A Warehouse
Skyla
I wake to the sound of metal creaking.
It’s not loud or sharp—just the faint groan of steel cooling in the drafty air.
Everything hurts. My muscles are stiff, slow to obey, and my head throbs with a heavy, muffled pulse. The drugs they keep pumping into me make my limbs hang like lead.
Even blinking feels like work.
Hell, I don't even know how long I’ve been here. Four days? Maybe, five?
The blanket wrapped around me is scratchy, worn down to threads in some places, but I clutch it tighter. This building is freezing. The cold lives in the concrete floor, seeping up through the bars of my cage and settling in my bones.
I sit up carefully, one hand braced on the gritty floor, the other holding the blanket tight to my chest.
My leggings are damp around the knees and my tank top clings to my ribs. They're the same clothes I had on when Brayden handed me over. I haven't been given anything else to wear. Just this blanket, if you can even call it that, and a meager meal of bread and lunch meat twice a day.
“Please.” An omega somewhere across the warehouse starts crying. “This is a mistake. Let me call my—”
“Quiet!” A guard barks, and she instantly goes silent. We all do. Any groans or sniffles immediately stop.
Tears blur my vision before I realize I’m crying.
I blink hard, then swipe at them with the back of my hand.
I won't let myself sob. Not with all the other distressed omegas around me. There must be a dozen or so others, but I’m not sure.
This place is too dark to really tell. But even though I can’t see them, I know they’re as devastated and confused as I am.
Crying out loud would make things worse.
Instead, I focus on breathing. In and out. Slow. Steady.
It’s okay, Skyla, I tell myself. You’ll get through this.
A sharp sting flares at my neck, and my hand drifts to my raw mating bite. It still hasn’t healed. It’s not bleeding anymore, but it’s swollen, puffy, and weirdly damp. Every time I touch it, clear fluid clings to my fingertips.
I have no idea how bad it actually is.
It doesn’t hurt. Not really. Pain zaps in and out, but it never stays.
The problem is they’ve kept me so doped up I can’t trust what I’m feeling anymore. My body is kind of numb and overly sensitive at the same time, like everything’s short-circuiting.
I guess my bite could be infected. It might even be slowly killing me.
And honestly, I think I’m okay with that.
The first few nights here, I thought being rejected by my alpha would kill me. At least that’s what they taught me in primary school—but apparently, it’s sepsis that’ll actually finish me off.
I hope it doesn’t take too long.
I’m tired of this place.
Tired of the cold.
Tired of the drugs, the silence, the maddening loops of grief, rage, guilt, and hunger—cycling through me like poison, again and again.
At night, I pass the time by thinking about Brayden.
I hope he regrets getting rid of me. That he’s out there now, crushed by the weight of what he did.
Other times, I picture Martin finding out how Brayden tossed me away.
I fantasize about him ripping Brayden’s throat out, shredding his flesh like paper.
I like to imagine the pack alpha’s severed head hitting the floor with a wet thud.
But then guilt for thinking such awful things creeps in.
Followed by hunger.
And grief.
And then I cry myself back to sleep.
Who knew dying was so boring?
Commotion at the far end of the warehouse pulls me from my thoughts. I straighten as much as I can, peering through the bars.
A crack of light slices through the dark as a heavy door swings open, slamming shut behind someone. The guards stiffen, standing a little taller.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” a woman calls, voice smooth and cutting like a blade.
Click. Click. Click.
The overhead lights buzz and pop, then blaze to life, flooding the space with sharp fluorescent glare. My eyes burn. I squeeze them shut, then blink hard against the sudden brightness. Groans echo around me as the others squint and hiss, trying to adjust.
When my vision clears, I can finally see around me. There are at least two dozen cages—maybe more—and each one holds an obviously frightened omega. They all have vacant eyes, matted hair, and tear-streaked faces.
I’m sure I look just as sad.
“Good morning, Angelica,” a guard says, passing my cage. His boots hit heavy against the concrete. “We weren’t expecting you for another hour.”
“Hopefully, you’re ready for me,” the woman replies. Her voice has the unmistakable authority of an alpha. Fear tightens in my belly at the thought of her being anywhere near me.
All the guards here are betas. It’s the only mercy we have. They don’t scent us or stare like we’re prey. They will snap if we make too much noise. But alphas….
I don’t think I can handle being near one right now. Maybe ever.
“Here’s the list of everyone,” the guard says.
I hear the she-alpha’s heels clack—sharp and deliberate—as she walks toward the cages.
Then she finally steps into view. She’s tall, fierce, and terrifying.
Long black hair falls down her back. Her lips are fire-red, and her eyes are icy blue.
Her pencil skirt is so tight I wonder how she can move, but somehow she does, gliding between the cages like she owns the world.
“How many omegas in total?” she asks, scanning the list in her hand.
“Twenty-two,” the guard replies.
Angelica pauses, then frowns as her gaze passes over every cage. “I count twenty-three.” She gives him a cold, pointed look.
The guard’s confident posture wavers for a second. “We’ve got one with a pretty bad wound on her neck,” he admits, gesturing ahead.
It’s me.
I know it before they even move.
“Wounded?” Angelica’s tone has a bite to it. “Why didn’t you send her to the boarding house?”
“We didn’t think it was that bad at first.” The beta’s voice pitches higher, like he’s scared. “I guess we were hoping it would clear up on its own.” Their footsteps echo down the aisle, the sound growing closer.
Please don’t be me.
I turn my head, looking anywhere but at them—at the metal shelves along the back wall, the rows of empty crates, even the anxious guards near the front door.
But then Angelica’s shiny black heels stop right in front of me. The pointed tips are metal. Like they’ve been dipped in chrome.
“Omega,” she says and my head immediately turns to her. Her cool eyes sweep over my face, landing on my neck, then they narrow.
Slowly, she leans in a little closer. Instinct makes me scoot back, but my shoulders hit freezing metal, reminding me there’s nowhere to go.
“Head up,” Angelica commands, and my head flings back, popping the top of my skull against the bars. A sharp whine jumps from my throat before I can stop it.
Don’t cry, I tell myself. Don’t let them know how upset you are.
“I can’t see,” Angelica huffs, clearly annoyed. “Pull her out.”
Before I can process what she’s said, keys jingle and my cage door flings open with a mechanical click. Rough fingers curl around my upper arm, and I’m pulled forward. I want to fight, but I can’t. I’m still stuck in her alpha command, head tipped back and mouth clamped shut.
I wobble as I’m forced onto my feet. Icy fingers with long nails touch my face, tilting my head one way then another.
Angelica exhales slowly, and I risk cracking my eyes open.
She’s so close. Her face is right in front of mine.
Her skin is pale, lashes long and dark as she stares down at my neck with a tight, unreadable expression. I can’t tell if it’s concern or disgust twisting her features—but then, like someone flipping a switch, her face shifts.
She straightens with a smile. Calm. Controlled.
And I finally draw a shaky breath.
“This isn’t that bad,” Angelica says, waving a perfectly manicured hand like she’s brushing away a smudge. But I can tell she doesn’t mean it. And the beta next to her knows it, too. I see it in his jaw, the way it clenches like he’s trying not to say something.
“You’re fine, aren’t you?” Angelica says, her eyes snapping to mine. Her gaze hits like a slap.
I freeze as fear coils in my chest. I don't know how to answer—what would be the right answer?
Before I can decide how to respond, the she-alpha turns away, already speaking. “Any other issues?” she asks the guard, brisk and businesslike.
The beta straightens quickly. “No, ma’am.”
Angelica smiles, like that’s exactly what she wanted to hear.
She inhales deeply, then shoves the list at the beta.
“Okay, omegas.” She claps her hands together, then turns, her glossy lips catching the light as she addresses the room.
“I know it’s been a rough few days. But you don’t have to be scared anymore. ”
She pivots slowly, letting her gaze sweep over every cage, every corner, like she’s surveying property—not people. “You’ve been lost. Hurt. Rejected.” Her smile sharpens. “But I promise you—your lives are about to change for the better.”
Dread bubbles low in my stomach, and my palms begin to sweat.
Behind me, a few omegas shift restlessly, the silence scraping at already raw nerves.
Angelica keeps smiling—bright and predatory, like a hunter who’s cornered her prey.
“You’re being taken to a special place,” she says, her voice syrupy sweet but thrumming with power underneath.
Her eyes find mine, and I flinch as her focus locks on.
“A place where you’ll finally get what you need—to thrive.
To survive.” The pause that follows is unbearable.
Her gaze doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. “We’re going to find each and every one of you a pack of alphas who will love you forever. ”
Forever?
Something sharp and bitter rises in my chest.
Love me forever?
I had a pack. One who swore they’d love me until their dying breath. One that touched my neck with reverence and whispered sweet promises with each kiss.
And then they threw me away like a stray they were sick of feeding.
My jaw clenches, and the smile on Angelica’s face twists, like she knows exactly what I’m thinking—and she’s amused by it.
“If there’s nothing else…” Angelica pulls up the edge of her sleeve and checks the sleek, expensive watch gleaming on her wrist. Her glossy lips purse. “I need to go,” she says, almost to herself.
The urge to claw this woman’s eyes out hits me hard, and my hands curl into fists. “No,” I whisper, my whole body going tense. “You can’t do this.”
Angelica’s sharp gaze narrows on my face, and her smile grows. “Oh, sweetheart,” her voice is stripped of all heat, almost bored. “We already have.”
But before I can say anything—before I can spit or scream or beg—there’s a sting in my arm. A sudden, brutal pinch.
I look down and see a syringe, still embedded in my bicep.
Are you fucking kidding me?
Rage cuts through me as it’s yanked out, and I stumble.
“No—” I manage, barely a breath. “Wait—”
But the world is already tilting sideways. Angelica’s face blurs, spinning, like the last image of a nightmare before you wake up screaming.
Except I’m not waking up.
I’m falling.
The last thing I hear before the black takes me is her voice—soft, smug, and satisfied. ”They’ll love her pretty face at the auction.”