The Bullied Omega's Return

Chapter Eleven

Almost a month into my stay at Crescent Moon, and I still jolted when doors slammed. Still flinched when hands moved too fast near my face. Still woke gasping from nightmares where rogues tore through my abdomen while my wolf remained terrifyingly silent.

"You're doing the thing again," Zoe said, not looking up from her friendship bracelet. "That whole 'everyone's-about-to-hit-me' vibe. It's bumming me out."

I signed Sorry with fingers that still felt clumsy, the movement foreign after eighteen years of silence being my only acceptable contribution.

"Oh my god, stop apologizing for breathing," Zoe rolled her eyes dramatically. "Just... notice it? That's what Dr. Michaels says about trauma. Notice the suck so eventually your brain gets bored of panicking."

We sat on the lodge's porch, autumn sun warming the wooden planks. My wheelchair—still a necessity—stood nearby like a steel-and-vinyl reminder of how broken I remained. Dr. Michaels claimed my recovery was "remarkable," which felt like a cosmic joke, considering I couldn't walk fifty steps without my gut feeling like it might spill open again.

The screen door banged open, and Trinity exploded onto the porch at full six-year-old velocity. She skidded to a stop in front of me, her dark eyes narrowed with purpose.

"Incoming tiny dictator," Zoe muttered, suppressing a grin.

Trinity's hands flew in signs I couldn't fully track yet.

"Whoa, speed racer," Zoe laughed. "Arianna's still a baby signer. Dial it back."

Trinity rolled her eyes with magnificent disdain, then deliberately slowed her movements: You. Me. Lesson. Now.

My miniature drill sergeant had appointed herself my ASL tutor with a ferocity that would have impressed Victoria herself. According to Emily, Trinity had informed the entire pack leadership that she was now officially my language teacher and had created a rigorous schedule that she expected everyone to honor.

Yes, Teacher, I signed back, earning a tight nod of approval.

Trinity had just started drilling me on emotion signs when her hands froze mid-air. Her eyes widened, fixing on something behind me. Then, startlingly, she bolted past me toward the steps.

I turned to see Kieran striding across the lawn, leather jacket despite the warm day, face set in its perpetual scowl. To my shock, Trinity launched herself at him without hesitation, and the intimidating alpha caught her mid-leap with practiced ease.

"Hey, trouble," he greeted, his glacial expression thawing approximately two degrees. Trinity's hands flew in excited signs. "Yeah, I brought it. In my saddlebag."

Trinity's face lit with triumph as she signed something else.

"Don't push your luck, kid," Kieran replied, his mouth barely quirking. "You'll get it after dinner if you behave."

When he set Trinity down, she raced off toward the motorcycle parking area. Kieran's eyes met mine, and any warmth that had briefly appeared vanished instantly, replaced by that clinical assessment that made me feel like a lab specimen.

"She likes dinosaurs," he stated flatly, as if this non-sequitur explained everything. Then, without waiting for a response, he continued toward the main building.

"And that," Zoe announced once he was out of earshot, "is peak Kieran. Makes you wonder if he was raised by actual wolves or just particularly unfriendly rocks."

I reached for my tablet: TRINITY SEEMS TO LIKE HIM.

"Trinity's his kryptonite," Zoe said, returning to her bracelet. "Found her abandoned at some gas station four years ago. Tracked her birth pack, confirmed they'd dumped her for being 'defective,' and then..." She lowered her voice dramatically. "That pack mysteriously lost three high-ranking members that same night."

HE KILLED THEM?

"Officially? No comment. Unofficially?" Zoe drew a finger across her throat. "Kieran has very specific ideas about justice. Oh, speaking of Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Homicidal, he's been asking about Silver Fang. Like, a lot."

My pulse quickened. WHY?

"Something about missing omegas. Gabriel shut me out of the meeting, but I heard 'pattern' and 'underground network.'" She glanced at me. "Think that's why he watches you like you might spontaneously combust into evidence?"

Before I could respond, Riley appeared, arms laden with baby supplies. His birthmark seemed especially vivid today, the ivy pattern shifting slightly in the sunlight.

"Perfect timing," he said, nodding toward his bundle. "Velma needs someone to watch Elijah during her healing session. She mentioned he responds well to you."

The marked baby had indeed been strangely calm around me. Something about shared curses, perhaps.

HAPPY TO, I typed, genuinely pleased at the request. Before my abjuration, I'd spent countless hours in Silver Fang's nursery with Maria—one of the few places Victoria deemed me "not entirely useless" since the pups were too young to know my mark meant they should fear me.

"Great! He's already fed and changed. Jenny set up the portable crib in the sunroom."

Zoe bounced up. "And that's my cue to make a strategic retreat. Babies are adorable until they start leaking." She patted my shoulder. "Have fun with the tiny wolf. I'm off to help Lucas alphabetize his precious book collection or whatever nerdy thing he's doing today."

Riley offered his arm as I struggled to stand. Three weeks, and my body still betrayed me, muscles trembling with the effort of basic movement.

"Your stomach?" he asked quietly.

I nodded, focusing on not collapsing. The rogues had made sure to leave their mark—literally. The wounds Dr. Michaels had stitched back together pulled tight with every step, a constant reminder of how close I'd come to death.

"You're doing incredible," Riley said, misinterpreting my grimace as pain alone rather than the complex cocktail of pain, frustration, and shame that accompanied every hobbling step. "Most wolves would still be bedridden."

The sunroom was a glass-enclosed space filled with potted plants and wicker furniture. A portable crib stood in a sunny patch, containing baby Elijah. The birthmark that had caused his parents to reject him covered almost the entire right side of his face, almost like a mirror image to mine.

Riley helped me settle into a cushioned chair. "Everything you need is here," he said, placing supplies within reach. "I'll be in the greenhouse if you need anything."

After he left, I gazed down at the sleeping infant. How could anyone look at this perfect child and see only his mark? How could they discard him so easily?

The same way they'd discarded me.

I'll never let anyone make you feel broken, I told him, even though his eyes were closed. You are perfect exactly as you are.

I began to hum tunelessly, the vibration painful against my damaged vocal cords but somehow necessary. The sound wasn't pretty—couldn't be, with my ruined throat—but it filled the quiet room with something that felt like a promise.

Somewhere during my third repetition, my eyes grew heavy. The warm sunlight, Elijah's soft breathing, the bone-deep exhaustion... I fought against sleep, knowing I should stay alert, but my body had other ideas...

---

"Worthless," Victoria hissed, her nails drawing blood where they dug into my thirteen-year-old arm. "Can't even fold linens properly."

The laundry room sweltered in summer heat, steam from the pressing machine making it hard to breathe. I'd been working for six hours straight, arms aching from folding endless sheets for the upcoming pack gathering.

"I'm sorry, Luna Victoria," I whispered, eyes down as I'd been taught.

"Sorry doesn't fix mistakes," she said with terrifying calm. "Sophia would never produce such sloppy work. But then, Sophia wasn't born defective."

She gestured to the immaculate stack my twin sister had completed in half the time. Sophia stood watching, her unmarked face—my face, but perfect—wearing a small, satisfied smile.

"Maybe her hands are defective too," Sophia suggested, eyes glittering. "Maybe they should be... corrected."

Victoria's smile turned predatory. "An excellent suggestion." She dragged me toward the pressing machine, its surface glowing red-hot. "Let's see if a reminder helps improve your performance."

The heat intensified as she forced my hand closer. I struggled, but at thirteen, I was no match for an adult beta female. The smell of singed fabric filled my nostrils as my fingertips hovered inches from agony.

"Please," I begged, tears streaming. "I'll do better!"

"Promises from a marked omega aren't worth the breath wasted to speak them," Victoria replied, pushing my hand closer. "Pain is an excellent teacher."

The laundry room door opened to reveal my father, Alpha Alfred. Hope flared—surely he would protect me—

But his face remained impassive. "What has she done now?" he asked wearily.

"Substandard work," Victoria replied, not releasing me. "I was just providing motivation."

My father sighed. "There are pack representatives arriving within the hour. We can't have her walking around with burned hands—it reflects poorly on our leadership."

Not 'don't hurt my daughter.' Just concern for appearances.

Victoria released me with a shove that sent me stumbling. "You're fortunate your father thinks of these practical matters," she said, straightening her blouse. "We'll continue this lesson later."

As they left, Sophia lingered to whisper: "Next time, I'll make sure Daddy's busy. And next time, I'll bring Damien to watch."

---

I jolted awake with a strangled sound, heart hammering against my ribs. The phantom sensation of Victoria's nails in my flesh felt so real I clutched my arm, expecting to find fresh marks.

A low voice cut through my panic: "You were dead to the world for twenty minutes."

I nearly toppled from my chair. Kieran sat in the corner, partially hidden by a large fern, watching me with those cold green eyes. How long had he been there? Had he witnessed my nightmare, my pathetic whimpers?

"Victoria," he said matter-of-factly. "You tried to say her name in your sleep. Couldn't quite manage it with the..." He gestured vaguely toward my mangled throat.

Humiliation burned through me. I reached for my tablet: SORRY.

His expression hardened. "Don't apologize for nightmares. They're just your brain processing s**t that was too big to handle in the moment."

He rose from his chair with liquid grace that seemed impossible for someone his size. "Silver Fang has had three more omegas go missing in the last month. Different ages. Different roles. No obvious connection except their secondary gender."

My pulse spiked. LIAM? MARIA?

"Nothing concrete," he said, which wasn't really an answer. "But I found something you should know about. There's an underground network catering to humans with very specific... appetites. Werewolves forced to shift for entertainment. Mostly omegas because they're easier to control with the right drugs."

Horror crawled up my spine. LIKE A BORDELLO?

"Worse," Kieran replied, eyes darkening. "Some clients just want to watch the shift. Others want to hunt. The truly depraved ones..." He stopped abruptly.

MY FRIENDS COULD BE THERE? My hands shook so badly I could barely type.

"The timeline fits. Richard authorized the transfer of two omegas to the Northern Alliance the night of your abjuration. The Alliance has no record of receiving them."

Bile rose in my throat. The thought of gentle Liam—only seventeen, quiet and artistic—and protective Maria in such a place made me physically ill.

MY FAULT, I typed, tears blurring my vision. THEY TOOK MY PLACE.

Something shifted in Kieran's expression—a fleeting crack in his armor. "The only people at fault are the ones who treat living beings as property," he said with quiet intensity. "Your father. Richard. Victoria."

His gaze moved to the crib. Elijah had begun to stir, tiny face scrunching as he prepared to cry. To my shock, Kieran stepped forward and lifted the infant with surprising gentleness, cradling him against his broad chest.

"Hey, little wolf," he murmured, voice softening. "Good nap, huh?"

The contrast was so jarring it felt like whiplash—the hard, dangerous alpha discussing omega trafficking one moment, carefully supporting a baby's head the next.

"I need information," Kieran said, returning his attention to me while still rocking Elijah. "About Silver Fang's operations. Security protocols. Territory layout. Anything that might help locate your friends and the others."

I nodded eagerly. If there was any chance of finding Liam and Maria, I'd provide whatever I could.

"Not now," he said. "You're still recovering. And this isn't a conversation for a sunroom." His expression changed subtly, something dark flickering in his eyes. "What they're doing to the omegas in these places... You need to prepare yourself for what we might find. If your friends are there, they won't be the same people you knew."

The clinical warning hit me like a physical blow. I'd been imagining a rescue, a reunion. I hadn't allowed myself to contemplate what Liam and Maria might be enduring, how it might change them.

"Some of the omegas we've recovered from similar operations..." Kieran continued, his voice flat, "They were so broken they couldn't speak. Couldn't shift. Some begged us to kill them rather than take them back to their packs."

I stared at him in horror. Was this what awaited my friends? Was this my fault?

As if reading my thoughts, Kieran added, "This isn't about guilt. It's about responsibility. Silver Fang did this. The system that treats omegas as commodities to be traded or discarded."

Elijah whimpered softly, as if sensing the tension. Kieran adjusted his hold, one huge hand cradling the tiny head with incongruous gentleness.

"Tomorrow," he said. "After breakfast. The Luna’s office in the east wing. We'll go through everything you know about Silver Fang." It wasn't a request.

He started toward the door, still carrying Elijah. I forced myself to stand, determined to accompany them despite my protesting muscles.

Kieran watched my struggle without offering help. When I finally managed to get upright, he gave a slight nod—not quite approval, but acknowledgment.

As we moved through the main hall, whispers followed in our wake. The damaged new omega, the intimidating alpha, and the marked baby between us made an unlikely trio.

In my old life, being noticed had never led to anything good. Here, I was still learning that visibility didn't automatically equal vulnerability. That walking beside an alpha—even one as cold and damaged as Kieran—didn't require keeping my eyes down and my presence small.

Small steps. That's what Dr. Michaels called recovery. Small steps toward finding Liam and Maria. Small steps away from the voice in my head—the one that sounded suspiciously like Victoria—whispering this was all my fault.

Small steps, while somewhere out there, my friends might be losing pieces of themselves that could never be restored.

.