Born without a howl: The Omega's Legacy

Pack house and office

As Alpha Jack and I walked toward the pack house, an easy silence stretched between us—not awkward, not heavy, just comfortable. The kind of quiet where words weren’t necessary.

The crisp evening air brushed against my skin, carrying the distant sounds of pack life—wolves moving, voices murmuring, the steady pulse of a world I had always been on the outskirts of. And then, I saw it.

My breath hitched.

The pack house.

I’d seen it from a distance before, but up close? It was something else entirely.

The structure was sleek, modern, a single-story masterpiece wrapped in a color palette of deep black and rich brown—commanding yet seamlessly blending with the land. It wasn’t ostentatious. It was controlled, powerful in a quiet, deliberate way.

Built in a U-shape, the pack house framed an open hosting area in the center—a space clearly meant for gatherings, celebrations, or maybe even strategic war councils. Surrounding it were matching compound buildings, identical in their dark, minimalist design, standing like silent sentinels. I could only assume they were meant for visiting packs and their leaders, reinforcing the authority this place carried.

It was huge. Intimidating. But mesmerizing.

Most of the walls were made of glass, expansive windows stretching from floor to ceiling, offering glimpses into its interior. The openness made it feel uncompromising—like the pack had nothing to hide, nothing to shield itself from.

Even the gardens were intentional—low maintenance, perfectly arranged without being overdone. Everything here had a purpose. Every piece of architecture, every inch of land, told a story: control, efficiency, dominance.

I forced myself to breathe, dragging my gaze away from the overwhelming presence of it.

A quiet chuckle made me glance at Alpha Jack.

“It’s impressive, isn’t it?” he mused, like he’d seen this reaction a thousand times before.

I nodded, still absorbing the sheer size of it all. “Yeah,” I admitted, almost reluctant to acknowledge just how much it got to me. “Like… really impressive.”

For the first time, I didn’t feel small in comparison to something grand.

I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a dangerous one.

As I stepped into Alpha Jack’s office, the first thing that hit me was just how uncomplicated it was.

Sleek. Minimalist. Not a single ounce of chaos.

The bookshelves were lined with well-placed home décor, nothing excessive—just simple, stylish accents that made the space feel refined rather than cluttered. A few succulent plants sat in neatly arranged pots, adding just enough life to the room without demanding attention.

But the desk?

That was what truly screamed Alpha Jack in every possible way.

A single laptop, a small pile of paperwork, and exactly one pen—placed with absolute precision, like the mere thought of having two pens was borderline offensive to his system of organization.

I almost snorted. Of course he was one of those people.

The kind of respected warrior who wasn’t just feared for his strength but admired for his sheer ability to control every aspect of his life down to the placement of a pen.

Disciplined. Unshakable. Predictable.

Everything in here reflected exactly that—the office of someone who ran his pack like a well-oiled machine, who didn’t waste time on excess, who believed in efficiency above all else.

I glanced at the immaculate desk again, resisting the urge to knock the pen slightly out of place just to see what would happen.

Would he notice? Probably. Would it haunt him? Definitely.

But I valued my life, so I wisely chose not to test that theory today.

Instead, I turned to him, arching a brow. “Let me guess, Alpha—this is the one room in the pack house no one is allowed to touch but you?”

His lips quirked slightly, amusement flickering behind his sharp gaze.

“You’d be surprised,” he mused, leaning against the desk. “It stays this way because no one dares to try.”

I hummed, pretending to consider. “So what you’re saying is… if I move something, the entire pack collapses?”

His chuckle was quiet, but there—the smallest break in his unwavering exterior.

“You’re welcome to test that theory,” he offered smoothly, “though I’d recommend thinking twice before challenging my patience.”

I grinned. Fair enough.

As Alpha Jack leaned casually against his immaculate desk, I couldn’t help but notice it—the subtle shift in his tone, the way amusement flickered in his eyes when I teased him.

Not outright flirting, but something just close enough to make me question it.

And I didn’t know what to think of that.

Alpha Jack wasn’t unattractive—in fact, with his quiet confidence, sharp jawline, and effortless authority, most wolves probably found him irresistible.

But me? I had never seen him like that.

Never entertained the possibility. Never wanted to.

My focus was singular—getting out of here, finding my own path, escaping the suffocating reality that had kept me caged for years.

The last thing I needed was some fleeting spark that would burn out as quickly as it started.

So I did the only thing that made sense.

I ignored it.

I met his gaze with calculated indifference, straightened my posture, and responded just as sharply as before, pretending whatever undercurrent lingered between us simply did not exist.

Because it wouldn’t.

Not if I had anything to say about it.

Alpha Jack exhaled, his gaze steady, deliberate, as if carefully choosing his next words.

"I want you to meet Celeste."

I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in the conversation. Celeste. I didn't know much about her—just whispers, stories passed between wolves who spoke of her like she was something more than pack, more than tradition—something older, something untouchable.

“Celeste?” I echoed, testing the name on my tongue.

And right on cue, she appeared.

Not from the hallway, not from the door Alpha Jack had just closed behind him.

No—Celeste was simply there, standing in his office as if space and movement were suggestions, not rules she had to follow.

I stiffened, every instinct in my body screaming at me that this was not normal—that the air had shifted in some way I couldn’t explain.

She stood calmly, her expression unreadable, but her presence? Undeniable.

And suddenly, the quiet joke I had been entertaining about Alpha Jack’s perfectly placed office pen felt insignificant compared to the fact that Celeste didn’t even use the damn door.