Levi Dunham

"Levi, what I said is final," Mom snapped, her voice echoing off the kitchen walls like a slap. "It's time you stopped messing around and got serious about things!"

I glared at her, my hands clenched into fists. "But forcing me to mate with some random omega and have pups isn't responsibility! I want nothing to do with it!" I shouted. "I'm only twenty-four!"

This wasn't about tradition.

This wasn't about duty.

This was about her hating my best friend Rebecca. I still didn't know what the hell her problem was. Rebecca saved my ass from drowning when we were fifteen, and ever since then, I've owed her my life. She had no money, no family, no support, so I stayed by her side—looked out for her. And yeah, she's an alpha too. Maybe that's what really pissed Mom off.

But now? She had gone completely off the deep end—setting me up with someone after consulting the witches. And not just anyone.

An omega.

An omega wolf.

I'd heard those creatures couldn't even defend themselves if you just released enough pheromones. How was I supposed to lead a powerful pack with that at my side? Why should I even bother?

I could have any woman I wanted. I liked my life the way it was—free, powerful, and completely untethered. No mate, no obligations. Just the future alpha of the largest and strongest pack in North America, enjoying life.

But instead? I was getting tied to a fragile, pathetic omega?

Who the hell lied to those witches?

"He's a nice boy—" Mom started.

"A boy?!" I exploded. "What the fuck do you mean a boy?" My whole body stiffened. "I didn't even know there were still omega men! Don't they all kill themselves out of shame?"

How come this one hasn't?

"Levi—"

"No, Mom!" I snapped. "I don't want some filthy omega smelling up our home!"

She stood up and slapped me. Hard. The crack echoed like thunder.

"Shut the hell up," she growled. "I don't know who taught you to think like that, but we stopped practicing those medieval traditions hundreds of years ago."

I scoffed, eyes burning. "Omega wolves are a waste—"

"They are also a part of this pack!" Mom fired back, standing tall and proud, like the Luna she was. "You, as the leader, cannot pick and choose who can be cannon fodder just because of their secondary gender!"

"He's a liability!" I yelled. "Why can't I be upset?!"

"We haven't had an omega born in our pack in over a hundred years! And because of your great-grandfather's decision to kill or sell them all off, this pack was nearly destroyed!" she hissed. "Omegas may not be strong in muscle, but they have strengths we don't."

She was serious. She really believed this.

"And now, we finally have one born into our pack again. According to the witches, this marks the beginning of the most prosperous era in pack history. And your pups will be even stronger."

She had to be insane.

"Are you sure you haven't been scammed, Mom?" I rolled my eyes. "Since when does an omega bring anything to the table?"

"Since the beginning of our kind!" she barked. "The first two wolves were alpha and omega! Their children were alpha, beta, and omega! Each one is as important as the other!"

I stayed quiet, teeth grinding.

"And if you still doubt it," she added, "I dare you to name one time the witches have been wrong."

I couldn't.

I hated it, but I couldn't.

"You'd better be nice to him. You'll be mated to him soon," she said, crossing her arms.

"I don't want to be with an omega! It's embarrassing!"

"What's embarrassing about gaining power? Who are you going to listen to—your mother, or a bunch of old guys stuck in the past? Your father doesn't even believe in that omega suppression shit. I don't get why you do."

"What do you expect, Mom?!"

"For you to have a mind of your own," she said coldly. "If you can't be civil, you won't inherit a thing."

She left my room with the last word.

I stared at the closed door, furious and stunned. None of this made any sense.

This omega couldn't help me guard the borders. Couldn't lead. Couldn't command. Hell, no one even respected them here. This had to be some setup from a desperate family clawing their way into power.

Fine. I'd play nice.

But I wasn't dumb. I'd wait for him to slip, and when he did, I'd expose him.

All I had to do was release some pheromones, and he'd be spilling his secrets like a leaky pipe. Omegas were wired to submit. He wouldn't last a week around me.

He was a liability. A danger to our name. An omen—not a blessing.

And he'd never be better than Rebecca.

⸻

I stormed out of the house, heart still pounding, and phased into my wolf form.

My limbs elongated and shifted, bones snapping and reforming, fur rippling down my back in waves of deep reddish brown. My paws struck the earth hard, claws digging into the soil as I launched forward into the trees, adrenaline roaring in my veins.

The wind screamed past me. My coat flared like fire in the fading sunlight. I ducked low, weaving through the trees like I was born for it—because I was.

Branches blurred around me. Dirt kicked up behind me. This was freedom—this was what made sense.

No omega could keep up with this.

"Dude, you're finally here. What took you so long?" A large gray wolf kept pace with me, his voice threading into my mind through the pack link.

Charlie, my second-in-command.

"My mother," I growled. "She set me up with an... omega."

"An omega? Dude, what did you do so wrong?" Charlie asked, nose wrinkling.

"So I'm not crazy, right?!"

"No! This is terrible!"

"She says I can't be pack leader unless I mate with him! Apparently the witches said it's important," I scoffed.

"The witches?" Charlie huffed. "Have they gone senile?" He paused, then added, "Okay, so just mate the guy. That means a neck bite. The witches didn't say you had to love the omega."

"They all look nice, right? Just use it for what it's good for and throw it away when you're done."

"What's an omega even good for?" I asked.

"A hole," Charlie replied flatly.

⸻

I sat at the dining room table, arms crossed, mind sharp with resolve.

Charlie was right. All I had to do was bite the guy, claim him, and then ignore him. Maybe let him make himself useful if I got frisky—that's all an omega was really good for anyway. What's good for me is good for the pack. That's how it works.

"I'm back!" I heard Dad call out from the hallway.

So, this was it. He was back—with him. The useless omega. Here to annoy me, leech off my family name, and stain our reputation with his pathetic existence.

Fine. I'd play it cool in front of my parents. Act nice, act interested. Make the omega trust me. Then I'd dig out his real intentions and throw him out on his ass. I didn't even want to touch this guy with a ten-foot pole, let alone claim him.

But when Dad walked in with him...

Everything inside me froze.

He looked to be around my age, maybe a bit younger. His black hair was chopped and uneven, like someone had cut it with a knife and no care. It fell into his eyes—green eyes that had no life in them at all. His body was small, thin, the kind of skinny that meant he hadn't been eating enough and had probably been working way too hard for way too long.

There was dirt smudged across his pale cheeks and nose, and his clothes—if you could call them that—were little more than rags.

I thought omegas were supposed to be beautiful. Graceful. Soft.

Not... homeless looking.

I'd definitely been scammed.

But still—my heart was pounding, and it felt like all my limbs were at war with each other. I was actually forcing myself to stay seated. And his scent—fuck, it was making me dizzy. Something warm and soft and sweet, like vanilla laced with cinnamon. It hit me in the chest, and I hated how much it hit me.

He looked scared, on edge. Why?

If he was born into our pack, why did he look like he hadn't bathed or eaten in weeks?

Why was he so pale?

Not that I cared.

"This is Conan Moss," Dad said, stepping into the room beside him. "I've just picked him up from his house."

"Oh, look at you, let's get you cleaned up," Mom said softly and rushed over to him, brushing his arm gently.

My eyes narrowed.

Was this a trick?

This was the first omega born in seventy years? The so-called blessing?

He looked more like a curse.

⸻

Mom returned to the dining table after a few minutes, her face pale and her hands clenched like she was holding back a scream.

"That poor boy," she murmured. "I don't know what happened to him, but I just know it's bad. He won't let anyone near him."

I rolled my eyes. "Why're you jumping to conclusions?"

"Shut up," Dad snapped before she could respond. "That boy's been through hell and back. That's not something you would understand."

He looked guilty. Like he was blaming himself for something.

"I probably didn't make it any easier for him," he added.

"How so?" Mom asked.

"To get him out, I had to make it seem like I was buying him," Dad groaned, rubbing his temples. "It was the only way to stop his parents from selling him to another pack—or something worse. We don't need another tragedy because of a few ignorant people."

I blinked. "Dad, if you bought him, why don't you just—"

"If you finish that sentence, I'll smack the nonsense out of you," Dad growled, eyes like fire.

Great. The little shit had already turned my parents against me—and he hadn't even done anything yet.

I knew something was off about this.

I just didn't know what.

Then he walked back in. My jaw clenched.

He was wearing my clothes.

"Hey! What the hell!" I snapped.

It wasn't even the fact that he was wearing them—it was how good he looked in them. The oversized hoodie hung off his slim frame, sleeves swallowing his hands, pants barely clinging to his hips. Cleaned up, he looked almost... delicate. Ethereal.

His scent hit again, stronger this time—warmth, comfort, sweetness.

Beautiful.

Not that it matters. He's still an omega.

"He doesn't have any other clothes," Mom said, brushing me off. "Just lend him yours until we can shop for him. Come eat."

He picked up his plate and turned to leave.

"Sit at the table, please, Conan," Dad said.

Conan paused. His green eyes flicked to Dad suspiciously before he sat down at the table, staring at the plate like it might explode.

"There's no modifications to the food," Mom said, raising a hand. "I swear by the moon. No poison or aphrodisiac."

What the fuck.

And why did that seem to reassure him?

But sure enough, he started eating—fast. Like someone might yank the plate away at any second.

He ate like a survivor.

"Do you have any questions?" Dad asked him gently.

Conan didn't even pause chewing. "Why'd you buy me?"

Dad answered just as calmly. "You weren't happy there. So I brought you to a better place."

"For what?" he asked, not missing a beat.

"Well, for our son," Mom said brightly.

He turned to look at me—just for a second—and then back at his plate.

I could've sworn he grimaced.

What the hell?

Why did that sting?

What was that face even for?

And more importantly—why did I care?

It doesn't matter. Not even a little.

There's no point in paying attention to this guy. He's just here to play a role.

"Okay," he said finally.

Just "okay." Like he wasn't even fazed. Like he didn't realize he basically belonged to me now.

That attitude.

We are definitely not going to get along.