Ashen's POV
Darkness. Screams. The scent of blood thick in the air.
I was back there again. No matter how hard I tried to bury it, the nightmare always found me.
My mother's terrified cries echoed in my head, her voice raw with desperation. My sister's small frame trembled as she clung to me, her fingers digging into my arm. But I couldn't move. I couldn't protect them. I just stood there paralyzed, useless.
Then came the growl. Low. Menacing. A pair of glowing eyes in the darkness. The rogue lunged.
"Ashen, help"
Teeth tore into flesh. A sickening crunch. My sister's scream cut short.
I jolted awake with a gasp, my chest heaving. My body shook violently, drenched in sweat. My breath came in ragged pants as I scanned the dimly lit room, my heart still racing as if I were trapped in that moment.
It wasn't real. Not this time.
But it had been once.
I dragged a trembling hand through my damp hair, trying to steady myself. The past wasn't supposed to haunt me like this. I had buried it, forced it into the deepest corners of my mind. Yet every night, it clawed its way back, relentless and unforgiving.
Because no matter how much I tried to escape it… I knew the truth.
I am a shame. A disgrace.
I watched her die. I did nothing.
The weight of my failure sat heavy on my chest, suffocating me. My sister had needed me, and I had stood frozen like a coward. A real wolf wouldn't have cowered. A strong wolf wouldn't have cried.
I was supposed to be strong. I was raised to be. Strength was all that mattered in our world. Yet the day I left the clinic clutching that wretched letter, everything changed.
Secondary gender: Omega.
The words were burned into my mind. A single diagnosis had rewritten my entire existence. I wasn't strong. I wasn't dominant. I was… submissive.
An abomination, as my uncle had so kindly put it.
That was the day I stopped being Ashen Wolfe, the warrior-in-training. That was the day I became nothing.
I clenched my fists, my nails biting into my palms. No. I refused to be weak. I refused to be that pathetic excuse of an omega they wanted me to be. If I had to bury myself under layers of lies, if I had to fight my own nature every single day then so be it.
I would never submit.
My hands shook as I swallowed the suppressant pill, the bitter taste coating my tongue. I tucked the small bottle back into its hiding place beneath the loose floorboard,far from curious eyes. No one could ever find it.
Within minutes, the familiar numbness settled in. The scent that marked me as an omega faded, leaving nothing but the hollow comfort of pretending. The ache in my chest dulled, the storm in my mind quieting.
The drugs made me strong. Or at least… they made me feel strong.
I stepped outside, letting the cold morning air bite at my skin. My legs carried me into the training grounds, the clang of metal and grunts of exertion filling the space. I needed this. I needed to bleed, to fight to forget.
"Hey, you! Come here."
I turned, eyes narrowing at the bulky warrior who called me out. He smirked like he'd already won.
"Let's spar."
I said nothing, stepping onto the dirt circle. The moment the fight started, instinct took over. My body moved faster than his, slipping under his guard and pinning him to the ground. His breath left him in a sharp grunt, but I didn't stop.
Even when he tapped out, I kept hitting fists driving into muscle, into bone,needing to prove something, needing to silence the voice in my head that whispered weak, submissive, nothing.
It wasn't him I was fighting. It was the part of myself I hated.
The drugs made me stronger.
But they could never make me whole.
Blood dripped from my knuckles, my chest heaving as I loomed over the beaten warrior beneath me. My vision blurred at the edges, the rush from the fight still pulsing in my veins. I should stop. I knew I should stop. But the need to prove myself to be strong kept my fists clenched.
The murmurs around me grew louder, warriors shifting uneasily. Then a sharp, commanding voice cut through the chaos.
"Ashen Wolfe!"
A chill ran down my spine.
I turned just as Alpha Gregor stormed into the training grounds, his towering form stiff with rage. His dark eyes swept over the injured wolf at my feet before landing on me, burning with fury.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he barked. "This is a packmate, not an enemy! Or have you lost what little control you have left?"
I clenched my jaw, swallowing the bitter taste of anger. "He challenged me."
Gregor scoffed. "And you nearly killed him? Do you even hear yourself?" He stepped closer, his presence pressing against me, but I held my ground. "This isn't strength, Ashen. This is recklessness."
I bit my tongue hard enough to taste blood. He didn't understand. No one did. They saw my anger as a flaw, as something to tame when it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart.
"You're dangerous," Gregor muttered, shaking his head. "And not in the way a warrior should be. If you don't learn to control yourself, you won't just be a threat to others,you'll be a threat to this pack."
My stomach twisted at his words.
Threat. That's all I ever was to them, wasn't I?
Gregor exhaled sharply. "You need to get yourself in check. Because if you pull something like this again, I won't be as forgiving."
He turned to the wounded warrior. "Get him to the healer."
The crowd dispersed, the energy shifting back to normal like nothing had happened. Like I wasn't still standing there, fists bloody, heart pounding, struggling to swallow the truth.
I was dangerous.
But it wasn't my anger that made me that way.
It was the secret I was trying so damn hard to bury.
By the time I got home, the sun was already dipping below the horizon, casting long shadows across the small, worn-down cabin I had been forced to call home. My body ached from training, but it wasn't the bruises on my skin that hurt the most. It was the words. Reckless. Dangerous. A threat to the pack.
They didn't understand. They never had.
I slammed the door shut behind me, my breath unsteady as I ran a hand through my damp hair. My knuckles still throbbed, a reminder of the fight, of how desperately I needed to prove I wasn't weak.
But then the past crept in,like it always did.
I could still hear my uncle's voice, sharp and cruel, cutting through my mind like a blade.
"You're useless." The first time he said it, I was just a boy, barely old enough to understand why he looked at me with such disgust.
"You were born to be used, Ashen. That's all omegas are good for." The words were laced with venom, spat at me like a curse as his hand struck my face. The force of it sent me crashing to the ground, but I didn't cry. I wouldn't cry.
"You will never be strong. Never be anything more than something to be taken, claimed, used for pleasure."
My breath hitched, my entire body locking up.
No.
I gritted my teeth, my nails digging into my palms so hard I felt the sting of skin breaking. My chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, rage and desperation clawing at my insides.
"No!" I roared into the empty room, the sound bouncing off the walls, raw and filled with everything I refused to be. "I will never be something for pleasure! Never!"
My breathing was harsh, my heart pounding against my ribs, but the words kept spilling out, a declaration to no one but myself.
"No dominant will ever top me."
I spat the words like a challenge, like a vow.
Because I would rather die fighting than ever submit.