Born without a howl: The Omega's Legacy

Mismatched Pair

Alpha Jack cleared his throat, pulling everyone's attention back to him.

"Congratulations to those who have made it to the final round. As you can see, physical strength alone does not make a successful warrior. It helps—but true strength also lies in your ability to control your emotions," Alpha Jack paused, his eyes flickering briefly to Georgia before continuing, "as well as the way you navigate life mentally."

There was something uneasy about the way he said it, like the words were heavier than they should have been. Even though Georgia had passed, there wasn’t a single soul here who believed she had done it the way it was intended.

We made our way toward the pack arena—a vast, open expanse carved into the heart of the pack lands. It was built for sparring, agility, endurance, and the brutal art of survival, its stone surface scarred from years of battle, claw marks etched deep into the rock as reminders of victories and defeats.

Now, we stood in the combat pit, a sunken battlefield reserved for high-stakes duels and warrior trials. Spectators lined the edges above us, watching as werewolves prepared to fight for rank, honor, and respect.

Alpha Jack, Beta Luke, and Celeste stepped into the Elder Circle, the sacred space where leaders observed, judged, and determined the fate of warriors.

Alpha Jack’s voice carried over the arena. "Welcome to your final trial. This is where your combat skills will be put to the test. Strength is important, but brute force alone will not win you battles. You must think outside the box, remove yourself from tough situations, and reclaim the advantage. As I’ve said before, being a great pack warrior requires more than just physical dominance."

He began listing the match-ups, working his way down the names until only two remained.

Then, his gaze landed on me.

And for the first time since this trial began, I saw it—a flicker of hesitation. Followed by regret. Maybe even concern.

I didn’t need to look at the board to know.

Of course. Me and Georgia.

I sighed. Shocking.

Was I thrilled about the pairing? No. But a part of me had been waiting for this—for the moment where I could finally face Georgia, no distractions, just the two of us, one-on-one.

Don’t get me wrong—I was absolutely shitting myself. But if I had to choose between fear and determination, determination was winning.

Georgia, on the other hand, looked like she’d just won the goddess-damned lottery.

She was out for blood, her entire body thrumming with unhinged energy. There wasn’t a single trace of doubt in her stance—she knew this was the fight she had been waiting for.

I ignored her, focusing on the other matches, watching their movements, their footwork, their tactical approaches—all while working through my own strategy in my head.

What did I have that she didn’t? Besides one crucial thing, like a werewolf! What advantage could I carve out for myself? Probably nothing, but I was going to give it my all and hopefully make it out alive.

Unfortunately, Georgia had other plans.

The burning sensation at the back of my head was relentless. She was still staring.

I sighed, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. Seriously, was I that fascinating?

I hoped—prayed—she’d find something else to focus on. Maybe the literal combat happening around us? Anything but me.

But no. Luck was not on my side.

Georgia’s gaze never wavered, as if she was trying to burn holes into my skull through sheer force of will.

I exhaled slowly. Fine. She wants a staring contest? I can play that game.

Without missing a beat, I turned my head ever so slightly—just enough so our eyes met—and gave her the most unimpressed, deadpan look I could muster.

"Georgia, seriously. Blink. I dare you."

Her jaw clenched.

I smirked. Maybe I’d get under her skin before the fight even started.

We watched as the last battle came to an end, the tension in the air thick with anticipation. And then, it was our turn.

Me and Georgia.

I stepped forward, already knowing that without a wolf, raw physical strength wasn’t going to be my friend in this fight. I had no choice but to rely on my wits. Georgia’s biggest weakness—her rage—was my only shot at survival.

She would fight recklessly, driven by nothing but emotion. If I could outmaneuver her, if I could make her burn through her energy, she would eventually create her own downfall.

Alpha Jack signaled the start of combat.

Georgia lunged.

I dodged easily, stepping aside just in time. Her fury spiked—eyes flashing, breath heavy.

She attacked again. And again. But every time, I evaded her, forcing her into mistakes, making her waste more and more energy on a fight she couldn’t control.

I could feel her frustration building, like fire eating away at oxygen. The more she missed, the harder she threw herself forward.

That was my advantage.

She lunged again—but this time, I stepped aside with precision, angling my body just right, and with one sharp movement, I slammed my hand into the side of her neck in the hope of dazing her.

She stumbled, nearly losing her footing.

Then it happened.

A roar ripped through the arena, and in a flash, Georgia’s form shifted.

Well s**t, should have seen that one coming. I thought to myself.

Her wolf, Eryth, exploded into being—a monstrous beast, larger than most, her fur a deep, violent shade of red-black, like smoldering embers threatening to ignite into flames.

This wasn’t just anger.

It was hatred.

Her wolf’s body radiated it—in the way Eryth’s stance grew rigid with hostility, in the way her claws dug into the earth like she was ready to shred it apart.

This was no ordinary shift.

This was Georgia’s pure, unfiltered pain made flesh.

I barely had time to react. She lunged—faster, stronger, heavier—and before I could fully dodge, her claws raked across my side.

Pain burst through me, white-hot and unforgiving.

Gasps erupted from the crowd.

Alpha Jack stood abruptly, followed closely by Beta Luke, both radiating pure concern.

I staggered, breath hitching, my limbs screaming at me to stop. But in that moment, something ignited inside me.

A warmth—deep and unwavering—spread through my chest, like fire coursing through my veins.

I didn’t hesitate. I moved.

With the last surge of strength I had left, I struck.

Every precise movement hit where it mattered most—the weakest points in Eryth’s body, forcing her to stumble, forcing her to break.

Georgia’s wolf form wavered, flickering, the sheer impact of my blows forcing her back into her human form.

She collapsed.

Crumpled in pain.

The arena fell into silence, the air crackling with the aftermath.

And as I stood over her, breath heavy, chest rising and falling as I fought to stay upright, I realized—I had won.