Chapter Five
Halley
It feels strange to be back in my military fatigues, almost like putting on a costume to act in a performance. They’re not the special ones Knox made me that fit me perfectly, those will stay hidden. Instead, I get a set that swims on me to hide my curves and roll up the sleeves.
The brakes squeal as the truck descends from the mountaintop and Blackgate Fortress disappears into the fog.
“This is a peace keeping mission,” the Prime Alpha in the seat across from me barks, his eyes an intriguing luminescent brown ringed with gold. They glow from beneath his combat helmet, and I find myself unable to make eye contact without shivering. He’s a true predator if I’ve ever seen one.
There are ten of us squeezed into the back of the troop carrier, and the bench seats are as unforgiving on my ass as the last time they hauled me away in one of these trucks.
Our merry band of rebels consists of the Prime Alpha, two Alphas, six Betas, and me, an Omega who has no right deploying to a war zone.
I wince as I run my finger under the firm leather of my bite collar. It’s never left my neck, and while I know it protects my mating gland from Alphas swept up in the heat of battle, I still hate how it makes me feel like a prisoner.
Because, no matter how I twist it, that’s what I am. Once again, my choices have been stripped from me. I’m a tool General Stone created to use against his enemies. I have no other place to go, at least no safe place.
There is another reason it remains around my throat, one I’ve been avoiding like the plague.
Knox gave it to me.
It’s plain and simple.
I can’t take it off because it would mean losing that connection to him.
“Our mission is to evacuate all occupants of Rheamont, with their cooperation or not.”
That is what the General needs me for.
To make the unwilling, willing.
Except, it’s not going to work. I haven’t used my Omega Command since I arrived at the fortress, but he seems determined to test drive his new weapon.
“Protecting the asset is the highest priority,” the Prime Alpha continues.
The asset. That’s me.
We hit a pothole and I’m battered between the broad shoulders of my Beta seatmates. I wince, and one of the Alphas scoffs. “What the fuck is an Omega doing here, anyway?”
A metallic tang fills my mouth as I bite the inside of my cheek.
My thoughts exactly.
“Following orders, just like the rest of us,” the Prime Alpha answers swiftly, with a poignant glance at the foulmouthed soldier.
I brace myself against the jolts of the truck, but it doesn’t help. The helmet on my head, two sizes too big, slips over my eyes.
The Alpha snorts when I right it, and I glare at him.
I know I look ridiculous. I don’t need him pointing it out.
"The Fathim forces have established a defensive perimeter at the town's border and are currently holding their position. However, their capacity to repel the enemy's advances is limited. We have until 1900 hours to execute the civilian evacuation.”
The others nod in understanding, but it’s hard to keep up with the rapid-fire info dump. What is 1900, again? Right. Seven PM in military speak. I’m out of practice, and Knox would be disappointed in me.
"Intel confirms the town has significant sympathies for the Beta dissonance, complicating the evacuation effort.
Civilians are expected to resist relocation, mistakenly viewing the Human aggressors as liberators.
General Stone has deployed Omega Specialist Sparks to conduct a psyops operation and persuade the population to comply with evacuation orders.
Mission success depends on establishing control of the narrative before the enemy capitalizes on local sentiment. "
Are we speaking the same language?
Psyops? I wrack my brain, trying to recall the lengthy theory lessons Knox made me sit through. I’m starting to regret how much I spent ogling his body instead of listening.
Psyops…. Psychological Operations!
I guess that sounds better than calling it freaky Omega magic.
It takes me a long moment to interpret the rest of the briefing and when I do, the heavy weight of responsibility makes me sink lower in my seat.
“Remember troops, the enemy's objective is total eradication of all mutated personnel and civilians, and they will continue their offensive until mission completion. Prepare for rapid deployment and maintain combat readiness — failure is not an option."
Well, frack.
Nothing motivates a girl like the threat of genocide.
We sit in silence until the troop carrier stops and the doors swing open.
We’re on the outskirts of a substantial market town called Rheamont. I can guess at least a thousand residents live in the cluster of wooden and stone houses.
The other soldiers leap out of the truck, their weapons already drawn, ready to defend our approach.
My hands tremble as I adjust the rifle strap across my shoulder. Rut-damn, I hope I won’t have to use it. Not because I can’t. Viper trained me well. I’m a damn good shot. I just don’t want to hurt anyone.
It’s not just dreams of my lost Pack that rip me awake. It’s the memories of killing those Alphas consumed by their Blood Lust. They had lives and families. Maybe they were monsters by the end, but I still ended them. And I can’t forget.
I swore I’d never do that again.
Viper whispered I’d never have to. Said he’d never let it come to it, not with him by my side.
But he’s not here. And I am.
The Prime Alpha barks an order that I don't quite catch. The rushing in my ears is too loud, blood pumping as fear creeps over me.
My boots hit the ground, and I stumble as the smell of smoke burns my nose. Thick black plumes billow into the sky, blocking the waning sunlight and casting an ominous shadow over Rheamont.
The sounds of a fearsome battle echo down the cobbled streets, bouncing off the stone houses, making it sound like it's coming from every direction.
I don’t belong here.
“Alright, listen up,” the Prime Alpha says, drawing our undivided attention. He holds up his tablet and points to the map on the dim screen.
“Each Alpha will assume command of their assigned squad. Your primary objective is to instruct civilians to evacuate and provide them with the coordinates of the designated refugee camp. If you encounter non-compliance, you are authorized to deploy Alpha Command protocols to enforce directives. Should this measure prove ineffective, you are to establish immediate comms to me. I will personally escort Omega Specialist Sparks to initiate negotiations.”
Negotiations.
Is that what General Stone told him I’d do?
It won’t be a friendly little chat.
If I use my Command, I’ll rip their free will clean out of their skulls, and rut-damn, part of me will enjoy it. Power. Control. The high of it is addictive.
That sick hunger inside me? I haven’t fed it in months. If it wakes, it’ll be starving.
The Betas are rebelling for a reason. They’re tired of being controlled and living under Alpha dominance. Using a Command to force them out of their homes? It feels like the same kind of violation.
But if we don’t, they’ll die.
They think the Humans are here to save them. They don’t believe the truth. That the Humans aren’t liberators. They’re executioners.
Does that grant me the right to take their choices away?
“What she gonna do? Shake her tits and ask them nicely?” the Alpha jeers, and some of the soldiers chuckle.
“Enough,” barks the Prime, his eyes glowing under his helmet in warning. "You have your orders. Now, move out."
The two Betas who sat next to me in the truck come closer. They nod briefly in acknowledgement, but return to surveying our position, their heads on a swivel.
The Prime adjusts his rifle and keeps his finger close to the trigger. He taps me on the shoulder and I realize he’s speaking to me. I swallow and force myself to focus.
"Stay by my side and keep your head down. We're not here to fight, but the fight might come to us, copy?"
I nod, my voice lost somewhere in my throat.
The fear is twisting inside me, shaking my inner Omega awake. She stirs like a tide beneath my skin, gentle and coaxing, tugging me toward the edges of myself, toward O-space. That liminal place where everything blurs and nothing hurts.
It’s a spectrum, this space. Sometimes it sharpens me so I can use my Command and makes me burn like a flare in the dark. Other times, it cradles me under, soft and smothering, until I vanish into myself entirely.
I swallow hard, stiffening my spine.
Now is not the time to go quiet or dissolve.
I curl my fingers into fists, pressing my nails deep into my palms until pain anchors me. A small, bright sting to tether me to the moment.
I will not melt. I won’t go soft.
Not here.
I fixate on a spot to lash myself to reality.
The Prime Alphas shirt has a mess of loose threads and puckered material where a patch has been torn away. His name is stitched beneath where the truth used to be.
Prime Alpha Zero.
His name gives him weight. A presence. Not just another soldier, not just a rank, but a person who made a choice.
What was the catalyst that drove him to leave everything he believed in behind?
I can’t picture Knox doing the same. Not because he doesn’t care, but because he was built for obedience. Trained to believe the mission always comes first. And when push came to shove, when I needed him to follow me, not The Capital, I knew he wouldn’t.
He would’ve tried for the sake of his Pack and he would’ve torn himself in half.
And I’d still be the one left behind.
That’s why I ran.
Not because I didn’t love them, but because I knew how the story ended.
My loyalty is to my family. My Omegas.
His is to the Pack, Fathim, and duty.
It broke me, and I doubt I’ll ever recover, but I accepted it as an inevitable conclusion.
And now here’s Zero.
Same rank. Same indoctrination. A hardass and terrifying… but he walked away from it all.
And kept walking.
He’s proof that a Prime Alpha can leave the Fathim military. It puts a dangerous thought in my head.
Maybe I was wrong.
Maybe I made a mistake—
Prime Alpha Zero grabs my arm and pulls me forward into a march.
I dig my nails in harder until the sting is unbearable.
I can’t be thinking about my love life right now. I have much bigger problems, like the fact that I’m going to need a whole truckload of luck if I’m going to make it through this.
I force myself to remember my training and grimace. Remembering my training means remembering them, because every stance, every movement, every rule was taught with a hand on my shoulder and their lips brushing against my ear.
I hold my rifle the way Viper taught me, elbow tucked, grip steady, muscle memory clicking into place with ease.
He never snapped at my self-taught bad habits. Never raised his voice, just stepped in close, and corrected me with those unwavering hands. It took me a while, but I finally realized he used it as an excuse to touch me. And oh, did I like it when he did.
My skin prickles as I remember warm fingers ghosting over my arm, anchoring me in place. The memory feels less like a thought and more like a sensation that never left.
Frack!
Not even the threat of death is enough to get my mind off them.
We jog through the quiet streets of Rheamont, and I'm struck by how motionless it is. A surveillance drone buzzes from somewhere high above, and the sound sets my teeth on edge.
"Where is everyone?" I pant after a while.
"Hopefully gone, but probably hiding," Prime Alpha Zero says before bracing as a loud explosion shakes the ground. The fight on the front lines is heating up and someone is using heavy explosives. "Come on, we're running out of time."
At first, we knock and ring doorbells, asking the occupants to evacuate, but the light fades and the clock ticks down.
Time is almost up and the tactics change.
Prime Alpha Zero kicks in doors, and the Betas rush in, shouting orders and shoving the citizens into the streets.
It’s awful and violent and my Omega hates it, hissing in the recesses of my mind.
The town isn't silent anymore. It's heaving with screams of terror and the shouts of our comrades.
"If you don't leave, they will kill you!" I hear one of the soldiers yells at a stubborn-looking man. His children hide behind his legs, tears streaming down their faces.
Zero, noticing the disturbance, approaches. His hand shoots out and grasps the father’s face, fingers digging harshly into his cheeks, making him stare up into his gleaming eyes before speaking with perfect clarity.
"Leave. Now."
The Alpha Command twists around the Beta, his eyes going wide before falling to half-mast as the Command takes hold. He turns to obey, pulling his whimpering children with him when another explosion erupts.
I crouch to steady myself, flinching as the deafening noise assaults my hypersensitive hearing. The blast is closer this time, and a spray of debris and soil showers down on us.
As if jolted awake, the Alpha Command wanes and the father stumbles to a stop. He spins on his heels, his finger raised in accusation as he yells, “You're all fucking monsters!”
Others halt their retreat, outrage quick to rise. Generations of mistreatment by Alphas overpowers their survival instinct to flee.
“Did you see that?” he hollers. “They’re Commanding us to do what they want. The Humans are here to save us from them!”
The crowd roars, whipping itself into a frenzy as outrage turns to fury. A rock is thrown, hitting a soldier in the chest.
The soldiers raise their rifles, aiming at the civilians, shouting at them to back down and leave.
It gets louder.
The soldiers yell orders.
The town folk scream obscenities.
I step closer to Prime Alpha Zero, huddling behind his hulking form, and a bead of sweat rolls down my neck into my bite collar.
This is going sideways quickly and the sun hasn’t stopped its descent. We’re almost out of time. None of us can afford this delay.
More civilians join the angry mob. They swarm, jostling closer, testing the soldiers’ restraint.
“Omega Sparks!”
Prime Alpha Zero’s voice booms through the chaos. He says something else, but I can’t make it out over the screaming crowd.
He shoots me rapid-fire hand signals.
Knox taught me those. He spent hours drilling them into my head until I started dreaming in obscure gestures. But now? In the heat of a battle, I can’t remember half of what they mean.
Still, I get the gist.
It’s time.
This is the reason they brought me here. He wants me to do what General Stone promised. Three months have passed since I used my O-space.
I was utterly convinced I’d lost it. Bled out like the special bond which had begun to grow between us.
But now I feel it.
As if there is haste in the air, ushering it along. I feel stronger. More grounded. And the withdrawal symptoms I’ve been experiencing have all but vanished.
It rises.
Like smoke from a dying fire, licking at my throat.
It wants out.