Storm (Omega Chosen #2)

1. Storm

Chapter 1

Storm

16 YEARS OLD

T he walls are white. The floors are white. Even the beds are white. Everything in this Omega House is the same pristine, sterile shade of submission.

When I first arrived, I was given a stark white room with just the basics. You’re supposed to bring the color.

The other omegas here bring their favorite clothes, & softest blankets. They bring memories, family photos, childhood keepsakes, trinkets from places they’ve been, all the little things that make a space your own.

But if you grew up in the foster system like me, you bring with you one small backpack, which is barely enough to hold what little I own. A spare change of clothes, the oversized hoodie of my best friend Rook—the first boy to ever make my heart race—and the few small things I refuse to let go of.

Tucked inside is my dog-eared copy of The Hunger Games , the pages worn soft from too many re-reads. A cheap bracelet, fraying at the edges, but one of the few things that’s ever truly been mine—I got that on my thirteenth birthday from Rook.

And at the bottom of the bag, half-buried under everything else, is a pack of gum. A nervous habit, a distraction, something to focus on when the world feels too loud.

It’s not much. But it’s all I have.

Rook’s alpha scent was embedded in that hoodie. It was the last piece of him I had, the only thing that made me feel like I wasn’t completely alone.

But they took that from me.

They washed it in scent blockers until nothing remained but fabric and emptiness. When they handed it back, it was just a hoodie. Just another thing that had been stolen with my freedom.

And I broke.

The only time I’ve ever truly broken. The only time I’ve ever felt so completely, unbearably alone.

I pull the hoodie over my head anyway, inhaling deeply, searching for even a ghost of Rook's scent. Nothing. Just the chemical tang of scent blockers that makes my nose burn. They couldn't just let me have this one thing.

Three weeks since my body betrayed me. Three weeks since I went from beta to omega in one feverish nightmare. Three weeks of "adjusting to my new reality" as the beta’s in charge like to say with their practiced smiles and condescending tones.

"It's a gift," they tell me. "Many beta-born would be thrilled with an omega presentation."

I want to scream at them that I was happy before. I had plans. Freedom. A future that didn't involve being some pack’s omega, someone's property.

My fingers trace the small photo I managed to hide in the lining of my backpack—the only thing I didn’t want them to see in fear they would take it away. Rook and me at the county fair last summer, his arm around my shoulders, both of us laughing at something I can't remember now. His dark eyes crinkling at the corners. Before everything changed .

I tuck the photo away when I hear footsteps approaching. Beta “ house mom ” Veronica probably, with another lecture about embracing your omega or some other bullshit.

The foster system taught me how to survive by keeping my head down, but my new omega status has apparently stripped me of even that dignity. Every emotion I have broadcasts itself through my scent, betraying me before I can even open my mouth. My dark chocolate scent now fills rooms with my moods. Anger smells bitter. Sadness turns it flat. There's no hiding anymore.

The footsteps pause outside my door before a gentle knock breaks the silence.

"Storm? It's time for class." Miranda's voice is honey-sweet, dripping with fake enthusiasm. She isn’t as bad as Veronica. But I still don’t like her.

I don't answer, but it doesn't matter. She opens the door anyway—another privilege I've lost. Privacy.

"You haven't touched your breakfast," she notes, eyeing the untouched tray by my bed.

"Not hungry." I stand, pulling the sleeves of Rook's hoodie over my hands. It's enormous on me, even more so now that I've lost weight. My 5'2" frame practically drowns in it.

Miranda's eyes roam over the hoodie. I dare her to tell me it’s not allowed again. See if she wants to start another fight today. She lets out a huff and looks at me again, seemingly knowing it’s a fight she can’t win.

"You need to keep your strength up. The transition is taxing on your body."

She continues with her daily health chant. I usually ignore her, but today I’m extra edgy. Maybe because those heat suppressants I’m meant to be taking daily are piling up under my pillow.

"I didn't ask for this transition," I snap, the words escaping before I can stop them.

"Oh, come now, every beta wishes to be an omega. You’ll see."

I don’t want to go to class, but the last few times I had disobeyed the beta staff, the alphas running the Omega House came down and used their alpha barks on me.

Always a first for everything and that, that was something I never want to experience again. Being controlled by them was the most vulnerable I’ve ever felt.

I follow Miranda down the hallway, a good five steps behind. Small rebellions are all I have left. The other omegas, mostly from purebred elite families, huddle in groups, whispering excitedly about their futures. About alphas and mating and building nests. The very thought makes my skin crawl.

"We have a special guest speaker today," Miranda chirps over her shoulder. "An omega rights advocate who works with the government on progressive policies."

Progressive. Right. Because forcing a sixteen-year-old girl into omega prison— because let’s get this straight, that’s what this is, a prison , not a house where I can come and go as I please but four walls and guards to keep me locked in until I turn twenty, and I get raffled off in some insane omega lottery called “Choosing Day,” to a pack of alphas I’ve never met, and be expected to breed little omega babies for the government’s endless demand for fresh omegas. Yeah it’s the height of equality.

The classroom is arranged in a circle—another thing I hate. No hiding in the back corner here. Everyone is exposed, vulnerable. I take the seat closest to the door, already planning my escape route once this is over.

The advocate is a polished beta in her thirties, mate bond visible on her neck. Huh, that’s interesting. You don’t often see a mate bond on a beta. She is dressed in a tailored suit that probably costs more than everything I've ever owned combined. She speaks about "embracing our nature" and "the power of omega intuition" while I sink further into Rook's hoodie.

"Omegas aren't weak," she says, scanning the room. "You're the emotional centers of our families."

Her gaze lands on me, takes in my defiant posture, the oversized hoodie, the scowl I don't bother hiding, and her speech falters for just a second.

"Some of you may be struggling with your presentation," she continues, still looking at me. "That's normal. Change is difficult."

I meet her stare until she looks away first. Small victories .

My fingers find the small tear in the hoodie's pocket, where I've hidden the folded scrap of paper with an address on it—one I’ve memorized, burned into my mind so I’ll never forget.

Rook shoved it into my hand the day they came for me, his grip tight, unshakable. His voice was raw, desperate. "On your Choosing Day, I’ll be there. I’ll wait for you."

We had plans—together. He didn't know I'd present as omega. Neither did I. But plans changed, and I know where I’ll be on my Choosing Day.

The beta woman drones on about omega’s roles with her alphas, about how progressive packs are embracing omegas needs to have more fulfilling tasks. Like floral arranging or home aesthetics, because a happy omega creates a happy home.

I roll my eyes at this bullshit as the elite omegas eat it up with ooh’s and ahh’s .

I tune her out, focusing instead on my escape plan. Three weeks of observation have taught me the patterns of this place. Every night, the beta guards switch over at 9pm. They shuffle around and talk to one another, leaving the side door to the garden at the end of the rec room unwatched, and there are never any guards stationed out there at night .

The wall that surrounds the whole garden, has a single weak spot. Where the large concrete wall ends, and there is a small older section of wall, made of iron. The metal has rusted and some of the screws have come loose, some from time, some by me over the past three weeks.

I've been saving the protein bars from my meals, stuffing them into the mattress along with the twenty-seven dollars I had in my wallet when they brought me here.

Tonight. It has to be tonight.

I can’t stand another day locked in this hellhole. The rest of the class passes in a blur of omega propaganda. I nod at all the right moments, even manage a forced smile when Miranda glances my way. Play the game. Make them think I'm adjusting.

When we break for lunch, I eat every bite for the first time since I arrived. I’ll need the extra strength. I even accept seconds when offered, earning an approving nod from Miranda.

"I'm glad to see your appetite returning, Storm," she says, her hand briefly hovering above my shoulder like she wants to touch me. It’s the one rule I love here. No one can touch the omegas. Not even beta staff. "It's a good sign you're feeling more like the omega you are now."

I smile tightly. "Just taking your advice about keeping my strength up."

Back in my room, I lie on the bed and stare at the ceiling, counting the hours until 9pm. I chew the last of my gum and think of Rook. He’ll still be at Mrs. Jennings house—our foster mom. He’s only seventeen, so he hasn’t aged out yet. What will he do when he sees me?

I look down at my body hidden in the oversized hoodie. Would he see the weight loss or the dark circles under my eyes from worry? My scent has changed. My omega status puts a target on my head. Will he still see me as the same Storm? The fierce beta girl who refused to back down from any challenge?

The girl who stood toe-to-toe with alphas twice her size at those underground fights, who held the money while Rook bloodied his knuckles in the ring. The girl who stitched his wounds afterward, who wasn't afraid of his alpha rage when he lost. The girl who kissed him for the first time under the bleachers of a high school we didn't even attend, both of us laughing when the security guard chased us out.

I close my eyes, remembering the intensity in his dark gaze when he'd made me promise. "I promise, Storm. We'll get our own place. No more system, no more foster homes. Just you and me against the world."

Now it’s all I have to keep me going.

His promise.