The Bullied Omega's Return

Chapter Twelve

His fingers traced the edge of my birthmark, golden eyes unreadable in the moonlight.

"I could have loved you," Damien whispered, his voice a caress and a knife. "If only you weren't... this."

His hand moved from my face to my throat, grip tightening slowly. "I reject the bond," he said, each word precise and final. "I reject you."

As the mate bond shattered inside me, his features shifted, melting into Victoria's cruel smile.

"Did you really think someone like him would want someone like you?" she asked, nails digging into my throat where his fingers had been. "Even the Moon Goddess knows you're defective."

Behind her, Sophia appeared—my face without the mark, my body without the scars. Perfect. Whole. Wanted.

"Dark Moon," she cooed, taking Damien's hand in hers. "Always in shadow. Always alone."

They turned away, leaving me in darkness as the ground opened beneath my feet—

I jolted awake, a strangled sound escaping my damaged throat. Sweat soaked the sheets tangled around my legs, my heart hammering against my ribs as if trying to escape my chest.

Just a dream. Just another nightmare.

Weak pre-dawn light filtered through the curtains of my new room—a small but private space in the cabin I shared with Zoe and Cassia. After three days of watching me wake screaming, Zoe had convinced Emily that I needed my own room rather than sharing the main sleeping area. "Not because we don't want you there," she'd insisted, "but because you need a safe space to freak out without an audience."

I pressed trembling hands against my face, fingers automatically tracing the birthmark that covered the left side. The mark that had defined every aspect of my existence. The mark that had cost me everything.

Realizing sleep was a lost cause, I carefully eased myself out of bed. My stomach wounds still ached with dull persistence, but I could move more easily now, four weeks after the rogue attack. Dr. Michaels had declared my recovery "ahead of schedule," which apparently meant I could now walk short distances without feeling like my insides might spill out.

I moved quietly through the cabin, not wanting to wake Zoe or Cassia. The main room—a cozy space with mismatched furniture and colorful throw pillows—felt like something from a human magazine. Nothing like Silver Fang's omega dormitory with its military-style bunks and institutional gray walls. Nothing like the basement room Victoria had eventually banished me to because she "couldn't stand looking at that mark over breakfast."

Settling on the window seat that overlooked the eastern forest, I watched light crawl across the valley. In the distance, early risers moved between buildings—Roland's morning training group gathering on the field, kitchen staff heading to prepare breakfast, the night patrol returning from boundary checks.

A normal morning in a place that still felt like a strange dream.

"Another nightmare?" Cassia's soft voice came from behind me. I turned to see her standing in the hallway, blonde hair tousled from sleep, oversized t-shirt slipping off one shoulder.

I nodded, signing Sorry if I woke you with hands that had grown more fluent over the past weeks.

"You didn't," she assured me, padding barefoot to the kitchen nook. "I'm always up early. Habit from..." She trailed off, but I understood. Some pack survival mechanisms became ingrained, difficult to break even in safety.

She filled a kettle and set it on the stove. "Tea? Jenny brought some chamomile blend that's supposed to help with anxiety."

Yes, please, I signed, grateful for her quiet understanding.

As Cassia prepared the tea, I noticed her methodical movements, the care she took arranging everything just so. Most omegas developed such precision—mistakes meant punishment in traditional packs.

"I'm heading to the craft center after breakfast," she said, placing a steaming mug in front of me. "Working on a pottery piece for the full moon celebration. You're welcome to join. It's... therapeutic."

I hesitated, then signed: I don't know how.

"That's the point of learning," she replied with a small smile. "Besides, you've got good hands. I've seen how quickly you're picking up sign language."

The simple compliment—acknowledgment of something I could do well, rather than criticism of my deficiencies—still felt foreign. At Silver Fang, praise had been reserved for Sophia, for perfect, unmarked wolves who didn't embarrass the pack by existing.

I'll try, I finally agreed.

"Good." Cassia sipped her tea, studying me over the rim of her mug. "Jenny mentioned she's teaching you amigurumi this afternoon."

I nodded. The intricate crochet animals had become a welcome distraction during my recovery. Jenny had started me with simple patterns, her patience seemingly endless as my clumsy fingers struggled with the tiny stitches.

"She's really impressed with how quickly you're learning," Cassia continued. "Says you have a natural talent for it."

Warmth spread through my chest at this unexpected praise. Another small gift of Crescent Moon—the ability to develop skills beyond basic omega servitude. To create rather than simply serve.

The cabin door burst open, admitting a windblown Zoe. "You're both up! Good. Emily's called an emergency breakfast meeting. Something big's happening."

We exchanged glances, immediately alert. "What kind of something?" Cassia asked.

"No idea. But Kieran's team returned at dawn, and they brought someone with them." Zoe's eyes gleamed with the excitement of fresh gossip. "Plus, word is there's a new rescue arriving today—some omega boy from the Blackwater pack."

Maria? I signed hopefully, my heart leaping at the thought that Kieran might have found one of my friends.

Zoe's expression softened. "Don't know, honestly. But if anyone can find her, it's Kieran's crew."

Twenty minutes later, we joined the steady stream of pack members heading toward the main hall. Breakfast meetings were rare, usually reserved for significant announcements or community decisions.

The dining area buzzed with speculation. I scanned the room automatically, noting Kieran's absence among the gathered wolves. Riley caught my eye from across the room and waved, gesturing to an empty seat beside him.

"Saved you a spot," he said as I approached, ivy birthmark shifting slightly as he smiled. "How's the stomach today?"

Better, I signed, settling into the chair. Any idea what's happening?

Before he could answer, Gabriel and Emily entered, followed by Velma and Dr. Michaels. The hall quieted instantly.

"Thank you all for coming," Gabriel began, his deep voice carrying without effort. "I know this is unexpected, but we have several important matters to address."

Emily stepped forward. "First, as many of you have noticed, Kieran's team returned early this morning. They've brought back information—and one survivor—from an omega trafficking operation near the western territories."

My pulse quickened. A survivor. Information.

"The individual is currently in the medical facility receiving treatment," Emily continued. "They're severely traumatized and not yet able to communicate. We ask that you respect their privacy and give the healing team space to work."

Gabriel took over. "Second, we're expecting a new arrival today. A young omega named Remy from the Blackwater pack. His situation is... complicated." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "He was not abjured but escaped after severe mistreatment. His former alpha may attempt to reclaim him."

Murmurs rippled through the hall. Taking in escaped omegas—as opposed to formally abjured or rejected ones—carried political complications. Pack law gave alphas absolute authority over their omegas; harboring runaways could trigger inter-pack conflicts.

"We've invoked sanctuary rights," Gabriel continued firmly. "But I want everyone on high alert. Boundary patrols will double until further notice. Roland will coordinate the security schedule."

As breakfast concluded and pack members dispersed to their duties, I remained seated, mind racing. A trafficking survivor. Could it be Maria? Or Liam? Or another Silver Fang omega I'd known?

"You okay?" Riley asked, noting my distraction.

I shook my head, then typed on my tablet: NEED TO KNOW IF IT'S MARIA OR LIAM.

"I understand," he said gently. "But if it is one of your friends, they'll need time. From what little I know about these operations..." He stopped, his normally open expression clouding. "The survivors need specialized care. It might be a while before they can see anyone."

Frustration crawled under my skin, but I nodded reluctantly. Of course Riley was right. If one of my friends had been rescued, their recovery took precedence over my need for answers.

I'M GOING TO THE CRAFT CENTER WITH CASSIA, I typed. THEN MEETING JENNY FOR AMIGURUMI LESSONS.

"Good plan," Riley approved. "Keep busy. I'll let you know if I hear anything more specific."

Cassia hadn't exaggerated about pottery being therapeutic. There was something almost meditative about the cool clay spinning beneath my fingers, responding to gentle pressure. The repetitive motion of centering, opening, and pulling up the walls of what would eventually become a simple bowl absorbed my complete attention.

"You're a natural," Cassia observed, watching my tentative efforts. "Most beginners collapse their first few attempts."

Pride—an unfamiliar emotion—bloomed in my chest. Beginner's luck, I signed with clay-smudged fingers.

"Or maybe you're discovering talents Silver Fang never allowed you to explore," she countered.

The pottery wheel slowed as my concentration broke. She was right. At Silver Fang, omegas weren't encouraged to develop skills beyond those that directly served the pack. Art, creation, self-expression—these were luxuries reserved for higher ranks.

"Sorry," Cassia said, noting my reaction. "I didn't mean to bring up painful memories."

I shook my head. You're right. Never had the chance before.

She returned to her own project—an intricate vase with delicate carved patterns around the rim. "I never touched clay until I came here," she said conversationally. "In my birth pack, omegas sewed, cooked, and cleaned. Period. Anything else was 'above our station.'"

I nodded in understanding. Though each pack had its own customs, most traditional ones shared similar views on omega roles and limitations.

"That's the real purpose of Crescent Moon," Cassia continued, her hands moving deftly over her creation. "Not just sanctuary from physical abuse, but space to discover who we actually are beneath all the conditioning."

We worked in companionable silence until lunch, then parted ways—Cassia to help with afternoon lessons for the younger pack members, me to meet Jenny at the library for our scheduled amigurumi session.

I found Jenny already set up in the library's craft corner, colorful yarn arranged in neat piles and a half-finished wolf taking shape in her hands. Her birthmark—a pattern covering her right ear and trailing down her neck—caught the afternoon sunlight as she looked up with a warm smile.

"Perfect timing," she greeted me. "I just finished the sample for today's lesson. We're making tiny wolves."

I settled into the chair across from her, accepting the crochet hook and gray yarn she offered. Over the past week, Jenny had taught me basic stitches and simple shapes. Today's project looked considerably more complex.

Not sure I'm ready for this, I signed hesitantly.

"You absolutely are," Jenny assured me. "Besides, progress happens at the edge of our comfort zone."

As she guided me through the pattern, demonstrating each step before I attempted it, I found myself relaxing into the rhythm of the work. Jenny kept up a gentle stream of conversation, her voice soothing in its normalcy.

"I was engaged before my mark appeared," she said unexpectedly as we worked on the wolf's head. "He was a beta from a good family in my birth pack. The match had been arranged since we were pups."

I glanced up in surprise. Jenny rarely spoke about her past.

"I presented late—nearly eighteen. We thought I was beta too, until..." Her fingers brushed the birthmark on her ear. "It appeared the night I turned omega. The engagement was dissolved the next morning."

My hands stilled on my project. I'm sorry, I signed.

Jenny shrugged. "I thought my life was over. Worst part was, I'd actually loved him. Or thought I did." A small smile touched her lips. "Then I ended up here, and six months later, met Rufus."

I knew Rufus by sight—a quiet, bearded beta who worked in the pack's construction crew. He and Jenny seemed opposites in many ways—she outgoing and creative, he reserved and practical.

"He saw my mark first day and said it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen," Jenny continued, eyes soft with the memory. "Said it looked like music notes, like I had a song written on my skin."

True mates? I asked.

"Yes, though we didn't realize immediately. It wasn't that dramatic lightning strike you hear about. More like... coming home to a place I didn't know I'd been missing." She looked at me directly. "That's why I don't believe for a second that Damien was really your true mate."

I flinched at his name, nearly dropping my hook.

"Sorry," Jenny said quickly. "But I've heard bits of your story from Zoe. True mates don't reject each other—not truly. They can fight it, deny it, but the bond doesn't let them just walk away."

I wanted to believe her, wanted desperately to think the soul-destroying pain of Damien's rejection wasn't the universe's way of confirming what I'd always been told—that I was too defective to be properly loved. But eighteen years of conditioning didn't dissolve overnight.

He chose my twin, I signed after a moment. She's perfect. Unmarked.

"He chose wrong," Jenny replied simply. "And someday, you'll find who you're actually meant for."

Before I could respond, the library door opened, admitting Kieran. His imposing figure looked out of place among the bookshelves and reading nooks, like a wolf in a china shop. His eyes scanned the room before landing on us.

"Arianna," he acknowledged with a curt nod. "Need to speak with you."

Jenny squeezed my hand reassuringly before I set aside my half-finished wolf and rose to meet him.

NEWS? I signed, heart hammering with hope and dread.

"Not here," Kieran replied, gesturing toward the exit.

We walked in silence to the administrative wing, Kieran automatically adjusting his long stride to my slower pace. His office—which I'd visited twice before to share information about Silver Fang's operations—was spartan but organized, maps and documents covering one wall in a complex network connected by colored strings.

He closed the door behind us before speaking. "We found the facility we think Liam and Maria were taken to initially."

My breath caught. WHERE?

"Abandoned property near the northern territories. Former hunting lodge." His expression remained carefully neutral. "Most of the operation had been moved before my team arrived, but we found records. And one survivor."

MARIA? My hands trembled as I formed her name.

"No," Kieran said, watching my face fall. "A male omega from River Valley pack. He'd only been there two weeks. But he confirmed others had been transferred to a secondary location the day before our raid. The descriptions match what we know about your friends."

Hope and despair warred within me. They'd missed Maria and Liam by a day. Just one day.

THEY'RE ALIVE? I signed desperately.

"The survivor believes so, yes." Kieran moved to the map wall, pointing to a circled location. "We think they've been moved here, closer to human territory. The operation caters to wealthy humans who pay to hunt shifted omegas or..." He stopped, jaw tightening. "Other entertainment."

Bile rose in my throat at the implication. HOW SOON CAN WE GO AFTER THEM?

"My team needs time to regroup and gather intelligence. We can't go in blind—that gets people killed and doesn't help the captives." His green eyes met mine, unusually direct. "But we will go. I give you my word."

From most wolves, such assurances would have felt empty. But something in Kieran's tone—a steely certainty beneath his customary coldness—made me believe him.

A knock at the door interrupted us. Gabriel entered without waiting for a response, his expression grave.

"Remy's arrived," he told Kieran. "It's worse than we expected."

Kieran's posture shifted subtly. "Blackwater's following?"

"Not yet, but Peter's group picked up unknown wolves scouting our eastern border." Gabriel ran a hand through his silver-streaked hair. "The boy's in bad shape, Kieran. I've never seen an omega treated this way outside of war."

CAN I HELP? I signed, drawing Gabriel's attention.

The Alpha considered me for a moment. "Perhaps. You're still recovering yourself, but... sometimes those who understand trauma can reach others where the rest of us can't."

"She's not trained for this," Kieran objected, surprising me with what sounded almost like protectiveness.

"None of us were trained for half of what we do here," Gabriel countered. "Velma thinks another marked wolf might help him feel less isolated."

Marked. Like me. Another wolf set apart by the Goddess's touch.

I WANT TO TRY, I signed determinedly.

Kieran looked like he might argue further, but instead merely nodded once, curtly. "I'll continue working the trafficking case. You should know we're getting closer to identifying who's behind the Silver Fang connection."

"Good," Gabriel replied, something dangerous flashing in his normally kind eyes. "Because when we find them, there won't be anywhere safe for those responsible."

As we walked toward the medical building where the new arrival waited, I couldn't shake the conflicting emotions churning inside me—hope that Maria and Liam might still be alive, fear for what they might be enduring, and a strange, unexpected feeling that despite everything, I'd found something at Crescent Moon I'd never had at Silver Fang.

A purpose. A place. Perhaps, someday, even peace.

But first, we needed to save my friends. And I needed to meet this new wolf, this Remy, who apparently carried scars that rivaled even mine.