Feral Omega: A Dark Reverse Harem Omegaverse Romance (Ghost Alpha Unit Book 1)

I tear through the frozen underbrush, branches whipping my face as I flee deeper into the mountains. My heart thunders in my ears, each ragged breath burning my lungs.

But I can’t stop.

Can’t slow down for even a moment.

The weight of Valek’s rifle slows me down, the strap cutting into my shoulder. His gear bag thumps against my hip with every stride, the contents clattering like loose bones. But I clutch them both tight, unable to shed the precious cargo.

They’re my only lifeline in this savage wilderness.

Twigs snap behind me, the crunch of boots gaining ground. I chance a glance over my shoulder, dread coiling in my gut.

Nothing.

Just the endless march of skeletal trees cloaked in their ghostly veils of snow.

A fresh surge of adrenaline surges through me and I speed up somehow, my lungs screaming in protest.

I can’t let them catch me.

Not again.

Not after everything.

I weave between the looming trunks, ducking under low-hanging branches that leave stinging ribbons across my cheeks. The world blurs into a kaleidoscope of white and gray, shadows and mottled bark.

Memories flash behind my eyes, unbidden.

I’m a child again, sprinting through the woods on skinny legs, the bellows of soldiers still ringing in my ears. They spotted me from their compound, but I gave them the slip easily enough. The hunger gnawing at my gut, on the other hand, remains in close pursuit.

Ahead, a rabbit darts into a thicket, momentarily distracting me as its downy white tail vanishing in a puff of snow.

I freeze, letting it think I don’t see it.

Mom told me we needed food, that we wouldn’t survive another week without meat. She’s so weak, her eyes sunken in a hollow face.

This is my chance to save her.

Creeping forward, I spot the little creature crouched in the thorns, nibbling on bark. It’s so small, so innocent. Tears sting my eyes as I heft the jagged rock clutched in my tiny fist.

I can’t do this. I can’t hurt something so helpless.

Then Mom’s words echo in my mind, her voice a ghostly rasp.

‘The strong survive, baby. The weak don’t get to choose.’

Squeezing my eyes shut, I bring the rock down in a vicious arc.

The memory shatters as I burst into a small clearing, chest heaving. My gaze snaps around, searching for threats. For a moment, the only sound is the rasp of my own ragged breaths filling the air.

Then a soft gurgle catches my ear.

I whip toward the noise, rifle half-raised before I realize what I’m looking at. A stream, its waters mostly frozen over, with only a small section of dark, churning current exposed.

Thirst lances through me, dry and insistent. I haven’t had anything to drink since before the battle.

Before the slaughter.

Before…

Shaking off the lingering memories, I stumble toward the stream, half-crouching as I fumble to open Valek’s pack. A few precious canteens clank inside, along with tools and other supplies he must have gathered in preparation for our mad dash across the peaks.

I tug my balaclava down and crack the seal of one canteen. I press the rim to my lips, the icy water a balm on my raw throat, and gulp greedily, savoring the blessed relief as it washes away the cloying taste of fear and exertion.

As the canteen empties, I force myself to slow, to ration what little remains. Who knows how far I’ll need to go before I can find a fresh source? How long I’ll be wandering these merciless heights, hunted and alone? There’s no way the snow is safe to drink in this irradiated region.

I cap the canteen and tuck it back into the pack, my movements jerky and uncoordinated as exhaustion settles in my bones like a leaden weight. Every muscle screams in protest, each limb trembling with the aftermath of my panicked flight.

But I can’t rest. Not yet. Not until I’ve put miles between me and the massacre at that godforsaken mansion.

My gaze drops to the edge of the collar still secured around my throat, that cold band of unforgiving steel branding me a prisoner. A pet to be tracked, monitored, and controlled.

Gritting my teeth, I grab the bolt cutters I saw in Valek’s pack while searching for water, the metal biting into my palm. With a few vicious twists, I manage to pry the collar away enough to work the blades in. They bite deep, the steel shrieking in protest as I strain against the unyielding metal.

A sharp edge catches my skin. I hiss through my teeth, but I don’t let up, forcing the jaws together until the collar finally shatters apart with a dull clang.

I toss the ruined pieces aside, gulping in deep, grateful breaths as the constricting weight falls away. For the first time in forever, I’m free of its smothering embrace, the ghost of a chain no longer binding me to my captors.

But I’m not foolish enough to think the reprieve will last long. Those bastards will come for me, with every resource at their disposal.

And when they do…

My blood runs cold at the thought, fingers tightening around the rifle’s stock. No. I won’t be taken alive. I’ll fight to the last breath, take down as many of them as I can before they put me in the ground.

And I know they won’t show any mercy now that I’ve turned on one of their own. Everyone has limits.

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A branch snaps somewhere behind me, the sound like a gunshot in the stillness. I whirl, the rifle coming up in a smooth arc as my finger finds the trigger. But it’s not one of the Ghosts stalking through the trees. Just a pair of men in drab green uniforms, rifles cradled loosely in their arms.

‘Well, what do we have here?’ one of them drawls, the words edged with dark amusement. ‘Looks like little red lost her way to Grandma’s.’

I realize my hair must have fallen loose from my balaclava during my flight, touching the wild tresses spilling freely down my back.

They must be part of the oligarch’s personal security force, stragglers missed in the initial assault. I tense as they take me in, eyes narrowing at the sight of my stolen weapon.

‘Where’d you get that, sweetheart?’ the other rumbles, cocking his head. ‘Playin’ dress up with your daddy’s kit?’

The condescending sneer curls my lip. I don’t bother responding, just keep the rifle leveled as they start fanning out, cutting off my escape routes.

‘C’mon now, don’t be like that,’ the first guard chides, his tone dripping with a sickening mix of mockery and hunger. ‘Why don’t you hand that over before you hurt yourself, huh?’

I shift my aim to cover him, thumbing off the safety with an audible click. ‘Get back to your post,’ I rasp, the words harsh and grating in my own ears. ‘Your friends are already dead and you’ll be joining them if you take another step.’

For a beat, they both freeze, eyes widening almost comically. Then the taller one barks out a harsh laugh, shaking his head. ‘Nice try, bitch. But there ain’t no way a scrawny little thing like you could take out our whole crew.’

The other guard shoots him a sharp look, lips thinning into a hard line. He’s not so sure, I realize. Smart enough to sense the truth in my words.

‘Listen to the girl, Nate,’ he mutters, hand tightening on his rifle as his gaze darts between me and the trees. ‘Somethin’ ain’t right here. You heard that gunfire.’

Nate scoffs, squaring his shoulders in a clear challenge as he takes another step toward me. ‘The hell are you⁠—’

The rifle bucks in my hands, the deafening shot echoing through the forest as I put a round straight through his chest. He staggers, eyes going wide with shock as a crimson blossom spreads across his uniform. Then his legs buckle and he crumples, a dead weight thudding into the trampled snow.

The second guard reacts instantly, his rifle swinging toward me with lethal intent. But I’m already diving for cover, my body slamming into the icy earth as his first shot whizzes past, kicking up a spray of frozen dirt and bark.

I scramble behind the bole of a twisted oak, gasping for breath as the man’s rifle cracks again and again. Chips of wood explode around me in a deadly hail, the acrid stench of gunpowder stinging my nostrils.

Clutching Valek’s rifle to my chest, I force myself to move, slinking deeper into the concealing shadows as the gunfire rakes through the trees behind me. I need to put some distance between us, find better cover before I⁠—

A searing line of agony lances across my right bicep, the impact spinning me around. I cry out, rifle clattering from my grasp as I crumple to my knees, cradling the wound. Blood streams between my fingers, hot and slick, the metallic tang filling my mouth.

‘Gotcha, you little bitch,’ the guard growls, stalking toward me with his rifle at the ready.

I shrink back against the tree trunk, chest heaving as I glare up at him through a haze of pain and fury. My fingers scrabble in the snow, searching for anything I can use as a weapon. A rock, a branch, anything.

But he’s already on me, the barrel of his rifle leveled at my face as he sneers down at me. ‘Thought you could take me, huh? Stupid little cunt.’

Looming over me, he gives the rifle a vicious shove, slamming the butt into my wounded arm. White-hot agony explodes through me, a scream tearing from my throat as I crumple forward.

He chuckles darkly, already moving to pin me against the frozen earth. ‘That’s it, scream for me,’ he leers, his foul breath hot on my face. ‘Gonna make this last⁠—’

A blur of motion cuts him off, something huge and savage hurtling from the trees to slam into him with the force of a freight train. They go down in a tangle of flailing limbs and snarls, rolling across the clearing in a maelstrom of blood and violence.

Gasping, I force myself upright, clutching my ruined arm as I try to make sense of the chaos. And that’s when I see him, hovering over the guard like a reaper come to collect his due.

Wraith.

His massive frame looms over his prey, shoulders hunched and steam pouring from the vents and tubes of his mask, mingling with each rasping breath in eerie, mechanical counterpoint.

The guard scrambles backward, eyes wild, rifle forgotten as he tries in vain to escape that implacable, loping advance. But Wraith is on him in an instant, tree-trunk arms lashing out to seize him in an unbreakable grip.

I can only watch, frozen, as Wraith rears back and slams the man into the frozen earth with enough force to crack bone. He doesn’t even seem to register the guard’s feeble struggles, his icy eyes utterly devoid of anything remotely human.

Then, with a savage wrench, Wraith rips the guard’s head to the side in a spray of crimson. There’s a sickening crunch of cartilage, tendons straining beneath the skin as Wraith twists and pulls with inhuman strength. I flinch, bile rising in my throat as the guard’s head caves in like a pumpkin beneath the pressure of Wraith’s grip before separating with a tearing squelch from the shattered torso.

He rises slowly, a hunk of tattered flesh still clutched in one massive fist. Blood streaks his clothes, his mask, the snow around him painted in blood and viscera.

My breath catches in my throat as he turns toward me, that cold, lupine gaze finding me instantly. I tense, fingers digging into the frozen earth as my pulse thunders in my ears.

There’s no shred of recognition in those pale blue depths. No hint of the strange, fleeting connection I’d glimpsed during our trek through the mountains.

This is the beast laid bare, the monster unbound.

The reaper come to claim his next soul.

He takes a lumbering step toward me, each footfall sending bloodied snow cascading from his massive frame. I shrink back against the tree, fingers scrabbling wildly for a weapon, anything I can use to defend myself.

My hand closes around the cold steel of Valek’s rifle, still lying in the churned snow where it fell, just barely within my reach. Gripping the stock, I brace myself and bring it up, sighting along the barrel with my good arm.

‘Don’t,’ I rasp, the word edged with pain and desperation. ‘Please… Wraith… don’t make me…’

He doesn’t react, doesn’t even seem to hear me. Just keeps advancing with that same inhuman, implacable tread, a juggernaut of muscle and savagery. I swallow hard, my finger tightening on the trigger as he draws nearer and nearer.

Five paces…

Four…

Three…

Two…

Please, God… I don’t want to do this…

His shadow engulfs me, blotting out the world until all I can see is the gleam of those pale, merciless eyes glaring down at me through the mask’s soulless lenses.

I squeeze the trigger.

The rifle… doesn’t fire.

Horror washes over me in a sickly wave as I realize the magazine is empty, the weapon little more than a useless hunk of steel in my hands. I’m out of options, out of defenses against this unholy force of nature bearing down on me.

There’s nowhere left to run.

Wraith’s hand lashes out, closing around my bleeding throat with crushing force. My own hands fly up on instinct, nails scrabbling uselessly against his granite grip as he hauls me into the air like a child’s doll.

I can’t breathe, can’t think past the agonizing pressure and the terror blazing through my veins. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision as he holds me suspended, my feet kicking helplessly above the bloodstained snow.

Through the haze, I meet that cold, dead stare. See the promise of oblivion reflected in those pitiless depths.

This is it, I think with a strange sense of detachment. This is how it ends.

Then the darkness takes me, swallowing me whole.