The Cursed Omega's Revenge

Chapter Five

SAMIRA

The packhouse smells wrong.

Not the usual wrong of blood and fear and submission that I been breathing for twenty years, but something sharper. Anxiety rolls off every wolf in waves thick enough to choke on. Even the Betas walk softer, their usual swagger gone and replaced with something that might be fear if I believed they could feel such things.

I'm scrubbing the throne room floor when Remus's voice cuts through the morning like a blade through soft butter. Every omega freezes mid-motion, because when the Alpha speaks with that particular tone, going still might mean surviving.

"Council investigators arrive tomorrow."

Four words that change the very air we breathe. I keep my head down, watching his reflection in the wet marble, but I feel the ripple of shock through every omega bond. The Council. Here. The mythical authority that's supposed to keep packs from becoming what Bloodthrone already is.

"They've received complaints." His laugh makes my skin crawl with that instinct that tells you something ain't right. "Anonymous complaints about our treatment of pack members. About missing omegas. About business practices that certain bleeding hearts find... objectionable."

Rosie's hand trembles where she grips her mop. Beside me, little Tam goes so still she might as well be stone. We all know what happens to packs the Council finds guilty. We also know what happens to omegas who speak truths that powerful wolves don't want heard.

"So we're going to give them a show." Remus paces now, and I track his movement through the corner of my eye, a survival skill beaten into my bones long ago. "Every omega will be cleaned, clothed, and fed. You'll smile. You'll speak of how well-treated you are. You'll make them believe Bloodthrone is a paradise of progressive pack dynamics."

The silence stretches until my lungs burn from holding my breath. Then Hector steps forward, and my stomach drops because his smile promises the kind of pain he wraps up pretty.

"And if anyone," his pale eyes scan our kneeling forms like he's picking which rabbit to eat first, "anyone whispers a single word of complaint to these investigators, every omega in this pack will be executed for treason. Starting with the youngest."

Tam makes a sound so small it might be my imagination. My hand moves on its own, finding hers, squeezing once in warning. Stay quiet. Stay alive. The same lessons I learned at her age, passed down like the only inheritance we got.

"The autumn auction is in one week." Remus's voice carries that satisfaction of a wolf who ain't never been told no. "These investigators will be gone by then, one way or another. Until they leave, you'll play your parts perfectly. Or you'll discover that death can be a mercy I'm not inclined to grant."

They leave us kneeling in sudsy water and silence. Only when their footsteps fade completely do we dare breathe again. Then the frenzy starts.

Twenty years of deliberate neglect got to be erased in twenty-four hours. Omegas who ain't seen soap in months get dragged to the showers. The industrial washers in the basement run non-stop, trying to clean rags into something that might pass for clothes. The stench of bleach burns my nose as we scrub evidence of suffering from every surface.

"Mud." Cook's voice cracks like a whip. "Kitchen. Now."

I run, because hesitating brings consequences. The kitchen transforms around me—suddenly there's meat that ain't scraps, vegetables that ain't rotted, bread without mold. Real food. The kind that feeds wolves instead of just keeping them alive enough to work another day.

"You'll prepare a feast," Cook announces. "Something that shows how well we eat. Every omega will have full plates tomorrow when the investigators tour."

My stomach clenches at the cruelty of it. One day of food to erase years of starvation. My body don't even remember how to handle real nutrition. But I nod, take my station, start preparing food I'll probably throw up later because my system ain't built for richness.

Night falls before they remember we need clothes. Boxes arrive from town, filled with pack castoffs that are still better than anything we ever owned. I hold up a shirt without holes, marvel at fabric that don't smell like death and desperation. Around me, omegas try on clothes with expressions caught between wonder and suspicion.

"Pretty things for pretty lies." Rosie's whisper carries only to my ears. "They dress us up like dolls, expect us to smile while our truth rots inside."

She's right. But truth is a luxury omegas can't afford.

Hector appears in the doorway, and conversation dies like someone cut its throat. His gaze finds me with the accuracy of a predator who always knows where the weakest prey hides. But tonight his smile aims elsewhere.

"Little Tam." He crooks a finger, and the child shrinks against my side. "Come here."

"She's helping me organize sizes." My voice comes out steady even though fear's clawing up my throat. "Cook needs her in the kitchen after."

His eyes narrow. For a heartbeat, I think he'll punish my interference. Then his smile widens, showing too many teeth.

"Protective, aren't we? How sweet." He moves closer, each step deliberate as a snake. "Tell me, Mud. What would you do to keep sweet little Tam off the auction block?"

The air leaves my lungs like I been punched. Tam trembles against me, understanding the threat even at eight years old. We all know what happens to omega children at auction. The lucky ones die quick.

"Anything." The word tastes like surrender, but what else is there? "I'll do anything."

"I thought so." His hand cups my jaw, forces my face up. His thumb traces my lower lip, and I fight not to bite. "The investigators will ask questions. You'll tell them how happy you are. How well-treated. How much you love serving your pack. Make them believe it, and little Tam stays off the block. Fail..."

He don't finish. Don't need to. The threat hangs between us like a noose waiting for a neck.

"I understand."

"Good girl." He pats my cheek hard enough to sting. "Clean yourself up. Can't have the investigators thinking we keep ugly pets."

He leaves, taking breathable air with him. Tam collapses against me, tears silent because we learned young that crying brings attention and attention brings pain. I hold her thin body, feel her bird-bones shake, and taste rage like copper pennies on my tongue.

"You won't let him take me?" Her whisper breaks something inside me.

"Never." I press the promise into her hair. "I'll keep you safe."

Another lie to add to my collection. But sometimes lies are all we got to offer the people we love.

The night passes in a blur of preparation. By dawn, the packhouse gleams like something out of a storybook. Every surface shines. Every omega wears clothes that fit. The dining hall tables groan under food we're actually allowed to eat.

It's obscene. This show of care that just makes it clearer how little we usually get. But we play our parts, forcing down eggs and bacon while our stomachs rebel, smiling with lips that forgot how that's supposed to feel.

"They're here." Ben signs the words, stationed by the window.

My hands go still on the coffee pot I'm preparing. Something shifts in the air—a charge that makes my skin prickle and my wolf, quiet for so many years, suddenly sit up and take notice. I move to the window even though Cook's glaring daggers at me, drawn by something I can't name.

Three men exit a black SUV with government plates. My wolf stirs beneath my skin, restless in a way that don't make sense. She's been quiet for years, beaten into submission like the rest of me. But something about these strangers makes her pace back and forth.

The first man emerges with careful grace, all sharp angles and contained power. Tall—taller even than most Alphas—with black hair and a face that belongs in magazines instead of bureaucratic offices. But it's the way he moves that makes my breath catch. Controlled. Dangerous. Like a weapon pretending to be harmless. My wolf pushes against my ribs, whining soft and confused. I press a hand to my chest, trying to quiet her, but she won't settle down.

The second moves like an artist, casual elegance barely containing something that feels like lightning waiting to strike. The youngest carries weight in his movements, careful and deliberate, like the world might break if he ain't careful with it.

They wear suits like armor, carry briefcases like weapons. Everything about them screams government official, from their blank expressions to their measured steps. But my wolf whines, low and confused, like she recognizes something my conscious mind can't grasp. My skin feels too tight, like I might burst from whatever's building inside me.

"Places." Cook's harsh whisper sends us scurrying.

I take my position with the serving staff, holding a tray of coffee that don't shake only because I learned control young. My hands burn where they grip the silver, and I realize I'm running hot. Not sick—something else. Something that started the moment those men stepped from their car.

The investigators enter the dining hall, and the air changes. Charges up. Becomes something electric that raises every hair on my arms. My wolf throws herself against my control, desperate for something I don't understand. I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood, using pain to keep myself grounded.

The tallest one pauses in the doorway, and for one impossible moment, his nostrils flare. His green eyes sweep the room, and when they pass over me, my knees almost give out. Heat races through my veins like fire. My wolf makes a sound I ain't never heard before, high and wanting, and I got to lock every muscle to keep from dropping the tray.

"Gentlemen." Remus rises from his throne, all welcoming Alpha charm. "Welcome to Bloodthrone. I'm Alpha Carver."

"Mr. Morrison." The tallest one don't offer his hand. His voice carries authority wrapped up in bureaucratic boredom. "My colleagues, Mr. Morrison and Mr. Morrison. We're here regarding the complaints filed against your pack."

Morrison. The name don't mean nothing, but something in my chest pulls tight. The tallest one's eyes scan the room with professional assessment, cataloging exits and threats. They pass over me without stopping, and I tell myself the disappointment is just hunger, nothing more. But my wolf whimpers like she lost something precious.

"Of course, of course." Remus gestures big and wide. "We're an open book. Please, sit. Have breakfast. My omegas have prepared a feast to welcome you."

They sit with identical movements, trained and coordinated. I approach with the coffee, and my steps falter. The tallest one's scent hits me—pine and winter storms and something wild that makes my wolf slam against my ribs so hard I almost gasp out loud. I ain't never smelled anything so perfect. So right. So absolutely terrifying.

The middle brother takes coffee from my tray without looking at me. But his fingers brush mine, and electricity shoots up my arm like lightning. I almost drop the pot, catch myself, move to the next. My hand shakes now, and sweat beads on my forehead even though the morning's cold.

The youngest watches everything with eyes that see too much. When I pour his coffee, he inhales sharp and subtle, like he's scenting something unexpected. But his expression don't change, professional mask firmly in place. His nostrils flare just a bit, and he exchanges a quick look with the tallest one—a look that speaks in a language I don't know.

I reach the leader last. This close, his scent wraps around me like a living thing. My wolf goes absolutely still, then erupts in a frenzy of need I ain't never felt. Want. Mine. Home. The words pound through my head matching my racing heart. My hand trembles as I pour his coffee, and I feel more than see him tracking the movement.

"Thank you," he says quiet-like, and his voice does things to my insides that don't make no sense.

I risk a glance up—a mistake. Green eyes meet mine, and the world stops. Everything stops. My wolf goes silent, then howls with such longing I almost echo it out loud. Those eyes hold forests and storms and promises I don't understand. For one eternal second, I forget how breathing works.

"Your facilities are impressive." He turns away, talking to Remus, and I can function again. But my legs shake as I retreat to my position by the wall. "We'll need to tour everything. Speak with all pack members. Review your records for the past five years."

"Whatever you need." Remus smiles with too many teeth. "We have nothing to hide."

The lie sits between them like a corpse at a wedding. Everyone knows it's there, but we all pretend we can't smell the rot.

I serve silent as I was trained. But I feel eyes on me, tracking my movement. When I glance up, the leader watches me with an expression I can't read. Green eyes that hold depths I don't understand. My wolf stirs again, restless and yearning for something that ain't got a name. Every time I pass near him, my temperature spikes. My skin burns. My wolf begs for something I can't give her.

"Your omega program." The middle one speaks sudden-like. "We'll need to interview them individually. Without supervision."

The room temperature drops. Remus's smile freezes, becomes something sharp and dangerous.

"Of course. Though I assure you, our omegas are well-treated. Happy. Productive members of our pack."

"I'm sure." The youngest speaks for the first time, voice carrying subtle challenge. "That's what we're here to verify."

The breakfast continues with sharp politeness. Every word carries double meaning. Every gesture holds threat or promise. And through it all, I serve in silence, playing my part in this show while my wolf paces beneath my skin. She wants to run—not away, but toward. Toward him. The thought scares me more than Hector's threats.

When the meal ends, Remus assigns Hector to give them a tour. The Beta's smile promises nothing good, but the investigators follow with professional indifference. As they leave, the leader glances back, and for one moment our eyes meet.

The world tilts sideways. My wolf throws herself against the barriers of my control, howling something that sounds like recognition. Like coming home. Like—

I drop my gaze, heart hammering like it's trying to escape my chest. Whatever that was, it's dangerous. Investigators are temporary. Auctions are permanent. And little Tam needs me to remember which reality matters.

But as I clear plates with shaking hands, I can still feel the weight of green eyes that looked at me like I was worth seeing. I can still smell pine and storms on my skin where his scent touched me. My wolf won't stop whimpering, and my body burns with fever that ain't got nothing to do with being sick.

It's the most dangerous feeling I ever experienced.