Chapter 2 Ashes of an Omega

Ash. That was what everything smelled like to Lauren, burnt wood, old smoke, and the lingering sting of sorrow. The scent had seeped into her skin so deeply that she barely noticed it anymore. She could scrub her hands raw, wash her clothes until the seams tore, but the smell always lingered-just like the memory of the night her life changed forever.

The night the rogues came.

She had been only ten. Just a child, clinging to her mother's arm as screams echoed through the forest and flames lit up the night like the stars themselves were falling to the earth. Her parents were warriors in the Bloodmoon pack snd they had fought bravely. She remembered the slash of claws, the howl of pain, and the way her father's hand had shoved her into the cellar beneath the pack house with the command to stay quiet, stay hidden, no matter what.

She obeyed. And by dawn, they were both gone.

Now, eight years later, Lauren stood alone in the same pack that had failed to protect her, survived it, endured it. But the Bloodmoon pack never let her forget her place.

She was an omega. The lowest of the low.

She scrubbed floors with raw knuckles, ran errands like a servant, and ate last, if there was anything left. She washed her clothes in the river even during winter and patched them herself with whatever scraps she could steal. Her room, if it could be called that, was an unused storage room behind the laundry shed. No bed. No window. Just a floor, a threadbare blanket, and silence.

And yet... she survived.

She had learned to adapt. Learned which warriors would throw her scraps if she complimented their egos, which pack members to avoid when drunk, and how to disappear into shadows before someone tried to take advantage of her status. She was quiet, fast, and clever. She listened, memorized the pack's routines, and never forgot a face or a threat.

But above all, Lauren had learned how to hope.

Not loudly. Not recklessly.

But quietly, like a flicker of light under the door.

Hope that she'd escape one day. That she'd find peace. That the Goddess had something more in store for her than this brutal life of servitude and survival.

She kept that hope hidden, wrapped deep within her heart, where not even the cruelty of Alpha Ryder could reach.

******

It was mid-morning when Lauren finished mopping the eastern corridor of the pack house. Her knees ached, her back throbbed, and her fingers were red from the cold water and the harsh soap. She wrung out the mop and moved to store it when a familiar snarl echoed behind her.

"Hey, rat."

Lauren stiffened. She didn't need to turn to know who it was.

Cade.

A senior warrior and Ryder's right hand. He took special pleasure in making her life harder than it already was.

She turned slowly, keeping her face neutral. "Cade."

He grinned, dark eyes glittering with amusement. "The Alpha wants the training yard cleaned. Now. You've got until lunch, or you'll be skipping your meal."

Lauren nodded. "Yes, sir."

She turned away, but not fast enough to avoid the shove he gave her shoulder, sending her skidding on the wet floor. She caught herself on her hands, the sting of pain shooting up her wrists. Behind her, Cade's laughter echoed down the corridor.

She waited until his footsteps faded before standing. Her arms trembled, but she swallowed her pride and her rage.

You'll escape this. You will.

She reminded herself again as she grabbed a fresh rag and limped toward the yard.

******

The training yard was muddy and strewn with broken weapons, dried blood, and remnants of the morning's sparring. Lauren set to work immediately, collecting discarded gear and dragging it to the storage shed. Her muscles burned, but she didn't stop. The sun was already high in the sky by the time she started sweeping the central path, her stomach growling fiercely.

"Lauren."

She looked up.

It was Mira, one of the kitchen workers and one of the few people in the pack who treated Lauren with anything resembling kindness. Mira was older, plump, and always wore an apron covered in flour.

"I snuck this out for you," Mira whispered, pulling a small cloth-wrapped bundle from her pocket. "It's not much, but..."

Lauren's eyes widened at the sight of the roll, soft bread and a sliver of cheese. She reached for it with trembling hands.

"Thank you," she breathed, barely holding back tears.

Mira patted her cheek. "You're stronger than you know. Eat. You'll need it."

*****

Later that evening, Lauren crept into the shadows of the pack house's southern wing. She had learned long ago that if she moved silently, she could avoid the worst parts of the evening, the drunken gatherings, the jeers, the cruel dares. Tonight was Ryder's private council meeting, which meant most of the pack was gathered near the main hall, too busy with politics to notice an omega slipping away.

She climbed onto the old roof of the stable and looked up at the stars.

Some nights, she imagined her parents among them, watching over her, proud of the woman she'd become despite everything. She liked to imagine that her father would nod with approval at her toughness, and her mother would smile at her silent resilience.

A single tear slid down her cheek. She brushed it away quickly.

She wouldn't break. Not now. Not after all she'd endured.

Then she heard it.

The voice.

A cruel, triumphant growl, coming from the council hall.

"On her eighteenth birthday," Alpha Ryder was saying, "she'll shift. And if the moon grants me what I suspect, she'll be mine."

Lauren froze.

Her heart thundered in her ears.

Ryder was talking about her.

She leaned closer, careful not to make a sound.

"She's an omega," someone said perhaps Beta Terron. "You can't be mated to an omega."

Ryder's laughter echoed like shattered glass. "If the bond reveals her as mine, she's mine. Fated or not, I'll bend her to my will. She's perfect for what I need, obedient, discarded, easily broken."

Lauren stumbled back from the roof, hand over her mouth.

She couldn't breathe.

Her eighteenth birthday was in two weeks.

And the Alpha intended to claim her.

Not as a mate. Not as a Luna. But as a possession. A slave. A tool to vent his cruelty, and a breeding vessel for his line.

She wouldn't survive that.

She couldn't.

The walls of the pack house suddenly felt like a prison. Every shadow a threat. Every corner a trap. There was no more time to hope. No more room for waiting. She had to escape.