His Omega

Livia POV The smell of antiseptic and metal permeated the hospital air, a mix so familiar it almost comforted me. Almost. My dark burgundy hair was tied up in a loose bun, with strands escaping as I rushed through the emergency room. It had been a chaotic night, like so many others, but I was in my element. As the pack’s doctor, blending in among humans, my work at the hospital was more than a job—it was my way of proving I was worth something, even as an omega. A rejected omega, to be precise. Here, I could get medications to treat werewolves, whose wounds defied human scalpels and stitches. It was my cover and my mission. The emergency radio crackled, and the paramedic’s voice cut through the air: “Car accident, pregnant woman, critical condition.” I adjusted my surgical mask and ran to the trauma bay. The patient was already on the stretcher, pale, her face contorted in pain as she clutched her belly. Even through the scent of blood and fear, I recognized her smell: she was from my pack. I’d never seen her before, but our pack, led by Alpha King Cassian, was vast, woven like an invisible web through the city. Her hospital wristband said her name was Remi Harrison. “Stay with me, Remi,” I said, keeping my voice steady as I hooked up monitors and barked orders at the team. My smile, the one that always calmed patients, flashed for a moment. “We’re going to take care of you and your baby.” The next few hours were a blur of adrenaline: exams, sutures, ultrasounds. When I finally stabilized Remi and confirmed the baby was safe, I felt relief mixed with exhaustion weighing on my shoulders. I pulled off my bloodied gloves and scribbled in the chart, trying to ignore the emptiness that always lingered after an intense case. Remi, now awake, gripped my hand tightly. “Thank you, Dr. Wren. You saved me and my baby.” Her voice was weak but full of emotion. She rubbed her belly, and the golden ring on her finger glinted under the fluorescent lights. “Please, can you tell me how my fiancé is? He was in the car with me.” I checked with a nurse and confirmed her fiancé was fine, with only minor injuries. “He’s out of danger, Remi. I’ll go get him.” I gave her a reassuring nod and left the room, walking down the hall to the reception area. The hospital was buzzing, as always, but something in the air shifted when I saw a tall man arguing with the receptionist. His arm was bandaged, and his voice was loud, almost breaking with desperation. “Please, I need to see her! Her name’s Remi Harrison. We’re getting married soon, I love her so much!” He was crying, nearly sobbing. My heart stopped. I knew that voice. I knew that man. It was Ezrah, my beta boyfriend. My Ezrah, with whom I’d shared three years of laughter, hugs, and foolish dreams of a future together. And he was here, begging to see his… fiancée? The floor seemed to vanish beneath me. I approached, my blood pounding in my ears. “Ezrah?” My voice came out fragile, exposed, and I hated it. He turned, his brown eyes wide, and for a second, I saw panic cross his face. “Livia? What are you—” “Is Remi Harrison your fiancée?” I interrupted, each word tearing something inside me. Nurses and patients in the waiting room started to stare, and I felt their eyes like needles. The air was heavy, suffocating. Ezrah looked away, his jaw clenched. “Livia, I don’t have time for this right now. Remi needs me. You… you were just a distraction.” His words hit like a punch, cruel and sharp. He didn’t try to soften them, didn’t apologize. Three years, thrown away like I was nothing. My face burned, and humiliation swallowed me whole. Before I could think, my hand flew, slapping his cheek. The sound echoed in the silent reception area, drawing even more stares. “You’re despicable,” I hissed, my voice trembling with rage and pain. I turned and walked away, ignoring the whispers and pitying looks. In the locker room, I tossed my key into the locker and asked a colleague to cover for me. “I… I can’t stay here right now.” The night was cold when I got into my car, my hands shaking on the steering wheel. The city’s gridlocked traffic was torture, giving me too much time to relive every second of that betrayal. I thought of Ezrah, of the ring gleaming on Remi’s finger, of her happiness as she spoke of her fiancé and baby. Three years. Three years believing he loved me, that maybe, just maybe, I could be more than a rejected omega. What a fool I’d been. I knew that when I got home, I’d break down. The tears were already there, waiting to drown me. But I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to lock myself in my apartment and cry until there was nothing left. Instead, I turned the wheel on an impulse I didn’t even understand and drove to the city center. I stopped in front of a random bar, its neon sign flashing in shades of blue, promising a temporary escape. I let my hair down, the dark burgundy waves falling over my shoulders, and went inside. I sat in an isolated corner and ordered a straight whiskey. The liquid burned my throat, but not enough to erase the pain. One glass turned into two, then three. I tried not to cry, biting my lip as I stared at the empty glass. Why did it always end like this? Every love I dared to feel ended in rejection. My family, the failed relationships, and now Ezrah. Being an omega felt like a curse. Three men approached, interrupting my thoughts. They were humans, with predatory smiles and honeyed voices. “Hey, gorgeous, let us buy you a drink,” one of them said, leaning on my table. I shook my head, my voice hoarse from the alcohol. “I’m fine, thanks.” But they didn’t back off, getting closer, their hands brushing against me in a way that made my skin crawl with disgust. In my foggy mind, I cursed myself. What a stupid idea it had been to go out alone at night, as an omega? Of course this would happen. Of course I’d end up harassed, or worse. Fear crept up my spine, but before I could react, a deep voice cut through the air like a blade. “She’s with me,” the man said, his tone leaving no room for argument. I looked up, and even through the whiskey haze, I saw a tall man standing by the table. He had a polite smile, but there was something dangerous in his stance, a strength that made the three guys back off immediately, muttering apologies before disappearing into the crowd. He turned to me, and, my God, he was gorgeous. Dark hair, eyes that seemed to see right through me, an aura of protection that made me relax for no apparent reason. “You okay?” he asked, his voice softer now, almost gentle. “Just so you know, I could’ve kicked those idiots’ butts myself,” I slurred, my voice coming out more drawled than I intended. I was really, really drunk. He chuckled, a low, warm sound. “I don’t doubt that for a second. They say behind a pretty face there’s always some sharpness.” I blinked a few times. Did he just flirt with me? Why did he seem so familiar and… safe? Then he extended his hand, offering to help me up. “I’m gonna take you home.” I gave a lopsided smile, drunk and exhausted, my eyes probably glinting with a mix of confusion and relief. “I’m not that helpless, you know.” “I know I’m risking you kicking my butt,” he said, half-joking, his hand still extended toward me. He seemed vaguely familiar, maybe someone from the pack or a patient, but my muddled mind couldn’t connect the dots. All I saw was a gentleman who’d appeared out of nowhere to save me. Maybe, I thought, as I looked at him with a small smile, this horrible day wouldn’t end so badly after all.