Omega Homecoming

Prologue

MARA

The glass is pressed into my hand before my eyes even adjust to the lamplight. Cold water beads down the sides, condensation slicking my fingers as I blink at Mason standing over me.

His blond hair falls into his eyes, blue and bright like ice. In his other hand, a red Gatorade bottle glows, the flavor I've come to recognize too well. My stomach knots. I know what it means before he even asks.

"You good for another round?" His voice is casual, almost cheerful, as if I'm not already raw from hours of their claiming.

My throat aches. I swallow water to buy time, to keep from breaking apart in front of him. "I'm a little sore," I whisper, and the words taste like defeat.

He tilts his head, unconcerned, as muffled sounds bleed through the walls.

I don't need to imagine what's happening next door.

The sharp rhythm, the groans, the high, desperate sounds of a woman who isn't me.

Jonathan and Jason are fucking her, and the knowledge cuts deep even though I've told myself it shouldn't.

It shouldn't make me angry. It shouldn't make me jealous. But the ache in my chest burns hotter than the soreness between my thighs.

I shouldn't care. I'm their Omega. This is the arrangement. They've told me a dozen times that outside play doesn't mean anything, that I should be grateful. But my stomach knots anyway, shame curdling with anger I can't afford to show.

I need to placate Mason because I can't do this again. If I say yes to him, it will only be a matter of minutes before the others join in.

I can't. I just can't. So instead, I force a smile, the one I know Mason wants, and say, "Maybe in the morning."

He grins, clearly excited by the promise. "I'll be in my room, gaming. Just knock if you change your mind."

"I will," I lie.

I won't, I think.

The door clicks shut behind him, and silence falls except for the echo of my heart in my ears. I let the glass slip from my fingers onto the nightstand and collapse against the pillows. My tears pool and soak into the sheets before I can even stop them.

In the lamplight—cast by the ornate glass lamp Mason once bragged he bought on a trip to Australia—the whole room gleams with wealth. Every detail in this mansion is a display of what they can give me.

And yet, tonight, I've never felt cheaper.

I took their knots, their rough hands, their murmured claims. Still, they brought someone else in. I told myself not to care, that packs share appetites, that this is what life looks like. But the truth is harder to ignore.

I remember the last time I questioned their infidelity. How Jonathan's voice turned cold as steel as he told me I was insufficient. Needy. Ungrateful. That conversation has haunted me ever since.

What hurts most isn't the cheating, though. What cuts deepest is the timing. Today, I graduated from the Academy. My best friend, Tess, had a whole party planned, balloons and cake and laughter waiting for me, but my pack insisted on taking me out themselves.

Celebrating with them felt like an obligation, not joy. I tilt my head and stare at the diamond bracelet on my wrist, the gift they gave me minutes before dragging me into this bed. A token, a promise, or maybe just a collar in disguise.

They weren't always like this.

In the beginning, they were gentle. They wooed me with soft words and careful touches, treating me like glass.

But now, with the bonding paperwork nearly finalized—Jonathan handling it through his own law firm—the gentleness is gone.

They now assume that I will always obey, that my submission is their right.

I roll to my side, the bracelet cold against my skin. My hand trembles as I reach to unclasp it. The diamonds glitter one last time before I toss it onto the pillow. A pretty cage, nothing more.

I stand, my body aching, and gather the dress from the floor. The silk reeks of their scents, and though I want to scrub them off me, I don't waste a second in the shower. I can't. If I hesitate, if I falter, I'll never leave.

I shove my panties into my pocket, tug the dress over my head, and grab my phone.

I can't stay. Not another night, not another hour.

The corridor stretches long and empty as I slip out, the sounds from the other room still spilling through the walls. I hug myself tightly, every step a prayer that no one notices. The scent of sex and betrayal clings to me, thick as smoke.

At the gate, the night guard looks up from his chair. "Mara?"

His name is Paul. Middle-aged, heavyset, always polite. His daughter's been sick for weeks, something in her lungs. He told me once when we passed on the stairs.

I need to play it cool. "Evening, Paul," I say lightly, as though I'm not breaking apart inside. "How's your daughter doing? Any better?"

He sighs. "Still rough, miss. Doctor's hopeful, though."

I nod, clutching my phone tighter. "I'll say a prayer for her. I just need to grab something real quick. I'll be back."

"Of course," he says, no suspicion in his tone.

I walk out before I lose my nerve. My heels crunch on the gravel, the cool night air biting against my skin. The mansion looms behind me, glittering with light and power, but I don't look back.

At the curb, I pull out my phone, fingers shaking as I order an Uber. Each minute waiting feels like an eternity. My heart pounds with every car that passes. When the driver finally pulls up, headlights cutting through the dark, I yank the door open and slide inside.

The city lights blur past as we drive, but my mind refuses to quiet. Tears streak my cheeks again, silent, hot. I taste salt on my lips and whisper to myself, over and over: This is not the rest of my life. This cannot be the rest of my life.

I need out. Out of Denver. Out of this bond. Out of the life the Academy promised and sold me into.

The car pulls up outside the building Tess and I share.

The apartment complex squats like a forgotten relic, all chipped paint and cracked stucco, the kind of place students rent because it's cheap and close to the Academy.

The stairwell always smells faintly of mildew. Half the lights on the walkway flicker.

We take shifts waitressing, tutoring, even dog-walking just to scrape together rent each month.

Tess could afford better. She could have left for someplace with newer appliances, fewer cockroaches, safer locks. But she didn't. She stayed here, for me, because she knew this was all I could afford. The gratitude sits heavy in my chest as I climb the stairs.

Inside, the apartment is dark except for the faint glow of string lights. Streamers still hang crookedly from the ceiling, drooping from the party Tess had planned. A few balloons slump in the corner, deflated but stubbornly clinging to life.

The sight of them makes my throat close. She'd wanted tonight to be about joy. About freedom. Instead, I chose a cage.

"Tess?" My voice is small in the empty space. No answer.

Her shoes aren't by the door. She's gone again. Lately she's been slipping out at strange hours, clearly lying about work or errands. I know the signs. She's seeing someone. And she doesn't want me to know.

I grab my phone and call her anyway. It rings until her voicemail picks up. I can barely breathe through the hollow ache in my chest.

"It's me. I just… I needed you. Please call me back when you can."

The line goes dead.

I sink onto the couch for a moment, my body heavy. It won't be long before they realize I'm not in that mansion. Not in their bed. Not where I'm supposed to be.

What will I do?

I only have one option. The one place I never thought I'd return to.

I once imagined leaving Denver for New York, studying art, building something of my own. But now? As I pull out battered cardboard boxes and start stuffing my life into them—clothes, books, the sketchpad Tess gave me—I know exactly where I'm headed.

That small town in Colorado. My safe haven.

I shove the last box into the trunk of my beat-up Mini Cooper, then return to lock the door behind me. I rest my hand against the wood for just a second.

Then I lift my phone, my voice shaking as I leave Tess a message. "I'm sorry I left in such a rush. I'm headed back to S.C. I'll explain, I promise. If the guys call, tell them you have no idea where I am. I love you. Bye."

The words hang in the night air as I slide behind the wheel. And then I drive.