My Alpha Bought Me to Bear His Heir

The alarm on my phone buzzed at 5:47 AM, thirteen minutes before the rest of the Obsidian Shadow Pack would stir. I'd learned early that those thirteen minutes were mine—the only privacy I'd get all day.

I sat up in the narrow bed, my fingers automatically reaching for the amber bottle on the nightstand. Three years, and the routine never changed. Two capsules, dry-swallowed, bitter on my tongue. "Vitamins," Beta Morris had called them when he'd pressed the first bottle into my trembling hands. "To keep you healthy for the Alpha's heir."

Healthy. Right.

I dressed quickly in the plain gray uniform all Omegas wore—shapeless, forgettable. The mirror above the sink showed a girl I barely recognized anymore. Naomi Porter, wolfless Omega, breeder to the most feared Alpha in the region. My fingers drifted to the unmarked skin of my neck, tracing the spot where Christian had promised to claim me.

Three years since the Rogues tore him apart. Three years since I'd agreed to this blood oath to honor his sacrifice.

I pushed the memory down and focused on the herbs. Chamomile, valerian root, a touch of lavender—Alpha Wylder's morning tea, brewed exactly how he liked it. The pack kitchen was empty when I slipped in, and I worked quickly, my hands steady despite the exhaustion that never quite left my bones. At least I was good at this. At least I could do something right.

"Breeder's up early." The sneer came from behind me.

I didn't turn. Delta Sarah, one of the pack warriors, always had something to say. "Making the Alpha's tea."

"How domestic. Tell me, does he actually look at you when he—"

"Sarah." The warning growl came from the doorway. Marcus Kane, the Beta, filled the frame with his broad shoulders. "Don't you have patrol?"

She left with a huff, and I exhaled slowly.

"Thank you," I whispered.

Marcus said nothing, just watched me pour the tea into Alpha Wylder's preferred mug. I felt his pity like a weight on my shoulders, and somehow that was worse than Sarah's cruelty.

The walk to Wylder's office felt longer every day. I knocked twice, soft, and waited.

"Enter."

His voice alone made my pulse stutter. Not from attraction—I'd buried that part of myself in Christian's grave—but from pure, primal fear. Alpha Wylder Montgomery radiated power like other people radiated heat. Even now, seated behind his massive desk, he looked like he could tear the world apart with his bare hands.

I set the tea on his desk, careful not to meet his eyes. "Your morning tea, Alpha."

"Sit."

My stomach dropped. He never asked me to sit.

I lowered myself into the chair across from him, hands folded in my lap. He was scrolling through something on his phone—my cycle tracking app, I realized with a flush of humiliation. He'd insisted I download it, insisted on monitoring every detail of my body like I was livestock.

"Your cycle starts in four days," he said, still not looking at me. "We'll try again after."

Try again. Like I was a failed experiment.

"Yes, Alpha."

He finally glanced up, and I made the mistake of meeting his gaze. His eyes were the color of storm clouds, cold and assessing. But then something flickered there—something that made his jaw clench and his fingers tighten around his phone.

He reached across the desk to hand me the phone, and his fingers brushed my wrist.

The reaction was instant. His eyes flashed gold, his wolf surging so close to the surface that the air itself seemed to crackle. I jerked back, my chair scraping against the floor, and he stood abruptly.

"Get out."

I didn't need to be told twice. I practically ran from his office, my heart hammering against my ribs. What was that? In three years, he'd never—

"Naomi."

Marcus caught me in the hallway, his expression unreadable. "The Alpha wants you to accompany him to the Grand Alpha Summit this weekend."

The Summit. Where all the regional Alphas gathered to discuss territory and politics and things that had nothing to do with a wolfless Omega like me.

"I don't understand."

"You'll attend to his needs. Serve him during the meetings." Marcus's tone was carefully neutral, but I heard the apology underneath. "He's ordered a scent-masking cloak for you. You'll wear it at all times."

Of course. Can't have the other Alphas knowing their peer keeps a human-scented breeder.

"When do we leave?"

"Friday morning. Pack light."

I returned to my room in a daze and pulled my single duffel bag from under the bed. I didn't own much—a few changes of clothes, my herb kit, the silver locket Christian had given me before he died. I held it now, running my thumb over the engraving.

*Forever yours.*

My fingers found my neck again, that unmarked space that ached with phantom pain. He'd promised to claim me after his next promotion. He'd promised we'd have a real future.

Instead, he'd died saving me from my own weakness, and I'd spent three years in this beautiful prison, paying his debts with my body.

I packed the bag and sat on the edge of my bed, staring at nothing.

The Summit. A weekend away from these walls, from the sneers and the pity and the suffocating routine.

I should have felt relief.

So why did it feel like walking toward the edge of a cliff?