The Omega And Her Triplet Mates

Shoving me into my room, the nurse locked the door behind me. I was in an insane asylum because my devout Catholic mother thought I was of the devil. My home life had never been a pleasant or loving experience growing up, but when I had turned eight and changed into a wolf for the first time, things had drastically changed. Every so often, the werewolf gene skipped a generation or two, and it had skipped both my mother and father. It had been truly a shock when I’d turned for all of us, especially so young, it was unheard of. I hadn’t been much before, but now I was an abomination in my mother’s eyes, and she’d tried beating the devil out of me more times than I could count. During school I had been bullied relentlessly, and not just name-calling, but beaten up too. The bruises hidden beneath my sleeves weren’t from home alone. I had never fit in with anyone, I was painfully shy and weird to them. There was a werewolf school I could have gone to, but of course, my parents weren’t having that, and so I’d been forced to attend a normal human one. Humans didn’t know about werewolves, but we were all around them without them even realizing. Half the shops and bars humans went to were run by werewolves and mostly had werewolf customers, humans never realized they were standing beside predators. I never fit in with my human classmates, but I don’t think I would have fit in much better with the werewolves either. Everything I learned about werewolves was that they were ruthless, brutal supernaturals where being alpha was everything. Not everyone could be alpha of a pack, but being dominant and strong was the next best thing. No one wanted to be submissive or weak, the werewolf world was truly a survival of the fittest kind of life. In school, I had spent hours reading about killers and psychopaths, wondering how their minds worked, and it fascinated me. My dream had been to work in a mental institution with more dangerous patients, ironic I would end up as the patient instead. Maybe it was God’s punishment for my wicked ways, as Mother always said. The only good thing here was that I didn’t have to look at myself in the mirror. As if finding out you were a werewolf and an omega wolf at that wasn’t bad enough, I was also ugly and fat, just like my bullies and my parents had always told me. I didn’t know any werewolves in real life, the only comfort I’d ever found came from old records I discovered among my parents things. According to those papers, our bloodline originally belonged to a peaceful tribal pack somewhere in Africa. There was no exact location listed, which frustrated me endlessly, but I clung to those stories anyway. I imagined wide open grasslands beneath endless skies. Fires crackling in the night. Wolves running freely beneath the moon without shame. Maybe they would have accepted me being an omega better because of their peaceful ways? I liked to dream about it sometimes because here in America, I had only found information about three packs located here. There were loads more, I’m sure, but the ones I found were purebred and ruthless. Strong bloodlines. Full werewolf families, no omegas in their packs. I sighed inwardly as I recalled this information. I had wanted to join a pack here, but the more I’d learned about werewolves, the more afraid I became. They wouldn’t accept omega me. And the werewolves I’d occasionally noticed in public— noticed by scent— were impossibly beautiful. The men were broad-shouldered and powerful, their confidence almost predatory. The women looked graceful, slender and lean. Then there was me. Soft. Quiet. Wrong. I came from a black family and had a dark milk chocolate skin tone with dark brown eyes, my hair was medium length with tight black curls. I had wanted it long as it was the one thing I liked about myself, but Mother wouldn’t allow it, and they wouldn’t allow it here either. I shouldn’t have even been in here at all, and certainly not on the north side where I was, this side was for the more dangerous patients, patients who were a danger to themselves or others. My parents were well-off, though, they had a lot of money. Money bought silence. “Rose, your dinner is ready.” I looked up to see Carol—one of the nurses— standing in the doorway with a friendly smile on her face. She had always been kind to me. I lowered my gaze and quietly said, “John sent me to my room because I upset Rebecca.” Rebecca was another patient here who would scream for hours on end all through the night. It had been nearly impossible with my wolf hearing to sleep when she had first arrived, but over time I slowly got used to it. There was no real reason why she screamed, or at least one I didn’t know of. She would scream for any reason, from you looking at her the wrong way to you sitting in the seat she had sat in the day before, the latter was what I had done today. Carol smiled at me and said, “oh screw John. He’s an a.sshole and was no doubt stressed from having to deal with Rebecca and took it out on you. Come on.” She beckoned me with her hand and pulled a silly face until I grinned and stood up. I let her lead me down the hall to where the patients went and ate their meals. Entering the big room filled with long tables, I went to join the queue with my food tray. The food was never outstanding, but it wasn’t bad either. Orange juice or water with a simply made roast, spaghetti, or pizza, depending on what day it was, it was like being in little school all over again, right down to the plastic knives and forks. This institution housed both supernaturals and humans, the staff weren’t human, so they were aware of the truth, but the human patients weren’t aware. When I had to change on the full moon, a nurse would come get me and take me to a bigger padded room for privacy. I would have just enough room to run a little and lay down comfortably. Werewolves were pretty big, bigger than a normal wolf but not by much. I was busy looking for a spare table to sit at in the crowd while I waited in line when I accidentally knocked my fork and knife to the floor. Heat rushed to my face. Feeling embarrassed, I bent to pick them up when an arm reached down to grab them for me. I stared at the arm with a tattoo sleeve. Black and gray ink wrapped around powerful muscle—angels and demons locked in violent battle, Archangel Michael standing victorious over a fallen Satan among other religious artwork. Beautiful. Terrifying. Slowly I looked up. And forgot how to breathe. I blushed hard and was so thankful for my dark skin. Standing before me was the most beautiful and sexiest man I had ever seen, no not man, he was a werewolf. I could smell his wolf, which smelled like a strange mix of vanilla, that cold, fresh smell of the night air that always seemed to smell better than the daytime, and power, if power could have a scent. And I knew, I just knew, he was an alpha wolf. The scent rolled off him so heavily it made my wolf shrink instinctively beneath my skin. Messy, tousled, golden blonde hair almost fell into piercing eyes, catching beneath the fluorescent lights like molten gold. From the slight wave to his hair, I could tell if he were to grow it out a bit more, it would be curly and angelic. His were unusually striking— one an icy piercing blue, the other a piercing green, both ringed with gold with golden flecks running through them too. Humans probably thought it was just contacts or something, but they were beautiful. Beautiful enough to make angels jealous. Deadly enough to make demons kneel. His face was beautifully sculpted, all strong jawline and flawless skin, softened only by full Cupid bow lips. It was like staring the Angel of Death in the face because I knew who he was.