The Omega I Humiliated Became an Alpha… and They Forced Me to Be His Luna

Chapter 4 – Face to the Past

Rowan’s house sits a little apart from the others, close enough to feel the heartbeat of the clearing, far enough that the noise doesn’t touch it unless he wants it to.

At home, that would mean stone and glass and guards at the door.

Here, it’s just wood and shadow and the weight of his scent on the air as Jarik raps once on the frame and pushes the door open without waiting.

“Brought your guest,” he says, voice edged.

“Leave her,” comes the answer.

I know that voice now. I knew it the second he spoke in the clearing.

Jarik hesitates just long enough to make his disapproval clear, then steps back, leaving me on the threshold. The door closes behind me with a soft thud.

Silence.

My eyes adjust slowly. The room is larger than mine, but not by much. A desk under one window, papers and maps pinned to the wall above it. Shelves lined with books and jars. A low couch draped in a worn blanket the color of storm clouds. Weapons on hooks by the door—some polished, some battered.

And him.

He stands by the far window, back half‑turned, one hand braced on the frame. Light catches in his hair, limning it in a faint copper haze. He doesn’t move when I enter, but I can feel the subtle shift of his attention. The way his wolf presses against his skin, scent flaring sharper—smoke, pine, that traitorous warmth that makes my chest ache.

“Close the door,” he says.

My fingers fumble on the handle for a second. I force myself to shut it quietly, as if this is just another strategy meeting. As if my pulse isn’t a wild drum in my throat.

“Sit,” he adds, without looking back.

“I’d rather stand,” I say, because stubbornness is easier than fear.

He turns then, slowly, like he has all the time in the world.

Those green eyes land on me and hold.

“Sit,” Rowan repeats, quieter.

My knees aren’t weak. I refuse to let them be. But I still end up on the edge of the couch, back straight, hands clasped in my lap so he won’t see them shake.

He watches me for a heartbeat. Two. Long enough that every tiny imperfection I can’t see in the mirror feels like it must be screaming at him now. New scars. A faint line between my brows from years of frowning at council tables instead of running under trees.

“You look…” His head tilts, considering. “…older.”

A humorless huff escapes me. “So do you.”

His mouth curves, not quite a smile. “That’s what surviving does.”

He moves to the desk, fingers brushing over the edge of a map without really seeing it.

“Edrik says Sundr is pushing your borders,” Rowan says, voice sliding into business. “Closer every month. Patrols hit. Outposts lost. You want help.”

“Help.” The word tastes like ash. “We want an alliance.”

“Through you,” he says. “Through your bond.”

I swallow. “Through me, yes.”

Silence stretches. Outside, someone laughs, a child shrieking with glee, a dog barking. In here, everything is tight, controlled.

“Tell me,” Rowan says at last. “Exactly how bad is it?”

I exhale slowly and give him the numbers my father glossed over, the casualties my uncle called “acceptable losses.” The burned farmland. The villages that paid twice because our patrols were late. The families who left rather than wait for the next attack.

I don’t spare us.

His face doesn’t change much as I speak. But little tells slip through—the way his hand curls slightly on the back of the chair, the muscle that jumps in his jaw when I mention children taken as leverage.

“You held this back from the last conclave,” he says when I finish.

“We were dealing with it.”

“You were pretending it would go away if you threw enough bodies at it.”

Heat climbs my throat, angry and ashamed. “What would you have had us do? Run to you then? Beg the rogues to save us?”

“Maybe,” he says softly. “Before you taught me what begging buys.”

The words land like a slap.

I force my gaze to the maps instead of his face. His territory sprawls in rough, ink‑dark lines over the page—dense forest, rivers, steep ravines. It’s smaller than Vaelan land, but thick with marks that scream familiarity. Patrol paths. Hunt routes. Kill zones.

“You’ve built something here,” I say, because it’s safer than talking about what I tore down. “They follow you.”

“They had nowhere else to go,” he replies. “Same as me.”

Guilt gnaws at my ribs. I remember his eyes that night, wild and wet and disbelieving, as I stood on the dais and called him unworthy in front of everyone who mattered. As I pretended the bond burning between us was a joke the moon had played at my expense.

He looks at me again, really looks, like he’s peeling back layers I didn’t know I had.

“Why did you come, Lyris?” he asks.

I blink. “You know why.”

“I know why Edrik came. Why your elders sent you.” He takes a step closer, then another, until only the small table separates us. “I want to know why you walked into my forest. My pack. My house.”

The honest answer sits heavy on my tongue: Because they gave me no choice. Because if I refused, they would have sent someone else and blamed me for every life lost after.

But that’s not all of it, and we both know it.

“Because they need you,” I say.

His eyes narrow.

“And you?” he presses. “Do you?”

My heart stutters.

I could lie. I’ve lied before. I could say it’s only politics, that I’d trade anyone to keep my seat. That I feel nothing now when his scent hits the back of my throat.

But he’s staring at me like the boy who once saw through my bravado and into the small, terrified creature underneath. And I am so tired of lying.

“I need my pack alive,” I say. It’s the safest piece of the truth. “If that means needing you, then yes.”

Something flickers in his gaze—disappointment? Relief? It’s gone too fast to name.

He leans his hands on the table, bracing himself, caging me with his presence even from an arm’s length away.

“You were supposed to be my Luna once,” Rowan says quietly.

The room shrinks.

My wolf whimpers, pressing against my ribs. The ghost of a bond I thought I’d buried flares at the base of my throat, hot and accusing.

“I know,” I whisper.

His eyes harden. “You didn’t act like it.”