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

The tension in the common room is palpable as I stride in, my boots thudding against the floor. Whiskey and Wraith are seated on the same sofa, and for once, they’re not the ones I’m worried about going after each other.

Plague and Valek stand at opposite ends of the room, their postures rigid, the air crackling with unspoken animosity. I suppress a sigh. Plague, usually the voice of reason, the one I can count on to keep a level head, seems ready to tear into Valek at any moment.

I can’t help but wonder if this is what the Council intended all along. Sending Ivy to us.

A wild card.

A catalyst.

Maybe they hoped she would fracture us, drive wedges into the cracks that already exist in our dysfunctional little family.

But whatever their intention was, she’s ours now. And I’ll be damned if I let anyone, Council or otherwise, take her away.

I can see it in the eyes of my brothers, in the way they gravitate toward her, in the fierce protectiveness that radiates from them whenever she’s near.

We’re all in too deep. There’s no going back.

I clear my throat, drawing their attention. Valek’s eyes glint dangerously behind his hood, but he remains still. Plague’s fists clench and unclench at his sides.Text property © Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org.

‘We need to talk,’ I say, my voice low and even. ‘About Ivy. And about the Refinement Center.’

I let the words hang in the air for a moment, heavy with implication. I think back to my meeting with my father, the esteemed General. The way his face remained impassive as I laid out my suspicions, my accusations. The Refinement Center, that gilded cage masquerading as a haven, was nothing more than a house of horrors for the omegas deemed ‘unfit’.

‘They’re abusing them,’ I say, each word sharp as a knife. ‘The ones they consider Irreparable. Starving them. Torturing them, doing God only knows what else. All under the guise of ‘taming’.’

Plague is silent, his body tense. Valek remains impassive, but I can see the way his jaw tightens beneath his mask.

‘Yeah, we gathered that,’ Whiskey says, standing. ‘The question is, what’s your old man gonna do about it?’

I don’t answer for a moment.

‘My father knew,’ I finally say, my voice rough with shame. ‘The Council knew. They’ve been letting it happen. Turning a blind eye to the atrocities committed within those walls.’

The weight of my words settles over the room like a suffocating blanket. I can see the rage building in Plague, the way his shoulders tremble with barely contained fury. Even Valek seems unsettled, a rare crack in his usually unflappable demeanor. Whiskey looks like he wants to put a fist—or a person—through a wall.

As for Wraith… I haven’t seen that look in his eyes in years. The last time I did, people died.

Not a few. Dozens.

‘Ivy was there for years,’ I continue, my voice rough with emotion. ‘Enduring God knows what. There are probably others.’

‘She’s ours,’ Whiskey growls, his eyes sweeping over the rest of us. ‘And we protect what’s ours. No matter the cost.’

Plague nods. Even Valek inclines his head, a silent agreement.

Wraith snarls low, an echo of the barely contained rage coursing off him. Rage I know too well. Rage I feel in equal measure.

They’re all ready to go to war, and that is what we do. For circumstances far less dire than this. For causes so insignificant in comparison.

And now comes the hard part. Because they’re where I was when I left my father’s office, ready to burn the world down.

Before reality set in.

‘We will,’ I say firmly. ‘But right now, protecting her means doing nothing.’

I can see the protests forming on their lips, the indignation, the outrage. And I get it. God, do I get it. Every fiber of my being is screaming at me to march into that hellhole, to raze it to the ground, to make them pay for every single scar, every bruise, every moment of pain they inflicted on Ivy.

But I can’t. Not yet.

‘Listen,’ I say, my voice strained with the effort of keeping my own fury in check. ‘Ivy is still unconscious. She’s hurt, she’s traumatized, and she needs us here. With her. Not off on some half-cocked revenge mission.’

Whiskey opens his mouth to argue, but I cut him off with a look. ‘I want to storm that place as much as you do. Probably more. But if we go in guns blazing, it’s going to be chaos. And in that chaos, they’ll have a chance to cover their tracks, to hide the evidence, to make it seem like we’re the crazy ones.’

I can see the reluctant understanding dawning in their eyes, the way their shoulders slump slightly as the reality of the situation sinks in.

‘We need to be smart about this,’ I continue, my voice low and intense. ‘We need to gather evidence, build a case, find out who’s really responsible for this. And then, when the time is right, we’ll take them down. Hard.’

Plague nods slowly. Valek remains impassive, but I can see the glint of anticipation in his eyes. Wraith is still snarling softly, but he doesn’t argue.

‘We can start with asking her,’ Whiskey says, looking pointedly at Plague. ‘When are you waking her up?’

Plague meets my gaze, or at least those creepy ass lenses do. ‘Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about,’ he says, his voice low and measured. ‘I think it’s time to bring her out of the coma.’

My heart skips a beat at his words, a mixture of anticipation and doubt coursing through me. I want nothing more than to see Ivy awake, to hear her voice, to know that she’s truly on the mend. But I also know that waking up is just the beginning of a long and arduous journey for her.

‘Are you sure she’s ready?’ I ask, my brow furrowed with concern. ‘She’s been through so much. I don’t want to rush things if she’s not strong enough.’

Plague nods. ‘She’s ready,’ he says firmly. ‘Her body has had time to heal, and her vital signs are stable. Keeping her under any longer could do more harm than good.’

I take a deep breath, weighing his words. Plague is the best medic I know, and if he says Ivy is ready, I trust his judgment.

‘Okay,’ I say finally. ‘Let’s do it. But we need to be prepared. She’s going to be confused, scared, probably hostile. We need to give her space, let her come to us on her own terms.’

The others nod in agreement, but I doubt this is going to go smoothly.

How can it when you throw a lamb into a den of wolves?