Cursed Love (The Vallaverse)
1. Koa
Koa
I flip the sign to Closed , though the last thing I want to do is lock the doors. The smell of old paper and ink wraps around me like a comfort I don’t deserve tonight. My gaze dances to the cart beside me—just three books left to shelve. I could leave them for tomorrow but the thought of going home to that damned dress waiting on my bed makes me want to hurl.
Instead, I run my fingers along the spines of the books, letting their titles blur together as I find their proper places. I’ve read so many of these, lost my days in their words as if they could take me from the reality I find myself in. In a parallel universe, I’d be a surgeon or a math professor or fuck, maybe even an artist where I spend my days dreaming up fantastical worlds and then painting them onto canvas.
But Omegas don’t have those kinds of freedoms. Not in this society, anyway. In this stuffy little city of Hell on Earth, Omegas are cherished, Betas a close second. We’re a protected class, needed to create the next generation and as such, we’re hidden away with rules and laws and curfews. Too many to count. Jobs we can’t have; places we can’t go after dark; and yearly galas we have to attend like a free-for-all all buffet of scratch and sniff.
It's where most Omegas and Betas find their mates. In the nearly twelve years since I’ve gone, I’ve never found someone. Not that I wanted to. The moment I find an Alpha is the moment I lose the few freedoms I have left. The only reason I have a job at the little bookstore a few doors down from my house is because the Beta that runs the place convinced my father it would keep me out of trouble.
And it has.
Not that I was trouble to begin with.
A melody begins in the back of my throat as I hum my way through the last few books, my mind wandering to that suspense novel I picked up a few days ago. Mr. Colburn doesn’t mind if I read on my breaks and Octavia’s story has captivated me from the beginning. She’s an Omega detective, her mates working with her to take down the bad guys in the city. Wholly fiction, of course, because that shit doesn’t happen here.
An Omega, in power? Pfft. Never.
I slide another book onto the shelf, falling deeper into my own thoughts when a soft knock rattles the bookcase I’m facing. My heart sinks into my stomach as I search around for the time. 5:45 pm.
"Still here?" Mr. Colburn leans against the bookshelf, arms crossed, his expression hovering somewhere between amused and annoyed. "You know you should’ve left an hour ago, right? Don’t tell me you’re skipping out on The Night of Scarlet to babysit books." There’s a smile in there somewhere, the older Beta knowing how much I despise the lack of opportunities that come with my designation.
I force a smile—tight, polite, practiced. Dad always said that even if I wasn’t going to be the perfect Omega, I should always pretend. "Of course not. Just didn’t want to leave this for tomorrow. Who knows? Maybe I’ll meet my mates tonight and they won’t let me work anymore." I hate the words even as they leave my mouth. But it’s easier to play along than explain why the thought of tonight makes me want to crawl out of my skin.
He chuckles, shaking his head. "And we both know that you’re going to do everything in your power to avoid that gala. However, I promised to keep you out of trouble and not showing up for the biggest event of the year means your father will have my ass. Koa, I love you, but that man is terrifying. Get out of here before the Valla come to get you. I’m not sure which I’m more terrified of. Your brother or a Valla stepping in here.” Mr. Colburn throws me a wink and a playful shudder before disappearing around the corner, gingerly shutting off the lights to force me out.
He's right and I fucking hate it. I’m surprised Dad hasn’t shown up already or Damien, my older brother. He’s the real terror in our little family, the Alpha that keeps up with the business—whatever that is, these days. And as terrified as I am of Damien at times, a Valla would be much worse.
A heavy sigh falls from my lips as I twist to look at all the books I’m leaving behind and then pull out my phone, my heart sinking into my chest.
I should have known it would be flooded with calls and texts from friends eager about the gala as well as Damien wondering where I am. I dismiss most of them and then start scrolling through my brother’s increasingly angry messages.
Why are you not home?
Koa, you know that this night is important for our family. Come home.
There are matters to discuss. You will pick an Alpha tonight.
It’s disgraceful to be unmated at your age.
Do not make me come get you. You know what happened the last time.
Last warning.
My face scrunches up, irritation spreading through my chest. I’m almost thirty. Practically ancient in Omega years. If I don’t pick a mate tonight, Damien will be right there with options of his own—most likely rich out their ass and abusive to their core. All he and my father want is stability. Damien married into money and my poor sister-in-law has to bend to every whim Damien thinks up or be punished by law. Protected, my ass.
I should go home. Should shower, get dressed, slap on the makeup that makes me look like someone I’m not. Damien will probably send another text in a minute or maybe he’ll call to demand I come home and be the submissive Omega that I’m supposed to be. Instead, I head toward the back door. The brisk evening air hits me like a slap. The streetlights buzz faintly, casting pools of light on the cracked pavement. For a second, I just stand there, clutching my bag like it’s some kind of lifeline.
What if I don’t go? What if I don’t walk into that gala with my head held high, pretending I give a damn about the roses and the fake smiles and the scent-soaked suitors who’ll try to win me over with their practiced charm? What if I just… don’t ?
But I know better. Skipping The Night of Scarlet isn’t an option, not for someone like me. And no matter how much I wish I could tell Damien to go to hell, a tiny, traitorous part of me still wants to prove everyone wrong. To prove that I’m an Omega worthy of an Alpha or even a pack despite not being able to give them children.
With a sigh, I sling my bag over my shoulder and start walking. The bookstore disappears behind me, swallowed by the night. Every step feels heavier than the last, each one dragging me closer to the one place I don’t want to be.
My mind wanders as I tug my coat tighter around me, my small heels clicking against the pavement and echoing in the darkness. Any other night, I’d enjoy the brisk evening air biting at my cheeks, maybe even do a little twirl around a lamppost and hum my late mother’s favorite song. Not tonight, though. The two blocks from the bookstore to my house feel like the last bit of freedom I’ll ever have before I’m locked into a relationship that will only benefit my family’s status.
The Night of Scarlet is a fucking joke anyway. It’s supposed to be elegant, a chance to choose, a chance to find someone who will cherish me. All I can think about this night every year is how much I want to leave. How much I want to run. Just the idea of being mated—it sends a shiver through me, and not the good kind. My fingers clutch the edge of my coat like it’s a shield, but I know better. I’ve learned the hard way that nothing can protect me when someone decides they want to take something from me.
My throat tightens as the memories creep in, uninvited. His face. Their faces. The way they cornered me, their laughter sharp and cruel, hands gripping too tight. I didn’t even see it coming. One moment, I thought I was safe. The next... goddess, I can still hear my own screams. Desperate. Ragged. They echoed off the walls, swallowed by the night, by the indifference of the world around me. No one came. Not a single soul.
I had to pick myself up. I had to clean myself up. Scrubbing until my skin was raw, until the blood was gone, until the bruises looked like nothing more than shadows. But nothing could scrub away the shame, the rage, the hollow ache in my chest. I buried it all, shoved it so far down I thought maybe—just maybe—I could forget. I was wrong.
Even now, years later, it clings to me like a second skin. The idea of trusting someone, of giving them a piece of me... it feels impossible. How do I let someone hold my heart when I know they could crush it without a second thought? How do I look at someone and not wonder what they’re hiding behind their smile? Every time I think about it, I can feel the bile rising in my throat, the memories whispering, reminding me what happens when I let my guard down.
And then there were the doctor’s appointments. Endless, sterile rooms with their too-bright lights and their pitying looks. “I’m sorry, Miss Koa,” they’d say, voices soft, too soft, like it would make the words hurt less. “It’s unlikely you’ll ever conceive.” Unlikely. What a pretty little word to disguise the truth. They didn’t have to say it outright. I knew what they meant. Broken. That’s what I am. Broken .
I’ve tried everything—herbal remedies, experimental treatments, even prayer, though I’m not exactly the praying type. Nothing worked. The idea of being someone’s Omega, of being cherished, of building a family... it feels like a cruel joke. A dream dangled just out of reach, only to be snatched away. And yet, the world expects me to be grateful, to smile, and accept my place with open arms.
But I won’t. I refuse to just be someone’s Omega. I’m not going to be a pretty little thing they can mold and control. I’ve been on scent blockers and heat suppressants for as long as I can remember. It’s the only way to keep myself safe, to keep myself free. Without them, I’d be vulnerable, falling into someone’s lap, trapped in a life I didn’t choose. I won’t let that happen. Not again.
The house comes into view, its warm lights spilling out onto the street. It looks inviting, like it’s reaching out to me, offering solace. But I know better. Warm lights don’t chase away the cold inside. A roof doesn’t shelter me from my own mind. I pause at the edge of the driveway, not wanting to go inside and face what comes next.