The Bullied Omega's Return

Chapter Ten

Two weeks after my resurrection routine—die, get dragged back, repeat—I finally escaped the antiseptic prison of the medical wing. My body had patched itself together enough that Dr. Michaels reluctantly agreed I could explore the sanctuary, provided I used the wheelchair she’d practically chained me to.

“Ready for the grand tour?” Zoe spun my chair in a quick circle that made my head swim. Her purple hair stood in electric disarray today, matching her barely-contained energy. “I mean, it’s not exactly five-star accommodations, but it beats staring at the same ceiling cracks, counting your IV drips.”

I tapped at the sleek tablet Lucas had given me yesterday. The robotic voice spoke my thoughts: ANYTHING BEATS THAT ROOM.

“Damn straight,” Zoe agreed, wheeling me through double doors into what felt like another universe.

Sunlight poured through floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing everything in honey-gold warmth. The contrast to Silver Fang’s cold marble halls hit me like a physical blow. There, even the light seemed rationed, filtered through heavy drapes that preserved the expensive furnishings at the expense of living spirits. Here, sunshine spilled recklessly across worn wooden floors, illuminating walls covered in artwork that—impossibly—looked created by children and adults together, valued equally.

“Welcome to actual civilization,” Zoe announced, gesturing expansively. “Main hall, cafeteria’s that way—miss breakfast and you’re hunting your own squirrels—common rooms over there, library back that way.”

My eyes couldn’t absorb the details fast enough. Everywhere I looked, the rigid hierarchies I’d grown up with had been shattered. An omega elder sat reading to a circle of pups, her voice carrying authority no Silver Fang alpha would have permitted. A male omega—a position that would have earned him particularly cruel treatment in my former pack—was organizing what appeared to be a community bulletin board, issuing good-natured directions to a hulking alpha male who followed them without question.

NO HIERARCHY? I typed, the question burning through my fingertips.

Zoe snorted. “Oh, there’s structure—we’re still wolves, after all. But it’s about skills and contribution, not accident of birth. Gabriel believes—wait, head’s up. Serious hottie approaching at two o’clock.”

I turned to see Riley walking toward us, carrying a basket of what appeared to be fresh-picked strawberries. The sunlight caught in his dark hair, highlighting streaks of auburn I hadn’t noticed in the clinical lighting of the medical wing. The birthmark that climbed up his neck and jaw shifted slightly as he smiled, the ivy-like pattern seeming to ripple with his movement.

It wasn't just a mark. It was alive, somehow.

“Breaking out the prisoner?” he asked Zoe, but his eyes—a warm amber that made something flutter in my chest—stayed fixed on me.

“Jailbreak,” Zoe confirmed. “Doctor Doom finally admitted Ari won’t spontaneously combust if exposed to fresh air.”

“Perfect timing.” Riley offered the basket. “First harvest from the south greenhouse. Thought you might want something that didn’t come from the hospital cafeteria’s freezer.”

I reached for a perfect strawberry, its scent awakening memories I’d thought long buried. Summer afternoons when my father was away, and an ancient omega cook had slipped me treats meant for Sophia’s plate. Small crimson treasures, each one a forbidden rebellion.

THANK YOU, I typed after savoring the burst of sweetness that was nothing like my memory. This was brighter, more vivid—as if Riley had somehow intensified the very essence of the fruit.

“They must like you,” Riley said, his expression pleased but not surprised.

THE STRAWBERRIES?

“Plants respond to people. Especially to people with marks.” His fingers brushed against mine as he offered another berry, the contact brief but electric. “These ones grew twice as fast after I told them they were for you.”

Zoe made an exaggerated gagging sound. “Please don’t encourage his plant-whisperer routine. He already spends more time talking to tomatoes than people.”

“Tomatoes don’t interrupt constantly,” Riley shot back with good-natured annoyance. “Or steal my dessert.”

“That happened ONE time—”

“Every time, actually,” he corrected, then turned back to me. “Want to see where these came from? The greenhouses are my favorite place to show newcomers.”

I’D LOVE TO, I typed, surprising myself with the eagerness of my response.

Zoe yielded control of my wheelchair with theatrical reluctance. “Fine, Plant Boy can take over tour guide duties. I need to check if Cassia found that book on celestial alignments anyway.” She leaned down to whisper loudly in my ear, “Just don’t let him show you his compost system. He’ll talk for HOURS about worm digestion.”

Riley’s cheeks colored slightly, the birthmark darkening to a deeper green. “That was a one-time lecture, and it was fascinating.”

“Only to you and the worms,” Zoe called over her shoulder as she bounded away.

Riley shook his head as he took control of my chair. “One thing you’ll learn quickly—Zoe has two volumes: loud and louder.”

I LIKE HER, I admitted. SHE’S REAL.

“Yeah,” he agreed, his expression softening. “That’s a good way to put it. We’re all a bit broken here, but nobody’s hiding the cracks behind pretty facades.”

As he guided me through the compound, the differences between Crescent Moon and Silver Fang became increasingly stark. Here, buildings nestled organically into the landscape, respecting the contours of the land rather than bulldozing nature into submission. Materials were natural—stone, wood, glass—allowing the boundaries between inside and outside to blur. Pack members moved with purpose but without fear, their expressions open in ways I’d never witnessed at Silver Fang, where omegas especially maintained careful masks of subservience.

“The training fields,” Riley gestured toward an open area where a muscular beta male was directing a group of young omegas through self-defense moves. “That’s Roland—Gabriel and Emily’s middle child. He runs defense training for everyone, especially omegas.”

I stared in disbelief. At Silver Fang, omegas were forbidden from learning to fight. Our weakness was considered a feature, not a flaw—keeping us dependent on dominant wolves’ protection.

OMEGAS CAN FIGHT HERE?

“Everyone learns basic self-defense,” Riley confirmed. “Roland’s philosophy is that a pack is only as strong as its most vulnerable member. His sister Julie thinks the same way about health care—she’s at a human medical school in upstate New York.”

We approached a series of connected glass buildings nestled against the mountainside, their surfaces gleaming in the sunlight. Plants of all varieties thrived inside, creating a riot of color and texture that took my breath away.

“My domain,” Riley said, a hint of pride in his voice. “Five climate-controlled environments growing everything from medicinal herbs to fruits and vegetables. We’re almost completely self-sufficient food-wise.”

As we entered the nearest greenhouse, warmth enveloped us along with the rich scent of fertile soil and growing things. Plants seemed to lean toward Riley as he passed, leaves turning like faces seeking the sun. More striking was how they reacted to his touch—visibly stretching, colors intensifying, flowers unfurling in accelerated motion.

“Your birthmark,” I typed, watching in fascination as a vine literally reached for his fingers. “It’s connected to your abilities.”

He nodded, allowing the tendril to curl around his wrist in a gesture that seemed almost affectionate. “Most marked wolves have some gift. Mine is plant affinity. Velma’s is healing and divination. Jenny has precog tendencies. What’s yours?”

The question caught me off guard. I’d never considered my birthmark might grant abilities rather than just bring misfortune.

I DON’T HAVE ONE, I typed after a moment’s hesitation.

Riley’s expression turned thoughtful. “Maybe you just haven’t discovered it yet. Or maybe it’s dormant after everything your body’s been through.”

Before I could respond, the greenhouse door burst open, admitting Lucas with his ever-present tablet and a harried expression.

“There you are,” he said, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Figured Riley would drag you here first.” He studied me with those observant eyes that seemed to catalog every detail. “How’s the text-to-speech working? Any latency issues?”

WORKS PERFECTLY, I assured him. THANK YOU.

“Good. I’ve added more ASL tutorial videos. Trinity’s offered to help with practical lessons once you’ve got the basics down.”

WHO’S TRINITY?

“Six-year-old omega,” Riley explained. “Born without vocal cords. Complete spitfire despite—or maybe because of—it.”

The idea of a young, nonverbal omega being celebrated rather than hidden away or worse was still difficult for me to process. At Silver Fang, such a child would have been seen as an embarrassment at best, a candidate for “mercy” at worst. Here, she was apparently a valued teacher.

“Speaking of teaching,” Lucas continued, “Dr. Michaels says you’re cleared for an hour of physical therapy daily. Roland’s offered to work with you once you’re stronger—adapted self-defense techniques that won’t strain your healing injuries.”

I blinked in surprise. The son of the Alpha wanted to train me personally? In Silver Fang, I’d been considered too damaged to waste resources on, even before my abjuration.

A commotion outside interrupted our conversation—engines roaring, voices raised in excitement. Riley and Lucas exchanged glances filled with meaning I couldn’t decipher.

“Is that—?” Lucas began.

Riley nodded, his expression unreadable. “Sounds like the prodigal son returns.”

WHO? I typed, curiosity piqued by their reactions.

“Kieran,” Lucas said, his tone carefully neutral. “Gabriel and Emily’s oldest. Their first-born alpha son.”

Riley’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “And resident mystery man. He shows up maybe once a year, causes a stir, then disappears again.”

The look that passed between them spoke volumes—there was history here, complex and unresolved. Before I could ask more, the door swung open again, this time admitting Zoe, who practically vibrated with excitement.

“Holy s**t, he’s back!” she exclaimed, bouncing on her toes. “And he brought his sexy-ass crew! Six motorcycles, all those leather-clad hotties—it’s like Christmas came early!”

“Zoe,” Lucas sighed, “your hormones are showing.”

“Like you weren’t sneaking peeks at that redheaded enforcer last time,” she shot back. “Come on! Everyone’s gathering at the main hall. I want a front-row seat for the inevitable drama.”

Riley hesitated, glancing at me. “Arianna should probably rest—”

“Are you kidding? This is, like, the most interesting thing that’s happened all year!” Zoe grabbed the handles of my wheelchair. “She can rest after seeing the Wolf King in all his glory.”

WOLF KING? I questioned as Zoe began wheeling me toward the door with determined energy.

“Kieran’s nickname in certain circles,” Lucas explained, falling into step beside us. “He runs a motorcycle club called the Iron Claw. They’re… problem solvers for packs with issues they can’t handle internally.”

“For a price,” Riley added, his tone making it clear he didn’t entirely approve.

Zoe rolled her eyes. “Don’t be such a boy scout, Riley. They do good work. Remember when they tracked down those omega traffickers from the southern territories last year? Returned fifteen captives and left the traffickers, well…” She drew a finger across her throat with relish.

My pulse quickened at the mention of traffickers. If Kieran’s group specialized in such rescues, could they help find Liam and Maria?

We emerged from the greenhouse into brilliant sunlight, joining the steady stream of pack members headed toward the main building. The excitement was palpable, a current of energy running through the crowd that reminded me of festival days at Silver Fang—except there, the anticipation had always been tinged with dread for omegas, who knew celebrations often ended with them as entertainment or worse.

As we approached the main hall, I saw them—six motorcycles parked in a perfect line, gleaming black and chrome machines that exuded power and freedom. Behind them stood their riders, a mix of males and females in black leather, their postures relaxed but alert, eyes constantly scanning for threats even in this supposedly safe territory.

And at their center—him.

There was no question which one was Kieran. Even if he hadn’t been flanked by the others in a subtle formation that marked him as leader, his presence would have commanded attention. Tall and broad-shouldered, with Gabriel’s powerful build but a leaner, harder edge. His face seemed carved from granite—all sharp angles and uncompromising lines, softened only by full lips that looked permanently set in a cynical half-smile. Dark hair cut short on the sides but longer on top fell across his forehead as he removed his helmet.

But it was his eyes that arrested me completely—jade green like his father’s, but colder, more distant. The eyes of someone who had seen too much darkness and learned to navigate it rather than fight it.

The crowd parted as Gabriel and Emily emerged from the main building. The moment stretched, weighted with unspoken history, as father and son regarded each other across the distance.

“Alpha,” Kieran acknowledged, his deep voice carrying easily.

“Son,” Gabriel returned, his tone carefully neutral. “This is unexpected.”

Kieran’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t worry. We’re just passing through.”

Emily stepped forward, breaking the tension as she embraced her son. For a brief moment, I saw Kieran’s mask slip as he returned her hug, revealing something raw and vulnerable before the shutters came down again.

“You’ll stay for dinner at least,” she said, not a question but a command softened by maternal authority.

Kieran nodded slightly. “The crew could use a night in real beds.”

His gaze swept the gathered crowd, acknowledging familiar faces with slight nods. When his eyes reached our small group, they paused, assessing Lucas and Riley with recognition before landing on me.

Something electric passed between us—a jolt of awareness that left me breathless. His expression didn’t change, but his focus sharpened, eyes narrowing slightly as they took in my wheelchair, the healing scars visible on my neck, the birthmark partially concealed by my loose hair.

“New rescue?” he asked his mother, though his eyes remained locked on mine.

“Arianna,” Emily supplied. “We found her on the southern border. Rogue attack after abjuration and rejection.”

Kieran’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Silver Fang territory.”

It wasn’t a question, but I nodded anyway, unnerved by how easily he’d identified my former pack.

He finally broke our gaze, turning back to his father. “We should talk. Privately.”

As Gabriel led Kieran and his second-in-command toward the alpha’s office, the crowd began to disperse, though the excitement lingered in animated conversations. Zoe practically buzzed beside me.

“Did you see that?” she hissed. “He totally gave you the look!”

WHAT LOOK? I typed, trying to sound disinterested though my heart still raced from that brief exchange.

“The ‘I see you’ look,” Zoe insisted. “Trust me, Kieran doesn’t notice new omegas. Ever. Too busy with his mysterious wolf king business.”

Riley made a sound suspiciously like a scoff. “Zoe, you’re reading novels into a two-second glance.”

“Am not! Lucas, back me up here. That was definitely A Moment, right?”

Lucas adjusted his glasses, ever diplomatic. “There was…something. But Kieran’s always been intense. It could just be professional interest if he’s working a case connected to Silver Fang.”

Professional interest. Of course. I pushed down the inexplicable disappointment that rose at the logical explanation. What was wrong with me? I’d just been destroyed by my fated mate’s rejection. The last thing I needed was to develop interest in not one but two new wolves, especially one who radiated danger like a solar flare.

I’M TIRED, I typed, suddenly desperate to escape their scrutiny and my own confusing reactions. MEDICAL WING?

“Of course,” Riley said immediately, taking control of my wheelchair from Zoe. “You’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

As he guided me back toward the medical building, I couldn’t help glancing over my shoulder toward Gabriel’s office. Just as we rounded the corner, the door opened, and Kieran emerged. Our eyes met once more across the distance, his expression unreadable yet somehow intense enough to burn.

Then Riley wheeled me around the corner, and the Wolf King disappeared from view, leaving me with a strange emptiness I had no right to feel and no words to explain—even with my text-to-speech tablet.

What did it matter anyway? I was damaged goods, rejected and literally scarred. The last thing I needed was to set myself up for more heartbreak, whether from kind, gentle Riley or the dangerous enigma that was Kieran Harvest.

My priority had to be healing, finding Liam and Maria, and figuring out my place in this strange new world where omegas could fight, marked wolves were celebrated, and motorcycle-riding alpha sons returned like conquering heroes to the sanctuary their fathers built.

But as Riley chatted about greenhouse irrigation systems and upcoming harvest schedules, I couldn’t stop my thoughts from drifting back to jade-green eyes that had seen too much darkness, and the inexplicable feeling that somehow, they had truly seen me too.