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

The metal door swings open, screeching on its hinges. My eyes snap up from the dirty tiles on the floor I’ve counted thousands of times by now. I’ve lost track of how many months they’ve kept me in this room. This glorified cell with nothing more than a hole in the ground and four walls I can barely pace between.

But I know exactly how many tiles there are.

Six-hundred and eighty five.

A familiar scent wafts in through the open door. The unmistakable stench of male beta. My lip curls in disgust as the guard steps inside, his muddy boots leaving streaks across the tile. The Nightingales won’t mop it up. They don’t come to the solitary ward.

Clean floors and decent meals are luxuries for good omegas.

And I’ll die before I let these fuckers turn me into one.

‘Good morning, Six One Seven,’ he sneers, the number that’s replaced my name for so long I’ve almost forgotten it rolling off his tongue like a slur. ‘Ready to eat today?’

My gaze shifts to the tray clutched in his meaty hands.

A fresh meal.

If you can even call the slop they serve here a ‘meal.’

But my traitorous stomach still cramps and growls, the hunger pangs I’ve been stubbornly ignoring for weeks now making themselves known. I swallow hard, refusing to give the beta the satisfaction of seeing me grovel.

‘Go to hell,’ I rasp, my voice cracking from disuse.

He chuckles darkly, unfazed by my defiance. ‘You’ll eat. They always do. Eventually, that smart mouth of yours will learn some manners.’

I meet his gaze steadily, clenching my jaw.

If only he knew the things I’d survived before being dragged to this hellhole. A few days of starvation is nothing compared to the years I spent scraping by in the wilderness after my mother…

My throat tightens and I force the thought away.

I can’t afford to get lost in the past.

Not when I need every ounce of my strength to endure this fresh nightmare. Enduring is what I’m good at.

Surviving against all odds.

The guard’s lips curl into a smirk as he lifts the sandwich off the tray, bringing it to his mouth and taking an exaggerated bite. He moans theatrically, crumbs spilling down his stained uniform as he chews with his mouth open.

Disgusting.

Every beta has always treated me like I’m less than human. It’s always been that way for us.

Alphas subjugate us, betas hate us.

As if the world didn’t have enough to deal with in the aftermath of mass nuclear war and crumbling society, alphas and omegas came into the picture, born to the perfectly normal yet irradiated people that are now referred to as betas.

Alphas are bigger, faster, and stronger. The ideal super soldiers.

Omegas are a siren’s song to the alphas’ aggressive primal instincts.

And we’re rare.

Our existence ignited a brutal war between the rogue alpha factions that sprang up, tearing apart the fragile civilization that had only just begun to rebuild in the wake of war and the frigid ashes of nuclear winter.

At least until the Council came along. The Council saw alphas as a threat to organized society, but omegas as the catalyst.

‘Control the omegas, control the alphas,’ as the popular saying goes.

Now, omegas born into ‘proper’ families are registered as soon as their omega mark appears and educated in the government school system. Groomed to be doled out to alphas to maintain the Council’s shaky hold on society.

The rest of us?

We end up here. In this hellhole they call the Refinement Center.

‘Mmm, not bad for slop, eh?’ the beta asks, smacking his lips and tongue. ‘You really should eat, Six One Seven. I saw you when they dragged you in here. All those curves, and in all the right places—just like an omega should have. Now? You’re starting to look like a pretty little stick.’This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

I curl my lip in revulsion, glaring daggers at him as he saunters closer, the sandwich dangling tauntingly in front of my face. The scent of over-processed meat and stale bread assaults my senses, my desperate empty stomach rumbling again despite my best efforts to ignore it.

I won’t give this sadistic prick the satisfaction.

I’d rather starve to death.

‘Just one bite,’ he coaxes, waggling the food. ‘That’s all I’m askin’. Then I’ll leave you be, let you enjoy your little hole in peace. What d’ya say?’

It’s no surprise he’s so desperate. He’s probably being pressured by his bosses to get me to eat out of his hand—the main thing they’ve been trying to do since they brought me here.

Every other guard they sent in gave up when the intimidation and starvation failed to work. They always cave before I do, giving me just enough food to survive before they try again.

But it’s not enough that I eat stale scraps off the floor.

Eating from an alpha’s hand is the only way to meet the Council’s guidelines and move me out of solitary. Move me back into the Reparation Program.

Even the Headmaster wants that. The so-called ‘benefactor’ of this hellhole. His funding from the Council is dependent on his ability to take wayward omegas unfortunate enough to end up in the Refinement Center and turn them into perfect offerings to a pack.

Solitary is supposed to be where anyone who falls out of line gets sent for a few days, a week tops, to make her grateful for the relatively luxurious life up top.

I may not know exactly how long I’ve been here, and I stopped really trying to keep track after five months, but I keep time in the number of guards who’ve given up their post.

Guess even betas have their limits.

This one has lasted longer than most. But I think he likes seeing me suffer. I think after the last time I tried to bite his cock off when he threatened to shove it in my mouth, it’s personal.

My gaze drops to the grimy tile between us as a bitter laugh bubbles up. I was naive enough to think betas weren’t so bad, once upon a time back in the camp, before I came to this place. They’d go about their business, leaving the omegas alone as we tended to the gardens and cooked meals over open fires.

But the ones here… they’re no better than alphas.

Worse, maybe, without the excuse of pheromones driving their sick depravity. Alphas are nothing more than animals, and you don’t blame a dog when it bites. You blame its master.

The guard’s boots enter my line of sight, stopping a mere foot away. The stench of his sweat fills my nostrils as he crouches, the sandwich now level with my face. I can see every crumb clinging to the bread, the grease stains seeping through from whatever slop of ‘meat’ they mixed together.

‘Open up,’ he commands, his tone a sickening parody of a caring parent. ‘You’re skin and bones, little girl. You need to keep your strength up for when they finally find some poor sons of bitches dumb enough to take you as a mate.’

My head whips up at that, eyes blazing.

As if I’ll ever let another alpha touch me, let alone⁠—

He seizes the opportunity to shove the sandwich against my lips, mashing it against my clenched teeth. I reel back with a growl, smacking his hand away. The remains of the food hit the floor with a wet splat.

‘You bitch!’ he snarls, abandoning all pretense as his fist lashes out.

The blow catches me in the stomach, doubling me over as the air rushes from my lungs in a wheeze. Black spots dance across my vision, but I blink them away with grim satisfaction as I force myself to meet his gaze.

Worth it.

He grabs a fistful of my lank auburn hair, yanking my head back with a vicious snarl as his other hand reels back. I don’t flinch, keeping my eyes locked on his as I draw in a rasping breath.

The beta’s fist connects with my jaw, sending stars exploding behind my eyelids. My head snaps to the side, a metallic tang flooding my mouth as I bite down on my tongue. He seizes the remnants of the sandwich off the floor and jams it between my lips, smearing the soggy bread against my face. I gag as he forces the wad deeper, his filthy fingers scraping the inside of my cheek.

Tears burn behind my eyes, but I blink them back, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

Not this time, you bastard.

I clamp my teeth down on his finger, biting through flesh and bone with a sickening crunch. He howls, thrashing wildly as he tries to yank his hand free. I taste blood, hot and coppery, as I grind my molars together, severing the digit completely.

He staggers back, clutching his mutilated hand to his chest. The finger drops from my mouth, hitting the tile with a wet splat. I spit out a mouthful of blood and gristle, a feral grin stretching my lips.

‘Well, you wanted me to eat from your hand. I guess you should have been more specific.’

‘You fucking cunt!’ he shrieks, his face a mottled shade of purple. ‘I’ll kill you!’

I laugh, the sound harsh and grating. I only wish I’d bitten off something else. Something that would ensure he never forces himself on another omega again.

He lunges for me, his good hand closing around my throat as he slams my head against the floor. Stars burst behind my eyes, the room spinning sickeningly. I scrabble at his wrist, my nails gouging bloody furrows in his skin, but his grip only tightens, cutting off my air.

Just as the edges of my vision start to darken, the door bursts open and two more guards rush in. They haul the beta off me, grappling with his flailing limbs as he curses up a storm.

‘I’m gonna fucking kill her!’ he roars. ‘Let me go!’

I roll onto my side, coughing and gasping for breath. Through the tangle of my hair, I see one of the guards examining the beta’s hand, his face pale.

‘Shit, she bit his finger clean off. Get him to the infirmary.’

They drag him from the room, still screaming obscenities. I push myself up on my elbow, wiping the blood from my chin with the back of my hand. The remaining guard crouches beside me, his brow furrowed as he tilts my face toward the light.

‘Anything feel broken? Did he damage your face?’

I snort, jerking my chin out of his grasp. Of course that’s all they care about. Can’t have an omega looking less than perfect for her future pack. Never mind the scars they can’t see.

The ones that run soul-deep.

‘Fuck off and die, shithead,’ I rasp, my voice like shattered glass.

The guard frowns, prodding at my cheekbone.

I hiss through my teeth, flinching away from his touch.

‘Doesn’t look like anything that’ll scar,’ he mutters. ‘Let’s get her to the doctor just in case.’

As if a doctor will do anything more than shoot me full of sedatives and strap me to a bed until the bruises fade. They’ll probably bill it as a kindness, giving me a few days to ‘rest and heal.’

As if I could ever find rest within these walls.

The guard hauls me to my feet, his grip on my arm just shy of bruising. As he steers me out of the cell, I catch a glimpse of the beta’s severed finger lying in a pool of congealing blood.

A hysterical laugh bubbles up my throat, tears stinging my eyes.

I hope he does kill me next time.

It would be a mercy compared to the fate that awaits me once they decide I’m fit to be passed around like a party favor. The thought makes bile rise in my throat.

No. I won’t let that happen.

I’ll die first. Even if I have to do it by inches.

One finger at a time.