The Rotten Omega

The snapped

Zevran didn’t yell. Not in the courtyard.

He just said “She stays” like he was hammering a nail into stone, then turned and walked. No look back. No “follow me”. But the pull in my chest yanked anyway, so my feet moved.

Traitor body.

We made it maybe three corridors before he stopped. Not in his room. Not anywhere safe. Just some empty hallway with a cracked window and dust on the floor. Like he needed to get away from people before he lost it.

He pressed both hands to the wall. Shoulders up. Breathing hard.

For a full minute neither of us said anything. I could hear him. I could feel him, too—that tight, buzzing thing under the string between us. Anger. Relief. Something that tasted like panic but wasn’t mine.

“You’re an i***t,” he said finally. Voice rough, like he hadn’t used it in hours. Still didn’t turn around.

“Thanks,” I said. “You’re welcome for not going feral and embarrassing you in front of the whole pack.”

That got his head to turn. Just a little. Gold eyes, but tired. Not the Alpha stare. The real one. The one that looked like he’d been awake for three days.

“Don’t joke,” he said. “You think that was proof? Mara’s going to push harder. They all are. Because you’re unbound, Veyra. And unbound Omegas don’t get to just—” He cut himself off. Swore under his breath.

“Don’t get to what?” I took a step closer. Stupid. Always stupid with him. “Don’t get to live? Don’t get to choose? What?”

He spun then. Fast. And suddenly he was right there, too close, smelling like cedar and sweat and whatever Alpha thing he put off when he was trying not to touch me.

“I was going to kill you,” he said. Flat. No bullshit. “In the Sunken Hall. That was the plan. Mara wanted it. The elders wanted it. It would’ve been clean.”

My throat closed up. “Yeah. I figured.”

“But then you looked at me like that,” he said. “Like you weren’t afraid. Like you were daring me. And I—” He dragged a hand through his hair. Wrinkled shirt, dust on his knuckles. He looked wrecked. “I couldn’t do it.”

Oh.

Oh, that’s worse.

Because I’d been telling myself he kept me alive for strategy. For the pack. For politics.

Not because he couldn’t.

The string between us pulsed. Hard. And I realized, too late, that he felt it too. My pulse. My panic. The way my stomach dropped when he said it out loud.

“Don’t,” I said. “Don’t say things like that if you’re not gonna—”

“Not gonna what?” He stepped closer. One step. That was all it took. “Not gonna finish it? Not gonna touch you? Not gonna claim you for real?”

My breath caught. Stupid. Stupid body.

“I don’t know,” I said. And it was the truth. I didn’t know if I wanted him to back off or—god—if I wanted him to stop pretending this was just about keeping me alive.

His jaw worked. He looked at my mouth for half a second. Then at my eyes. Then he swore again and slammed his palm into the wall next to my head.

Not touching me. But close enough that I felt the air move.

“You should’ve let them,” he said, voice dropping low. “It would’ve been easier. For both of us.”

“Maybe,” I whispered. “But I didn’t.”

Silence.

Then he let out this shaky breath, like he’d been holding it since the trial. Like he was tired of being Alpha for five seconds.

“You’re gonna get me killed, you know that?” he said. But there was no heat in it. Just resignation. And something else I didn’t want to name.

I almost laughed. “Join the club.”

He closed his eyes. For a second the Alpha mask slipped and he just looked… human. Exhausted. Pissed off and scared and stuck with me.

“Come on,” he said finally. Pushing off the wall. “Before Mara decides we need another test.”

He started walking. Didn’t check if I followed.

I did anyway. Because the string pulled. Because I was an i***t too.

Because for the first time since I walked into Valecrest Keep, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to run from him or into him.

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