legacy.

This audition, this perverse exhibition of sacralized flesh, was nothing more than the alpha's arrogant means of selecting his newest plaything—his next conquest to be used, pampered, and ultimately discarded when he'd had his fill of her.

And the expression glittering in those molten depths said he'd already made his choice.

The crowd surged and swelled with barely contained energy as the elders issued a series of grunted instructions.

We omegas were to gather at first light the following morning to commence the virility ritual and prove our prowess as potential mates for the Crimson Moon alpha.

Tension crackled through the throngs like an electrical storm about to break as the masses dispersed in groups of twos and threes, voices rising in hushed murmurs of scandal and indignation.

I should have been swept up in the same rampant tide of outrage and fury—we were being casually objectified and humiliated.

Reduced to mere broodmares and chattel in some antiquated system that should have been abolished centuries ago.

Yet in spite of that, in spite of the resonant undercurrent of justified anger, a part of me couldn't quite muster the same affront as my sisters.

Because that infinitesimal fraction of Lucas Blackwood's focused intent that had settled over me so possessively awoke something deep and primal within—something that yearned to be admired, to be assessed in the only manner the enigmatic alpha seemed to understand.

This brutal, sensual ritual disgusted me on a visceral level.

Yet at the same time, the thought of vying for Lucas's attentions in such a raw, carnal display had something inside me going taut and liquid at once, like a trip-wire pulled exquisitely, irrevocably taut.

Propriety demanded I be revolted, but instead I could only muster the dying embers of maidenly outrage, burning dimly in the face of this dark, rapacious arrogance Lucas personified.

And as I swayed through the milling crowds toward my family's cottage, one simmering truth clung to me with shameful tenacity.

More than anything, I yearned to catch that mercurial gaze again and reveal in no uncertain terms that I would emerge the victor in this grotesque competition.

No matter what rituals of virility were required, I would be the omega to earn the right to be claimed and mast

ered in the devastatingly possessive manner the Crimson Moon alpha so clearly craved.