Return of the worthless omega

(Rachael’s POV)

Bodies slammed against me, shoving me sideways into the cold masonry. I didn't stay to see Vinca draw his blade. An unbonded Omega in the middle of a warzone was nothing more than collateral damage.

I slipped past the rushing guards, ducking low into the narrow, dimly lit service passages beneath the grand hall. I knew these hidden hallways like the back of my hand. I had spent years scrubbing their floors.

My boots slapped against the damp stone until I reached a heavy, iron-reinforced hatch hidden in the lower archives. The old supply bunker. It was dark, cold, and smelled of rust, but it was safe.

I yanked the hatch open, slid inside, and pulled the iron door shut, throwing the heavy deadbolt into place.

Silence swallowed me, thick and heavy. I leaned my back against the metal door, sliding down until my knees hit the dirt floor, my lungs heaving as I tried to catch my breath.

Emergency supply crates. Water jugs. Darkness.

"Is... is someone there?" a small, trembling voice squeaked from the corner.

My heart leaped into my throat. "Who's that?"

A tiny figure huddled between two wooden crates shifted forward. It was Tony, a seven-year-old pup from the kitchen staff. He was clutching his left arm to his chest, his face pale and drenched in sweat under the dim light of a single luminescent rune on the wall.

"Rachael?" he sobbed, his voice cracking. "The floor shook... I fell down the stairs trying to run. My arm hurts so bad."

I rushed over to him, dropping to my knees. "Hey, shh, it's okay, Tony. You're safe here."

I gently touched his forearm, and he winced, letting out a sharp cry. Even in the dark, I could see the unnatural angle of his wrist. Broken bone. The shock was already making his small body shiver violently.

"Hold still," I whispered, pulling my mother's ancient journal from the hidden pocket inside my apron.

I didn't have a wolf. I didn't have pack magic to heal wounds with a touch like the higher-ranking alphas. But my mother had taught me the old ways, the ancient herbal channels that relied on the earth rather than wolf essence.

Reaching into my pouch, I pulled out a small piece of dried Moon-Root, pressing it gently against the warm skin of his inner wrist. Closing my eyes, I focused on the faint, flickering spark deep within my chest, the tiny, muted ember of life that the pack thought was useless.

Flow, I commanded silently, visualizing the warm, golden light pushing through my fingertips, through the root, and into his fractured bone.

A soft, golden glow illuminated the small dark bunker, radiating from my palm. Tony gasped as his crying slowed, the sharp pain smoothing out into a soft, numbing warmth. Within seconds, the snap of the bone realigning echoed softly in the quiet room.

"Rachael..." Tony breathed, his wide eyes reflecting the golden light. "Your hands... they're glowing like the moon."

"Don't tell anyone, Tony," I whispered, smiling weakly as the glow faded, leaving me dizzy and lightheaded. "It's our little secret…"

BOOM!

The iron hatch above us shuddered violently. Dust rained down from the ceiling.

Tony shrieked, burying his face into my waist. I threw my arms around him, pulling him behind my back as another thunderous strike shattered the iron lock.

The hatch door tore off its hinges with a horrifying screech of twisting metal, tossed aside like a piece of paper.

Smoke and the sharp scent of ozone poured into the bunker. Standing in the jagged opening above us, framed by the lights of the corridor, was a giant.

He was massive, a wall of broad shoulders, obsidian battle armor, and raw, predatory power. Dark blood splattered his chest plate, and his dark hair was windblown from the chaos above. In his right hand, he held a massive silver broadsword dripping with dark fluid.

Alpha Bastian. The Beast of the North.

His dark eyes swept the pitch-black room with lethal precision, searching for hidden threats. My breath hitched in my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut, holding Tony tight against my chest, waiting for the swing of his blade.

Then, the air in the bunker shifted.

A sudden, overwhelming scent cut through the smell of rust and smoke. A rich dark mahogany, fresh winter rain, and wild mountain air.

My chest caved in as a violent, blinding surge of heat snapped through my veins. It hit me like a physical strike, knocking the air straight out of my lungs. Deep within my soul, where my silent, muted wolf had slumbered my entire life, a deafening, golden roar erupted.

MATE.

The word echoed in my mind, so loud it made my vision blur.

I snapped my eyes open.

Bastian had frozen completely. His heavy broadsword slipped lower, the tip brushing the dirt floor. His chest was heaving, his pupils dilated so wide his eyes looked entirely black.

He took a slow, staggering step down into the bunker. His nostrils flared wildly as he drew in a ragged, desperate breath of the air surrounding me.

The killer in his eyes vanished, replaced by an expression of raw, staggering disbelief.

"You..." his voice was a low, velvet rumble that vibrated straight through the floorboards and into my spine.

He dropped his sword. It hit the dirt with a thud as he reached a gloved hand out toward me, his fingers trembling.

"My true mate."