
The Omegas Stand
Being an Omega isn't an easy job. In fact, it's one of the hardest jobs within a wolf pack and often a role that gets looked down on constantly. But it is a job that Chloe Patterson cherishes and tries to perfect every day. No matter what gets thrown at her, Chloe remains strong. She pushes herself to do her best because it's what her mother taught her to do from a young age. And even though Chloe's mother has long since passed, Chloe still remembers everything her mother taught her about pack levels. Chloe knows that even though she is an omega, she plays an important role within the pack. Chloe also knows that high titles don't always equal strength. When Chloe finds out who her mate is on her eighteenth birthday, she is a little hesitant. Chloe knows she will do a good job meeting the requirements for her new title, but her mate disagrees. And when he publicly rejects her over her omega status, Chloe stands tall. She lets the secret she has kept for thirteen years out and walks away from the pack she has worked so hard for. Will Chloe's mate regret his decision to reject his omega mate? Will Chloe find her second chance? Will justice come for the wrongdoing done thirteen years ago?
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Chapter 2
CHLOE POV
"I'm eighteen, Mom. Today might just be the day. I wish you were here to see it, but I know why you aren't, and I'm sorry," I whisper as I look myself over in my long mirror.
Today I took extra care to make myself feel and look beautiful, and since I am off, I don't have to worry about getting dirty.
Everyone gets the day off for their birthday, omega or warrior; it doesn't matter. So I don't have to worry about chores today or helping with the party set-up, thank goodness.
I smile at myself happily. I definitely got my mother's looks. I got my father's height since I am 5'10", and my mother topped out at 5'4", but the rest of me is all hers. I got her easily tanned skin and her light brown eyes. I also got her dirty blonde hair and small nose. And while I do wish I were thinner, what teenage girl doesn't? I got my mother's amazing curves.
All in all, I am about an eight on the attractiveness scale. But when I count in my personality, I give myself a ten.
Once, when I told a friend-enemy that I was a ten in my book, she called me vain. But I just told her I was speaking honestly. My mother always told me to judge myself honestly and to stay sweet. Because a poor personality can sour even a pretty face. My mother also said to admit if you find yourself attractive. Because if you lie and say you find yourself ugly when you don't, you become a liar. And liars aren't pretty.
Needless to say, that girl stopped being my friend. She told our other friends to shun me also, so now I just hang out with the other omegas, which is cool because I love Melanie and Shannon. They keep me smiling. Not to mention Momma Marsh, Trevor, Chance, Lydia, and Chris, who are all older. They were friends with my parents and were as sweet as can be. But the girls my age, Melanie and Shannon, understand me.
They understand that I only want to be the best that I can be to make my mother's sacrifice mean something. I want to be the best omega I can be, and when I get my wolf and my mate, if my title changes, I want to be the best I can be then, too.
My mom always said every wolf matters. Our roles in the pack have meaning, and if they didn't, then they wouldn't exist. Every pack needs an Alpha. Every pack needs a Beta. Every pack needs its warriors and workers. And every pack needs its omegas or caregivers, if you will.
Now, as a female wolf, my wolf will match her mate. So, since I don't know who my mate is, I don't know my true level yet. For all I know, my mate might be a warrior, like my mother's parents were. Or my mate might be an omega like my father and his parents were. No female ever truly knows, and until the age of eighteen, we train and master the roles that our parents have, or in my case, had. It's a good system-a perfect one. How could it not be? Our Goddess created this world just for us.
And today, when I meet my mate, I will know. Then I will shift when the moon is at its highest, and I will be complete. I will know what role I will have for the rest of my life. If I don't meet my mate, I have to wait.
Twice a year, all mateless/wolfless wolves go on "the hunt." We gather at the center of the world, which is called Outcast. It is where all the wolves who are rejected or mateless live. At Outcast, there is no fighting. It is neutral ground available for those who need it. So enemy packs are forbidden from fighting there. Everyone is there with one goal in mind: to find our match made specifically for us.
If you are female and find your mate, you leave your pack forever and join the pack your mate is from. If you don't find your mate, you can remain at Outcast or return to your pack. But many stay at Outcast. It boosts the chances of finding your mate. Plus, you are wolfless until you find your mate, so you are a liability to your pack. If your mate has passed before meeting you, you are forever wolfless. The safest place for you is Outcast because it is neutral ground.
I feel the worst for those wolves. They never meet their other half or their wolf spirit, but many mate with the wolves who have been rejected. They live happily, but they probably always wonder.
Honestly, I hope my mate is in my home pack, but I wouldn't mind moving. I have no family in my home pack, so I wouldn't miss anyone. But if my mate is from my home pack and I find him today, I won't be an omega.
The only omegas who are my age and mateless right now are females. A couple of the omegas who were friends with my parents have young pups. But I'm never around them, and I am much too old to be their mate. So if I find my mate today, I will be mating into a different role, which is weird to think about.
I like being an omega. I like taking care of others. But I also find I have a fiery side, like my mom, who was born a warrior. She became an omega when she mated with her father, but she trained as a warrior for eighteen years. That's how she first became friends with Alpha Patrick and Luna Kandace. Luna's parents are warriors, just like my mothers were.
According to my mother and the other omegas her age, my mom was a savage when it came to fighting. She even made Alpha Patrick submit. But when she got her wolf...her wolf had the characteristics of an omega-a weak body with a kind, nurturing spirit.
But my mother didn't complain. She loved her new role, and she said it balanced her friendship with the Luna. My mom said that before they found their mates, Kandace was very competitive with her. Luna liked Alpha, who crushed on my mom. But Mom said she didn't return the feelings that Alpha had. She was relieved when her mate turned out not to be the Alpha.
The only thing hard for me to swallow is that if my mom had gotten the stronger wolf spirit, she might still be here. She might not have had to fight teeth and claws in her stronger but also weaker human body. As wolves, our hide is thicker and can take more damage than our human bodies. But my mother's wolf spirit had zero fight, and my mother chose to defend that day in her human flesh.
I smile a bittersweet smile as I clean up my room. I think of my mother's last moments often, and while I can't be more proud of her and who she was, I wish she had just run. I wish she had given our enemy what they came for. But that just wouldn't be my mother. She would have never run...not like someone else I know.
I grind my teeth together at that last thought and slam my makeup box closed a little harder than necessary.
Stupid Luna! If only she had helped. If only she had shifted and used her Alpha wolf spirit. She could have fought side by side with my mother. They would have been able to handle the threat and keep them from doing what they came to do, but instead, my mother died, and only I know why. Only I know what transpired between my mother and our enemies that day. And while she won, she still died.
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7.3
I was tracing the gold paint on my own tombstone when a hand tapped me on the shoulder.
It was Clayton.
The same man who, five years ago, had left me bleeding out in a ditch because he didn't want to be late for my sister's engagement party.
"Die quietly, Ivy," he had said over the phone before hanging up.
Now, standing over my grave, he dropped his cheap plastic flowers in shock.
"Ivy? You're... we buried you."
They hadn't buried me.
They had buried an empty box to save face, mourning a "troubled" daughter they had actually discarded like broken trash the moment I became a liability.
Clayton's shock quickly turned to that familiar, arrogant anger.
He accused me of faking my death for attention.
He told me I was sick for putting the family through such pain.
He even reached out to grab my arm, intending to drag me back to my father to apologize.
"You're coming with me," he spat. "You owe us an explanation."
But he made a fatal mistake.
He thought he was talking to Ivy Dillard, the soft girl who cried when she skinned her knees.
He didn't notice the town car waiting at the curb, or the man stepping out of it.
Before Clayton's fingers could graze my coat, a hand made of steel caught his wrist.
Collin Richardson, the most feared Capo in Chicago, stepped between us.
"Touch my wife again," Collin whispered, his voice promising violence. "And you lose the hand."
I smiled at the terror draining the color from Clayton's face.
I didn't come back from the dead to explain myself.
I came back to bury them.

7.9
Hannah came home under a false identity, ready to keep her head down and avoid trouble. Then a near-drowning opened her eyes, and the family she had wanted gave her nothing but disappointment.
She severed every tie, shed the disguise, and rose in revenge as a miracle doctor, brilliant hacker, and feared underworld ruler. Shock followed her family at every turn.
Her parents regretted everything. Her eldest brother clung desperately to the bond of their shared blood, while her second brother gave up his entire fortune just to earn her forgiveness. Her third brother offered up his own body for a surgery-all to save her.
But Hannah stayed cold and built her empire alone. Only one deadly rival refused to be ignored.
"I was hired to kill you, mister."
"Then take my heart, too."

8.7
I was the spare daughter of the Vitiello crime family, born solely to provide organs for my golden sister, Isabella.
Four years ago, under the codename "Seven," I nursed Dante Moretti, the Don of Chicago, back to health in a safe house. I was the one who held him in the dark.
But Isabella stole my name, my credit, and the man I loved.
Now, Dante looked at me with nothing but cold disgust, believing her lies.
When a neon sign crashed down on the street, Dante used his body to shield Isabella, leaving me to be crushed under twisted steel.
While Isabella sat in a VIP suite crying over a scratch, I lay broken, listening to my parents discuss if my kidneys were still viable for harvest.
The final straw came at their engagement gala. When Dante saw me wearing the lava stone bracelet I had worn in the safe house, he accused me of stealing it from Isabella.
He ordered my father to punish me.
I took fifty lashes to my back while Dante covered Isabella's eyes, protecting her from the ugly truth.
That night, the love in my heart finally died.
On the morning of their wedding, I handed Dante a gift box containing a cassette tape-the only proof that I was Seven.
Then, I signed the papers disowning my family, threw my phone out the car window, and boarded a one-way flight to Sydney.
By the time Dante listens to that tape and realizes he married a monster, I will be thousands of miles away, never to return.

7.2
Elena stood flawless in her bridal gown. Five years of molding herself for Dante Moretti and a powerful mafia treaty culminated now. This dress was her only solace.
Then her phone buzzed. A text from Dante: "Wedding canceled." Two cold words, no explanation. Her world shattered, heart a sledgehammer blow.
Dante answered her call from a hospital, commanding her to leave, no apology. Her father and 500 mafia guests outside whispered of "humiliation." Marco then cleared Dante's things, revealing he was moving his long-comatose 'white swan,' Sofia, into their intended home. Her father's ultimatum: win Dante back in thirty days, or be married to a sadistic Russian boss.
Discarded, betrayed, and trapped, Elena felt absolute humiliation. She despised five years wasted, facing a fate worse than death. But as tears blurred her vision, a dangerous thought ignited: Dante wasn't the only Moretti. She wouldn't cry or beg. Instead, she'd choose the most terrifying Moretti of all, and make Dante pay for his arrogance.

8.5
went to sleep a nobody. I woke up a Queen.
One night I was just a broke, exhausted college girl. The next, I opened my eyes in silk sheets, with strangers bowing and calling me Luna Queen. The face in the mirror is mine. The body is mine. But the life isn't. The bruises on my wrists tell a story I don't remember, and the King I'm bound to doesn't love me-he loathes me.
They whisper that his mistress rules the palace. They say the Queen was weak. Silent. Broken. But that was before me.
Now I must survive a palace that wants me dead, a King whose touch burns as much as it scars, and a kingdom waiting for me to fail. The old Luna Queen bowed to cruelty.
I am not her.
And if this King thinks I'll kneel, he's about to learn what a true Queen is made of.

8.6
The Maybach glided through rain, Dante's cold cedar cologne a familiar comfort. Seven years, my life revolved around him, my fingers on his suit cuff, a silent promise. But tonight, our normal shattered with a single phone call.
He answered, speaking rapid Italian – a language he thought I didn't understand. Every word: a death knell. Confirming his engagement to Sofia Moretti, dismissing me as a 'consolation prize.'
Seven years of loyalty vanished. His loving mask back, he left for his fiancée. I stumbled into freezing rain, recalling my foster past. My numb fingers dialed his mother, Isabella, demanding fifty million for my silence. Her insults didn't sting.
The true gut punch: Sofia's Instagram, a prenup on Dante's desk, proudly showing *my* watch, captioned: 'Fourteen days left.' This wasn't their celebration; it was my death sentence.
I wouldn't stay another day in this gilded cage. My old duffel bag, packed, waited. The Australia brochure, a childhood dream, in my pocket. This time, I would live for myself, and they would all pay.