28. Rage Of An Omega
28
RAGE OF AN OMEGA
~NYX~
" I want to see whoever approved those drugs. NOW!"
Each word carries deadly precision, rage making my voice nearly unrecognizable.
My hands slam against the wooden desk with enough force to make the entire surface shudder.
The secretary – Beta, perfectly coiffed, probably never faced real crisis in her life – tries for a placating smile.
"Ma'am, if you could just calm down?—"
Everything on her desk goes flying with one sweep of my arm. Files scatter like confetti, her precious computer crashes to the floor, and that stupid little name plate that reads "Margaret Winters" skids across polished tile.
"I will destroy everything in this building if you don't get me who I need to talk to this instant!"
The words tear from my throat carrying years of suppressed fury. My blood boils hot enough to burn, heart thundering against my ribs while my entire body trembles with barely contained rage. How dare they? How fucking dare they try to take him from me?
Margaret's perfectly manicured finger finds some button beneath her desk, probably calling security. Her gaze shifts to the three alphas standing behind me, taking in their tactical gear still dusty from their abandoned mission.
"Why are you letting your omega rampage like this?" The question carries notes of genuine confusion.
After all, proper alphas control their omegas, right?
Kieran's laugh holds no humor.
"Well, maybe if one of your pack mates was given medication deliberately designed to stop his heart instead of the life-saving treatment that's been working marvelously otherwise, you'd be a little pissed too."
"So we suggest," Dante steps forward, voice carrying deadly calm, "you get us exactly who we're looking for. Because we listen to what our omega wants without hesitation."
"And if she wants to burn this place down," Atlas finishes with quiet certainty, "we'll do so before anyone can evacuate."
The threat hangs in air thick enough to choke on.
I remember with perfect clarity the moment Vale's heart stopped beating beneath my desperate hands. Remember screaming into the phone for help while trying to remember CPR I'd never properly learned.
If Subdivision D hadn't been nearby... if they hadn't responded so quickly to emergency signals... if they hadn't had proper medical training...
The thought sends fresh wave of fury through my system.
What kind of omega doesn't know basic life-saving techniques?
What kind of facility trains us for combat but not for saving those we care about?
Maybe I’m being too hard on myself, knowing there was no point in teaching whom they labeled dogs, basic life resurrection treatment, especially when the intention was to kill, not save, but this is the only way I can protect what I dare say is mine.
And if that means causing an uproar, so be it.
"That won't be necessary."
The voice striking through tension freezes my blood solid. My eyes widen as recognition hits. Fighting the panic beat of my heart against my chest, my head whips around to stare past my Alphas at the man I never thought I'd see again.
The owner of Ravenscroft Asylum stands in a perfectly pressed suit, exactly as I remember. Not a hair out of place, not a wrinkle to mar his presentation. The same man who watched countless experiments with clinical detachment now studies me with unnerving intensity.
The one who mocked us. The devil who tried to stop my escape with threats.
Now he’s returned once more, and from his taunting gaze, I’m sure he’s plotted another diabolical plan to ruin me.
The coincidence feels too precise to be an accident.
Memory crashes through carefully maintained control:
Vale's face going slack as consciousness fled.
The terrible stillness of his chest beneath my palms.
The endless seconds before help arrived.
The eternity of watching others fight to restart his heart.
My fury finds a new focus, crystallizing into something beyond mere rage. This man, this monster who orchestrated years of torment, somehow connects to the current crisis. The realization burns through my veins like acid, awakening something primal that transcends designation dynamics.
The alphas behind me shift stances subtly, reading murderous intent in my rigid posture. But they make no move to stop me, no attempt to prevent whatever violence might explode from this recognition.
Because they understand.
They've seen firsthand what Ravenscroft's "treatments" did to omegas. What their careful programming stole from countless lives. What their experiments cost in blood and pain and shattered psyches.
Now Vale lies unconscious three floors above us, machines monitoring every breath while doctors try to understand what triggered cardiac arrest. Yes, he was facing a degenerative disease, but it hadn’t reached his heart yet. He still had plenty of time to fight and get better with the right treatment.
Someone administered those meds with the perfect dosage to trigger an overdose.
Since I hadn’t finalized a bond with him yet, they can easily toss the blame on me. The omega who didn’t attend to her Alpha’s needs, driving him to see no future but to kill himself…
The desk between us suddenly feels like an insufficient barrier.
My voice emerges barely above a whisper, carrying decades of accumulated pain:
"What did you do to him?"
The question hangs between us like a drawn blade, sharp enough to draw blood. His slight smile never wavers as he studies me with those cold eyes that haunted countless nightmares.
"Patient 495," he says my designation like a cherished memory. "You've exceeded every expectation. Truly remarkable progress."
The use of that number, that careful categorization they branded into my psyche, sends a fresh wave of sizzling anger through my system. But beneath rage burns something colder, more calculated – the part of me they crafted so carefully now turned toward their destruction.
He planned this to happen.
Wanted me to return straight to him.
"Allow me to formally introduce myself," he smooths nonexistent wrinkles from his impeccable suit. "Charles Press.”
He pauses on purpose, clearly having no intention of speaking the list of credentials people would normally lay out to be acknowledged.
“Margaret, you may step out. Our omega guest and her alpha comrades wouldn't be foolish enough to start anything." His smile carries venomous certainty. "Not while one of their own fights for his life on machinery I own. It would be quite... unfortunate if we experienced a sudden blackout that affected the backup systems."
"You wouldn't dare." Dante's voice carries deadly promise.
"Oh, but I would." He meets the challenge without hesitation. "I know exactly who your pack is. Parazodiac, isn't it? Playing at running things when really," his laugh holds no warmth, "you're merely minnows swimming among sharks."
Each measured step toward the desk forces us to adjust position, a careful dance of predator and prey where roles remain frustratingly unclear. His movements carry deliberate precision as he removes his jacket, rolling up his sleeves to reveal a bandaged arm where my knife found its mark.
The display feels calculated, reminding us of violence already exchanged while promising more to come.
He settles into the chair with casual dominance that makes my teeth ache.
"Such unfortunate circumstances," he observes, folding his hands on the desk's polished surface. "Let's not waste time with pleasantries. Out of the goodness of my heart, I won't charge for the life-saving intervention your alpha required."
The pause carries the weight of a trap about to spring.
"However, continued treatment is reserved for alphas with established omega bonds. And it's quite obvious this pack hasn't officially claimed the omega standing before us."
"You can't just stop treatment," Kieran's protest carries notes of desperate fury.
"Why not?" The question emerges silk-smooth, wrapped in absolute authority. "I own this facility. Why shouldn't I determine who deserves access to what I provide? Who receives care and who... doesn't?"
The implications sink like lead in my stomach as understanding dawns.
Every calculated move, every careful manipulation, has led to this moment of inevitable choice.
My voice emerges barely above a whisper, forced past the lump forming in my throat.
"What needs to be done for Vale to continue receiving treatment?"
Atlas's hand finds my shoulder, grip conveying silent support even as rage radiates from his frame. Dante's carefully controlled breathing speaks of violence barely contained, while Kieran's scent carries notes of pure protective fury.
But we all recognize the trap we've walked into — the careful manipulation that leaves no room for negotiation or escape. Vale's life hangs by threads this man controls with casual cruelty, leaving us no choice but to play whatever game he's orchestrated.
He leans back, satisfaction radiating from every pore as he watches as realization settles over us. He's orchestrated this perfectly – using Vale's condition, the facility's resources, and my presence to create a situation that serves his purposes entirely.
The machinery keeping Vale alive hums in my consciousness, each beep marking seconds where his survival depends entirely on the equipment this man controls. The knowledge burns like acid in my veins, but beneath fury grows cold certainty – whatever price he names, I'll pay it.
Even if it means returning to that hellhole.
Because watching Vale's heart stop once was enough.
Living those eternal seconds between the last breath and desperate revival carved scars I never want to experience again. This man may control the game for now, but he doesn't understand what six years of his careful programming created.
He sees an Omega ready to submit for the sake of alpha survival. What he's actually facing is weapon turned protector, every careful lesson in violence and control now focused on ensuring my pack’s survival by any means necessary.
I survived Ravenscroft once. I can do it again.
Let him believe he holds all the cards. Savor momentary triumph while it lasts, but I intend to play until the very end, until the price of his interference extracts payment in a currency he never expected to spend.
Charles reaches into his desk drawer with deliberate slowness, extracting a single sheet of paper and placing it before him. A pen follows, laid across the pristine surface with precise care that speaks of calculated performance.
"I consider myself a good person," he begins, voice carrying notes of false benevolence. "I truly hate seeing alphas suffer unnecessarily, especially over such weak, pitiful omegas." His gaze fixes on me with unsettling intensity. "Though I'll admit, Patient 495, you've exceeded initial expectations."
The way he studies me carries weight of scientific observation, clinical assessment wrapped in predatory interest.
"I knew something was special about you from the beginning. Which is exactly why I've been curating you, ensuring you're properly prepared for the set of alphas I've kept in Ravenscroft's captivity these many years."
"Alphas?" Dante's question carries sharp disbelief. "You don't keep them hostage. It's against their rights."
Charles's laugh holds no warmth, only cruel amusement at such naivety.
"The fine line in this world of hierarchy and 'rules' is very thin when you really think about it." His fingers trace the pen's surface as he continues. "In this sinister reality, everything operates on exchange. People give and take. One must sacrifice to reach the next level of life."
His explanation carries weight of twisted philosophy, each word selected for maximum impact.
"Without sacrifice, you're left to suffer, never reaching the grand scheme's conclusion."
Those cold eyes find mine again, holding my gaze with triumphant malice.
"I have a set of alphas back at the asylum that you'd be perfect for. They're a bit rough...feral, I suppose, after so long in captivity."
Pride colors his tone as he continues.
"I do aim to feed them, keep up appearances, but all the lethal cage fights are really quite straining."
Cage fights?
The revelation hits like a physical blow. How many horrors occurred behind Ravenscroft's walls that even I never witnessed?
How many alphas suffered similar fate to omegas I'd watched disappear?
"Though you may break, given how... innocent you are." His gaze travels my body with possessive assessment that makes my skin crawl. "But I'm sure those desperate alphas can whip you into shape in that department. That's the purpose of your body anyway. To please and service."
Three deep growls erupt simultaneously, the sound so primal it makes me flinch. Atlas, Dante, and Kieran's fury fills the room with lethal promise, their protective rage manifesting in waves of alpha pheromones that would terrify any normal person.
It makes my instincts go wild, while my mind races along the fact they’ve become so protective of me, but what can we do? Vale’s life is at risk.
Charles just laughs, the sound carrying genuine amusement at their display.
"Awww, how cute." His smile holds nothing but mockery. "But there's nothing you three can do about it. You should have bonded with your omega while you had the chance."
Contempt drips from every word as he continues.
“Funny how alphas always want to be so soft and tender with omegas, all because of trauma bullshit." His head shakes in exaggerated disappointment. "Now look at your ends. Laughable."
I reach for the contract with steady hands that belie the trembling in my heart.
The terms lay bare in stark black and white – no hidden clauses, no deceptive language, just simple exchange. My return to Ravenscroft's walls for Vale's complete treatment and recovery, all expenses covered.
My eyes fix on the success rate statistics: 98% chance of full recovery and return to normal function.
The number burns into my mind like a hot brand, offering hope I dare not show on my face. This treatment could save him, could restore everything his condition has stolen.
The realization settles deep in my bones – this is the only way to protect Vale. To save him in a way that only I can manage, only I can provide. The pack will survive without me. They can find another omega, one without my damage, my complications, my history of violence and clinical conditioning.
Once Vale recovers, once he's back to full strength and health, they can move forward. Build a better future. Find happiness again without a reminder of what Ravenscroft's influence cost them.
I'm just one stepping stone in their journey.
Temporary refuge that gave me a glimpse of what pack life could be, even if experience proved heartbreakingly brief.
The memory of their kindness, their acceptance, their careful consideration will have to sustain me through whatever awaits in those sterile halls.
Kieran's hand reaches for me as I return the contract to the desk, his touch carrying desperate pleas I cannot acknowledge. The pen feels heavy as I sign just 'Blackwood' – refusing to give my full signature.
Let Charles wonder at the omission, but I won't risk him using my complete name on other documents that might drag me deeper into whatever schemes he's crafting.
"Done," I announce with calm I don't feel. "I'll be at Ravenscroft's gates tomorrow morning."
Charles's frown carries obvious displeasure at the delay.
Before he can protest, I continue.
"Surely you'll allow one more night with my alphas." The words taste bitter but necessary. "It would be cruel to deprive a pack that's grown accustomed to omega presence without letting me...serve their needs one final time."
His huff of amusement carries notes of male appreciation for implied activities.
"Of course," he waves dismissively, victory making him magnanimous. "I'll send the contract copy to Vale's email for safekeeping." His smile turns sharp. "Just in case your pack needs a reminder before attempting any foolish rescue missions on my property."
The implied threat carries clear understanding of their tactical capabilities. But his smug satisfaction proves he doesn't truly understand what he's dealing with – doesn't recognize that sometimes cages create more dangerous predators than freedom ever could.
For now I'll play my role, accept his terms, walk willingly into his trap he thinks is so cleverly constructed. But six years of his careful programming created a weapon he never fully comprehended. His victory feels hollow against the weight of what those years taught me about patience, about survival, about turning captivity itself into strength.
One final night of freedom stretches before me, one last chance to feel the safety of pack bonds before sterile halls reclaim their prize. The alphas' fury radiates against my skin, their protective rage filling the air with promise of violence delayed but not denied.
But Vale's survival outweighs everything – their anger, my freedom, whatever future we might have built together.
Sometimes sacrifice demands the highest price from those most willing to pay it.