The Sins of an Omega who has no Mate

~The Alpha King (Jasper) ~

-------------------------------------------------------

The taste of her still clung to my tongue.

No, not her scent. Not her skin. Not her heat.

Her defiance.

It was metallic. Sharp. Bitter like betrayal and sweet like sin. Zaria. The Omega I cast out. The one I should have broken.

But instead?She broke me.

No one knows that part of the story. No one dares to ask why the King of Red Hollow bears no Queen. Why the bond that should’ve been sealed during her first heat was left bleeding in the dark.

Because if they knew what she did how she refused me, challenged me, bit me before I could mark her they’d question my rule.

So I buried her name. Burned her image from every scroll, every hall. Declared her a rogue.

But a King doesn’t forget.

Not when she was mine before the moon ever whispered her name. Not when the tether still throbs in the marrow of my bones, refusing to break, no matter how many others I’ve touched, f*ck*d, or killed.

And now she’s stirring hell again.

She thinks she’s fire.

Let her burn.

I watched through the scrying flames as my soldiers limped back to the gate. Bloodied. Shamed.Her name on their lips like a curse.Zaria.

Even hearing it sent something feral through me.

My Beta approached from the shadows, cloak dragging over the marble.

“She refused to come willingly,” he said.

“She always did,” I murmured, rising from the throne.

My Beta swallowed. “Shall I send more? Or… go myself?”

I turned. Slowly.

He flinched.

“Tell me, Cade,” I said, voice low. “If I sent you, and she tore your throat out the way she did Darius’s, would you beg for mercy, or would you thank her for the privilege of dying by her hand?”

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

Because no wolf walks away from Zaria without scars. Physical or otherwise.

And that’s the thing about scars…

They belong to her now.

The war room reeked of sweat and metal.

Map spread across the table. My kingdom fragmenting at the edges.

Territories slipping. Borders disobeyed. Packs questioning the bloodline.

All because she returned.

One woman.

One goddamn Omega.

But Zaria was never just anything.

The other Alphas want her.

Some to claim her.

Some to tame her.

Some just to watch her fall.

They’ll never get the chance.

Because I will reach her first.

And this time?

She won’t walk away.

Two nights later, I rode alone.

No guard. No banner. No crown.Just me and the scent trail still clinging to the northern wind.

She was smart covering her tracks with ash, pine, blood.But the bond didn’t need a trail.It sang to me.

And I followed the hum of it straight to a tavern that reeked of piss, smoke, and danger.

I didn’t knock.Didn’t pause.

I kicked the door off its hinges.

And every b*st*rd inside scattered like fleas from a flame.

Except her.

Zaria sat at the bar, boots on the stool, glass in hand, looking at me like I was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

Not fate.Not fury.Not the King of all she once swore to destroy.

Just a man she used to love.

Or maybe loathe. The line always blurred with her.

“Awful dramatic entrance,” she said, sipping. “Trying to impress someone?”

I stepped forward, the room warping around us.

“I should rip your throat out for the mess you’ve made.”

She stood slowly, leaned against the bar.

“Do it, then. But you’ll still smell me on your hands.”

Gods. That mouth.

She had no idea how close I was to slamming her against the wall and reminding her why she once whimpered my name beneath moonlight.

Or maybe she did.

She stepped closer.

The scent hit me. it was faint. Not heat. Not lust.Just Zaria.

Like dark forests and the bite of winter.Like everything I was ever denied.

“You came all this way,” she whispered. “Just to pretend you don’t want me?”

I reached for her throat.

She didn’t flinch.

My fingers curled, not to choke but to touch.

Her pulse fluttered beneath my thumb like a wild thing trapped in a cage.

“You left me,” I said.

“You exiled me,” she shot back.

“I spared you.”

“You feared me.”

We stared.Tension so thick it could’ve torn the room in two.

“You could have been my Queen,” I said quietly.

“I still might be,” she answered.

Then smirked. “But I’m not sure the crown is worth the King anymore.”

I backed her into the wall before I could think.

Her breath hitched.

I kissed her like a punishment.

She bit back like a challenge.

Teeth. Tongue. Bruises blooming.

It was violence disguised as desire. Or maybe the other way around.

When I pulled back, blood trickled from both our lips.

“I don’t want your heat,” I snarled.

She licked her lip. “Good. Because I wasn’t offering it.”

“You think I’ll let you burn my kingdom to the ground?”

She leaned up. “I don’t think, your Majesty. I plan.”

I should’ve shackled her then.

I should’ve dragged her home and broken her bond by force.

But I didn’t.

Because there was still something I hadn’t admitted.

I missed her.

Not just the body. The fight. The fury.

But the fact that when she looked at me, she saw the monster I tried to hide and loved me anyway.

Even when she left.

Even now.

She slipped from my grasp like smoke, walking toward the shattered tavern door.

“Go back to your palace,” she said. “Your throne’s lonely without you.”

I stared.

She turned.

“But soon, it’ll be mine.”

Then she was gone.

And the tether?

It pulled.

Stronger than before.

More alive than ever.

She wasn’t mine.

But I was still hers.

And if I wanted to keep my crown…

I’d have to take her heart.

By force.

Or by fire.