Feral Omega: A Dark Reverse Harem Omegaverse Romance (Ghost Alpha Unit Book 1)

Crackling snaps me awake. My arm throbs, a burning knife stabbing deep into the muscle. I glance down, frowning at my torn shirt and the heavy coat draped over my body. Stone and petrichor.

Wraith’s scent.

I sit up slowly, head spinning, vision blurring at the edges. A makeshift fabric bandage is wrapped around my bicep, the gray fabric stained rust-brown.

But Wraith is nowhere to be seen.

Shadows flicker on the far wall, the light dancing and twisting. I crawl forward, gritting my teeth against the pain lancing through my arm with every movement. The cave mouth yawns ahead, the night sky a velvet backdrop studded with stars.

And there, hunched over a small fire, is Wraith. His massive frame blocks out the sky, a hulking silhouette backlit by the leaping flames. He feeds a huge chunk of splintered pine into the blaze, sparks swirling up to vanish against the darkness.

I freeze as his head snaps up, those pale eyes finding me instantly. Fear claws up my throat, choking me. The last thing I remember is his hand around my neck, squeezing, crushing, until the world went black.

He rises to his feet, a lumbering mountain of muscle and shadow. Puffs of steam fog from the filters and tubing of his gas mask. I can hear the whoosh of his breathing from the cave’s entrance.

The entire front of his gray tank is drenched in blackened blood.

I scramble back, pressing myself against the cave wall, terror building in my chest. I whimper in spite of myself. But he stops short, a furrow appearing between his brows as he takes in my terror.

Shame and confusion war across his scarred features. His gaze drops to my arm, to the blood seeping through the bandage. He growls softly, the sound grating and harsh in the stillness.

‘You… you did this?’ I whisper, touching the dressing with tentative fingers.

He gives a sharp jerk of his chin. A nod. His version of it, anyway.

I sag back against the cold stone, my strength deserting me. The adrenaline bleeds out in a dizzying rush, my vision tunneling. I slump forward, bracing for the impact of the hard-packed earth.

But it never comes. Strong arms catch me, cradling me with a gentleness I didn’t think Wraith capable of. Especially after earlier tonight. He lowers me to the ground, movements slow and deliberate like I’m a priceless treasure he’s terrified of breaking.

He drapes the coat over me again, tucking it around my shoulders. Unslinging his pack, he offers me a canteen, holding it to my lips when my hands shake too badly to grip it.

The water is icy heaven on my parched throat. I drink greedily, rivulets escaping to trickle down my chin. Wraith watches me, something unreadable flickering in those pale eyes.

It’s not violence, whatever it is.

Next, he holds out a ration bar, the silvery wrapper glinting in the firelight. But I shake my head, stomach roiling at the thought of food. His brow furrows more, but he doesn’t push, returning the bar to his pack.

He retreats to the opposite wall, folding his legs beneath him as he sits, still so hulking and huge even when he’s not standing. He leans forward, his elbows on his knees, slouched yet muscles coiled like springs. He fixes that pale gaze on me and watches me with unnerving intensity, brow still furrowed.

‘Do you know where the others are?’ I ask, my voice a thready rasp in the silence.

He shakes his head, a sharp jerk from side to side.

‘Can you radio them? Let them know our location?’

Wraith points to his mask, then his throat, which is covered in pooling yet thin black fabric. Another shake of his head, more slow and deliberate this time. Then to his ear where the comm they all wear is notably missing.

It must have come off during the fight. Or before, during the raid. After seeing how chaotic and violent he is when he’s fighting, I’m not surprised.

‘Right,’ I murmur. ‘You can’t talk.’

Even if he did have his comm, it’s not like I’d know how to work it, anyway.

And I got off that damn collar. The one connection the Ghosts had to track me.

To track us.

I shiver, the cold seeping into my bones despite the heavy jacket cocooning me. What happens now? Do I freeze to death in this godforsaken cave? Or does Wraith snap again, crushing the life from me with those brutal, bloodied hands?

Time blurs and stretches, the fire dying down to glowing embers. The temperature plummets, my breath pluming in icy clouds. But Wraith never shivers, never seems to feel the biting chill even without his coat, even as he goes to toss another huge chunk of wood onto the fire.

He comes back to keep watching me, steam curling from the vents of his mask with every rasping breath. It’s the only sound he makes when he’s not growling softly. He’s an immovable sentry, a silent guardian at the mouth of my tomb.

I can’t feel my fingers, my toes. The shivering is constant now, a full-body racking that sends spikes of agony through my wounded arm.

I’m going to die here.

I realize the truth with a strange, fatalistic calm. I’m going to die, and it’s going to be slow and painful and pointless.

Unless…

‘W-Wraith,’ I chatter through numbed lips. ‘Come here. P-please.’Text © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

He cocks his head, confusion and wariness battling in those intense, wolfish eyes. But after a moment, he unfolds from his crouch and approaches, steps slow and measured like he’s trying not to spook a wild animal.

I almost laugh at the irony.

He sinks down beside me, the heat of him like a blast furnace against my icy skin. I press closer before I can second-guess myself, burrowing into his solid warmth. He goes rigid, frozen, muscles locking up beneath my cheek.

He’s afraid.

Of me.

A hysterical giggle bubbles up my throat, escaping in a puff of frozen vapor. The most terrifying alpha I’ve ever seen, a one-man army capable of rending flesh from bone with his bare hands… and I scare him.

But despite the tension thrumming through him, he doesn’t push me away. Just sits there, stiff and unyielding, as I leech the warmth from his massive frame.

His arm and hand twitch. Any other alpha would have wrapped his arm around a half-frozen omega, but not this one. He doesn’t know what to do. Has he never encountered an omega before?

The thought is bizarre.

“Um…” I hesitate, torn between fear and my need for more warmth. “You can… hold me, if you want.”

He tilts his head slightly, brow furrowing even more, those icy eyes boring holes into mine.

“W-with your arm,” I add since he doesn’t seem to know what I’m talking about, suppressing another shiver.

Silence and staring.

I slowly reach for his massive forearm—it’s as thick as my damn thigh—and he freezes again as my fingertips brush his scarred skin. I try in vain to lift it. It’s too heavy. This alpha’s arm is too heavy.

“Can you lift your arm?” I ask quietly, afraid I’m going to scare off my only source of warmth. My only chance at staying alive.

He moves it an inch. Two inches. Three. Watching me the entire time. I feel like I’d have a better chance of surviving a spooked bull or stallion inside this cave than Wraith, so I move just as slowly, crawling under his arm and nestling into his side, taking care to avoid the blood caked to his shirt.

Not just blood. Chunks of flesh, too.

I must be fucking insane.

His arm settles cautiously over me. He’s holding his breath. The plumes of steam puffing from his mask are barely visible now. I can’t hear him rasping. He’s as still as a statue, staring at me sideways, pupils blown wide. I hear him swallow audibly.

“It’s okay,” I mumble. “Just for tonight.”

More staring.

I drift, exhaustion dragging me under. I’m not sure how long I float in that dark, dreamless void, but when I surface, the cave is filled with pale gray light. Dawn, peeking timidly over the snow-capped peaks.

Wraith hunches over me, fingers picking at the bandage on my arm. He glances up as I stir, a question in those icy eyes.

I nod, not trusting my voice. He peels back the fabric, the dried blood crackling and flaking. The wound beneath is an ugly gash, the flesh swollen and inflamed. But the bleeding has stopped.

I gulp warily as he inspects it with extreme care, his rough fingertips brushing over it with a gentleness I didn’t think he was capable of. When he seems satisfied, he sits back on his haunches and tears a strip of fabric from the sleeve of his coat. That must be where the other bandage came from.

His fingers are clumsy, fumbling with the fabric as he tries to retie it. Like a bear trying to thread a needle, all brute strength and no fine motor control.

‘You didn’t mean to hurt me before,’ I murmur, the words emerging without conscious thought. ‘Did you?’

His gaze snaps to mine, something raw and aching flashing in his eyes. Shame and guilt that catches me off-guard.

Alphas aren’t supposed to hate themselves.

He turns away, hunching in on himself. A gargoyle poised to leap from the roof of a crumbling cathedral.

I hesitate, then reach for his pack. The ration bar crinkles as I unwrap it, breaking it in half with a decisive snap.

‘Here,’ I say softly, holding out a piece. A peace offering, trembling between numb fingertips.

He stares at it for a long moment, the rise and fall of his chest speeding up. Then, cautiously, he takes it. More staring, then he looks away, even deeper self-loathing bleeding into his gaze as he motions stiffly to his mask.

‘Oh,’ I murmur, looking away. ‘Sorry.’

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch him glancing back at me as if to make sure I’m not watching as he reaches for the buckles on the back of his mask. He turns his whole body so there’s no chance I can see his face.

We eat in silence, the dry crumbs sticking in my throat. When I finish, I lean against his back, too exhausted to care about propriety or pride.

He stiffens, but slowly—so slowly—relaxes. The tension bleeds out of him by degrees until he’s a solid wall of heat and strength at my back.

I close my eyes, letting the steady drum of his heart lull me. I should be terrified. This beast of an alpha choked me into unconsciousness and dragged me into a fucking cave.

And yet, inexplicably, I feel safe.

Safer than I have since those soldiers hauled me kicking and screaming from my forest den so many years ago.

It’s a dangerous feeling, I know.

A deadly illusion that could shatter at any moment.

But for now, in this frozen moment suspended between life and death, I let myself believe. Let myself hope, just for a heartbeat, that maybe I’m not as alone as I thought.