Exiled Omega: Claimed By The Alpha King

Seraphina Thorne POV: The moment he was gone, I ripped a strip of cloth from my tunic and tightly bound my arm, hissing as the fabric pressed against the silver burn. The wound wasn't healing. It was a angry, weeping line that throbbed with a venomous heat. I stared at the wrapped dagger in my hand. It was expertly crafted, the hilt worn smooth from use, the balance perfect. This was no weapon of a common stray. *This place is no longer safe,* my inner wolf warned, her voice urgent. *His enemies might return. We need to move.* She was right. But before I disappeared into the wilderness, there was one thing I had to do. I had to go back. Back to the small, cramped room in the servants' quarters of the Silver Moon packhouse that had been my cage for eighteen years. My "prophecy" to Lyra hadn't been an idle threat. I had a gnawing suspicion that Gideon's death was no accident, and the only clue I had was hidden in that room. I secured the royal token and the silver dagger against my body, letting the shadows of the forest swallow me as I began the dangerous journey back. I knew the patrol routes, the blind spots, the secret paths no one else used. For once, my status as an invisible Omega was an advantage. I slipped past the guards with ease, a ghost in my own home. I reached the small, dilapidated building behind the main packhouse and crept up the stairs. The door to my old room was ajar. A sound from within made me freeze—the rough scrape of furniture being dragged, the thud of objects being tossed aside. My heart pounded. I pressed myself flat against the wall, peering through the crack in the door. I recognized the silver-blonde hair immediately. It was Celeste Silvermoon. She was tearing my room apart, her pretty face twisted in a petulant scowl as she ripped my meager belongings from their shelves, searching for something. *The little princess is a thief,* my inner wolf sneered. *How fitting.* I didn't storm in. I watched. "Damn it," Celeste muttered to herself, kicking over my small stool. "What is Dad looking for? There's nothing in this dump but dust!" Her words were a bolt of lightning, confirming everything. Bane was looking for something. Something he believed Gideon had given me. I took a deep breath, and shoved the door open. Celeste shrieked, spinning around. Her eyes widened in terror, which quickly morphed into her familiar, haughty rage. "You! You disgusting lowlife! How dare you come back here!" I ignored her, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind me with a soft click. My eyes were as cold as the silver dagger hidden in my boot. "What are you looking for, Celeste?" My voice was quiet, devoid of all emotion. "It's none of your business!" she spat, trying to regain her composure. "Get out before I call the guards!" I took a step forward. The air in the small room crackled with a pressure that had nothing to do with my size. She stumbled back, her bravado crumbling. "Go ahead and call them," I said. "But let's see who's faster. Your scream, or my hand." My movements were slow, deliberate. I bent down and drew the silver dagger from my boot. The blade caught the dim light, flashing with a deadly promise. Celeste's breath hitched. Her eyes were fixed on the silver, her pupils dilated with the instinctual terror all werewolves have for the metal that can kill them. "What... what are you doing?" she stammered, her voice shaking. "If you kill me, my father will hunt you down!" "I don't want to kill you." I stepped closer and gently, almost delicately, tapped her cheek with the flat of the blade. The cold metal against her skin was a violation, an act of dominance that stripped her of all her power. "I just want to know what Bane is looking for." Under the terrifying threat of the silver, she broke. "I-I don't know!" she sobbed. "Dad just said... he said Alpha Gideon might have given you something... an old... an old book!" A book. That was it. I pulled the dagger back, my point made. I looked at the terrified, blubbering girl who had made my life a living hell for years, and I felt nothing. No satisfaction, no pity. Just a cold, empty purpose. I opened the door. "Get out," I said, my voice flat. "And tell your father he'll never find what he's looking for."