The Omega Who Stole The King's Heart

Chapter 3; Eyes That See Through Shadows

Tasha POV.

The man lay motionless, his back pressed against the rough wooden floor. Blood seeped from his side, pooling beneath him like a dark, sticky puddle. My heart pounded as I hesitated for a moment, then carefully moved closer, trying to keep my trembling hands steady.

I looked around the small cabin, searching desperately for anything that could help him—some medicine, cloth, anything. The room was sparse, but I spotted a small cabinet in the corner, dusty and creaking as I opened it.

Inside, I found bottles of alcohol, some bandages, and a few herbs I recognized from my grandfather’s old remedies. My fingers trembled as I grabbed the alcohol, the sharp scent filling my nose, and a roll of rough cloth. I knew I had to act fast.

‘Could he be dangerous?’ The thought flickered through my mind, sharp and cold. ‘Maybe he’s a villain, a threat come to hurt me, or worse. Maybe I should run, leave him here, and forget I ever found him.’

But then I remembered my grandfather—how he always cared for me, how he’d patch me up when I was hurt, how he’d tell me that everyone, no matter who they seemed, deserved compassion. Even if they were strangers, even if they looked dangerous.

‘He always believed in kindness,’ softly, clutching the alcohol and the cloth tightly. ‘And I want to believe that, too. I want to believe that helping him isn’t a mistake.’

I gently turned him onto his side, trying to get a better look at his wound. His face was still covered in blood, the side of his cheek pale and streaked with crimson. I hesitated for a moment, then carefully poured a little alcohol onto the cloth, wincing at the sting. I pressed it gently against his side, trying to slow the bleeding.

My hands shook, but I kept going. I couldn’t shake the feeling that, no matter who he was, I was doing the right thing. That sometimes, even in the darkness, kindness was the only light we had.

As I worked, I whispered softly, almost to myself. “Whoever you are… I’ll help you. Because that’s what my grandfather would’ve done.”

I carefully cleaned the blood from his face with a damp cloth, trying to be gentle despite the trembling in my hands. The moonlight filtering through the small window cast a faint glow over him, illuminating the sharp lines of his jaw and the high, strong cheekbones. His features were striking—so handsome, almost regal, even in his battered, unconscious state.

My breath hitched, and my heart began to race faster than before. For a moment, I just stared, hypnotized by the faint, haunting beauty of his face. The dark shadows of his hair fell across his brow, framing eyes that were closed but seemed to hold stories I would never know.

‘He’s so much older than me,’ suddenly, a strange, tense flutter in my chest. The difference in age was undeniable—he looked like a man who had seen things I couldn’t even imagine. My cheeks warmed at the thought. How could someone so handsome, so sexy, be so much older? It felt almost wrong—like I was peering into a world I wasn’t meant to see, a world of shadows and power I didn’t belong to.

‘He’s a stranger.’ I told myself fiercely. ‘Just a stranger. Nothing more.’ Still, I couldn’t help but feel a strange pull—an inexplicable curiosity that made my pulse quicken every time I looked at him. It was dangerous, I knew that. But even in his pain, even in his battered state, he radiated a kind of quiet strength that called to something deep inside me.

I blinked, forcing myself to focus. I had done all I could. His wounds looked better, and I’d cleaned the blood from his face as best I could. Now, I needed rest. It was still dark outside, and I could feel the exhaustion pulling at me, like a heavy weight pressing into my bones.

I hesitated for a moment, then settled onto the small cot near the corner. My eyelids fluttered, and I let myself drift into sleep, the quiet hum of the forest outside lulling me into a fragile peace.

‘Maybe tomorrow… things will be different. Maybe I’ll wake up and find everything’s changed. ‘

And with that thought, I closed my eyes. The darkness of sleep pulled me under, dragging me into a nightmare I couldn’t escape.

In my dream, I was back in the clearing, the moon hanging heavy overhead. Caspian’s voice echoed painfully in my mind. I choose her. The words sliced through me, sharp and cold. I saw him look at Marisa, glowing with pride and love, while I stood trembling, invisible beneath the weight of my own insignificance.

My heart clenched painfully as I watched the scene unfold again. My parents’ faces appeared behind him—cold, distant, their eyes devoid of warmth. My mother’s expression was blank, her voice echoing in my ears.

"You’re not enough, Tasha," I heard them say. "Weak, unworthy. We can’t keep someone like you in our lives."

The words shattered me all over again, leaving me hollow and aching. I wanted to scream, to run, to fight back, but I was frozen, trapped in that moment of rejection and despair.

And then I woke up.

The cabin was silent again, the faint glow of dawn spilling through the cracks in the walls. The nightmare clung to me, heavy and suffocating. My breath was ragged, and my heart pounded fiercely. I sat up slowly, trembling, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep and the ghost of that pain.

My eyes flicked around the small, quiet room—everything was still, peaceful, as if the night’s darkness had never been. But then my gaze landed on something I hadn’t noticed before.

Standing just beside the door, perfectly still, was him.

The same man who had entered the cabin last night, stumbling in, blood streaming from a deep wound all over his body.

Now, he was awake, and his eyes—dark, intense, and unwavering—locked onto mine with a strange, quiet confidence.

He stood tall, proud, almost regal, as if he belonged here, in this lonely cabin, in this fragile moment. His posture radiated strength, but there was a softness in his gaze—like he was trying to read every secret I kept hidden.

I froze, heart pounding even harder now. I couldn’t look away. His eyes, so familiar and yet so distant, seemed to hold a thousand unspoken words. I lay there, staring back at him, unsure if I should be afraid or somehow captivated.

The first light of morning spilled through the cracks, casting a gentle glow over his face. And in that quiet, fragile moment, I realized—I didn’t know what he was, or what he wanted.