ROGUE Novel – My omega is too small. I noticed it the first time I saw her. Too many tendons bulging in her neck. Too much hollow in her collarbones. Of course, I’d accept my new, sweet omega in any shape or size. From that very first whiff of her scent, even muted and tainted by whatever the fuck the Carsons put her on, I knew. We had to have her. But right now, I need her safe. I need her healthy. Something tells me no-one has protected this pretty little omega a day in her life. But my brothers and I will. We will protect her, love her, and have a whole litter of pups with her.
Eve I can’t breathe. Mother plucks a loose fiber from my sweater. “Did you take the scent blocker?” Meekly, I nod. “Yes, Mother.” “You should’ve taken another one last night. I can still smell you.” Smell you. Smell the wilted, sickly omega in me—such a contrast to her rich vanilla opulence. She is everything an omega should be, even out of her prime. My older sisters are the same And then there’s me. Mother stands me before the mirror, flicking my long pale hair over my shoulders. She catches my eye in the reflection—hers, startling blue, mine, faded lilac. Her lips twist in disgust. I know exactly what she’s thinking.
What pack would have me, the runt of my family, for their omega? Who would pay a single dime to take me in? She goes on, as though to answer my questions, “Pack Maddox are not known for their compassion. I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors.” I have. Maddox is known to be a brutal, outcast pack. They choose to live far off the outskirts of the city. They take in rejected alphas—those the other packs can’t manage. And now their pack leader is at my family den. To see me. “Eve,” Mother snaps, “listen to me.” “Maddox is desperate,” she tells me. “If they can’t court an omega this season, they’ll likely disband. No pack can last that long without an omega. Even an omega as … dysfunctional as you.” I try not to flinch at the word.
“They’ll take what they can get. So you will offer yourself to them, but you will not tell them the truth.” She sighs. “There is only so much even a desperate pack is willing to take on.” Instinctively, my hand rises to my stomach, painfully aware of every thin, brittle bone. That I am a runt is hard to disguise. What my mother means, when she tells me to withhold the truth, is something much deeper and more sinful for any omega. That I will never bear pups. Mother smacks my hand away. And with that, she drags me down the stairs. *** My family’s den, Carson Den, has never looked smaller than it does right now. I recognize every wall, every cushion, every corner, but they all bear an uncanny disproportion.
Like they’ve shrunk, unable to accommodate the enormous alpha who has appeared in our doorway. I’ve never seen a man so tall. He’s younger than I expected. He is the image of godliness, even by alpha standards. “Eve,” my family’s head alpha, Peter, barks. I stumble to meet him in the middle of the room, making myself small and inspectable. The massive alpha approaches. His glare is all-consuming. “Eve,” he tests the name. “It’s nice to finally meet you.” “My name is Baxter.” His voice is so steady, so sure of itself. “Head alpha at Pack Maddox.” I’m holding my breath—somehow it’s a relief, taking control of my already-breathless lungs. “Would you mind?” I look up. His gaze stuns me in place, his vivid colour overwhelming every pallid part of me. But he just breathes, “Beautiful.” Low murmurs spread across the den from father to father.
Approval. At last, someone who might be foolish enough to take me off Pack Carson’s hands. You will not tell them the truth. A wave of guilt crashes over me. I say nothing. A good omega is a quiet omega—another of my mother’s favorite reminders. “If you’ll have us,” he says, “we would be honored to accept you to Pack Maddox.” It’s all my fathers can do not to break out into applause. For a pack the size of mine—two sisters, three brothers, three fathers, one mother—an omega is an investment. What a relief it must be to reap the unlikely profits of my upbringing. – In a car. I must be drifting off more than I realized, because I am jolted awake by a sharp— “Oh.” My heart lurches. Sitting up, I feel myself trembling, my whole body fighting the urge to be sick in Baxter’s car.
He’s angry. I fell asleep. He’s angry. He’s going to— “Eve. Omega.” Distantly, I’m aware of the car pulling to a stop. “Hey. Hey, hey.” Baxter unbuckles his seatbelt. Terror spots my vision when he reaches toward me with those big, powerful hands. Instantly, he pulls away. “Okay. It’s okay. I won’t touch.” He has every right to touch me. I’m his now. He can do whatever he wants, and I can do nothing to stop him. “Just take a breath. Can you do that for me?” No. I can never breathe. But then I hear his chest. A long, low intake of air, then a long, hot, exhale. He models his own breathing, showing me how it’s done. Maybe it’s the enticing spice to that breath, so hot, so filling, that inclines me to follow his lead. In. Out. “That’s it,” he purrs.
“You’re doing good.” I hope he can read the thank you and the I’m sorry in my eyes. He holds out a testing hand. “Can I?” I nod yes, and suddenly my face is in his palms. His touch is firm against my scent glands, right beneath my jaw, as he tries to evoke my scent. “Hm.” He growls. “That’ll be the first thing to go.” “S–sorry?” “The suppressants. Or blockers. Or whatever it is Pack Carson has you on.” “Oh. I—they just thought—” “They’re suffocating you.” He brushes my hair back over my shoulder. “It’s no wonder you can’t breathe.” The way Mother always tells it, my natural scent is something that needs to be suffocated. But Baxter sensed it. At a glance, at a touch, he knew. As we turn back onto the road, he invites me again to rest. We’ll be driving for a few hours yet. But this time, not even my weary eyes can betray me.
I am aware of every movement he makes. His body, so built for violence, and yet so relaxed. Like he’s showing me just how soft he can be. How safe. And somehow it isn’t fear that keeps me awake, but fascination. Maybe even hope. – Baxter parks a good thirty feet away. There is a wide clearing before the house—it must be the pack’s meeting space, with a bonfire alight in the center, sending embers up into the night sky. Broad wooden logs surround the flames, seating a handful of alphas. Alphas. Only then does my awe give way to fear. All eyes are on the car. Irises glowing all different shades. A cutting crimson. A blinding blue. A grey harder than metal. And then there’s Baxter, who unbuckles his seatbelt and turns to help me with mine. He must feel me flinch, because he pauses. “You okay?” My lips part to respond. Nothing comes out.
“You just stay here, I’ll be right back.” As he slides out the driver’s side door, I pinch the back of shirt. He snaps around, amber eyes alert. “What is it?” Again, my lips part, but the words choke me. He holds my jaw the way he did before, massaging my scent glands like it might override the sour note of panic. “Look at me, little one. No-one here’s going to do anything you don’t want. Know why?” I shake my head. “Because I’m the head alpha. If anyone steps out of line, it’s me they have to deal with.” He smirks. “No-one wants that.” I gulp. “We’ve been waiting a long time for someone like you. Someone to take care of, to share.” He gestures out the window. “If they’re staring, it’s just ’cause they’re excited to meet you.” “A–are they … are they going to …” “There will be no touching, scenting, marking, nothing, until we get your say-so.” His words are a comfort, but those lingering, hungry eyes feel cause for doubt. A whole pack of alphas who want to be close to me.
Any one of them might sense my dysfunction. “We’re gonna get you all set up, however you like it. Sound good?” I don’t know what it is exactly I ‘like’—I’ve never had the chance to find out—but the promise is sweet on Baxter’s tongue. He gets my bag from the backseat and helps me out of the car. My knees, stiff from the journey, buckle the second I try to stand. He rushes to steady me. Two alphas jog across the clearing. One, tall as Baxter but with a leaner frame and much darker features, stops a respectful foot away. The other, a little shorter but quicker in his youthful stature and crimson glare, steps closer.
They smell of pine and cinnamon. A warning sound rises from Baxter’s chest. “Thorn,” he growls. The dark alpha snaps forward. He grabs the crimson-eyed alpha by the scruff of his shirt. “Alright, alright,” Crimson Eyes laughs. “Too close?” Cinnamon. He’s the cinnamon. Sweet, spicy, and daring. Whereas the darker one—Thorn, I guess—has that cleaner, woodier scent. “Eve,” Baxter says, somewhat tiredly, “this is Red. And that’s Thorn, my second-in-command.” Thorn nods. Black hair feathers his aquiline face like a shadow. “Oh, you’re something.” Red whistles. “Again with the manners.” Baxter rolls his eyes.
“Did you get the nesting room ready like I asked?” “I tried, but Riley and Marcus just about bit my head off. Got all possessive and weird about it.” He grins. “Apparently I don’t have an eye for nests.” I try to count the names as he speaks. Baxter, Thorn, Red, Riley, Marcus … god, that’s five alphas. Two more than makes up Pack Carson’s parent alphas. As soon as the word arises—parent—my stomach turns to led. Between five alphas, they probably expect a whole litter of pups. But I can’t do it. Will they accept me? Or help me do it? Anyway, I am nervous and excited at the thought of living with them.