He Broke the Omega: The White Wolf's Revenge

For two thousand, five hundred and fifty-five days, I breathed air filtered through silver vents. Silver is poison to our kind, yet my Fated Mate, Alpha Dante Moretti, personally drove me to that prison and locked me in hell for seven years.

He did it to protect another woman.

When I was finally released, gaunt and broken, Dante didn't offer an apology. He offered excuses. He claimed it was necessary to save Chiara, the delicate "golden child" who supposedly saved his life years ago.

But it was a lie.

I was the one who had drained my veins until I went into shock to save him, while my parents handed the credit to Chiara. Now, back in the manor, I was forced to watch my mate feed her grapes and comfort her fake distress.

My parents called me a "soulless waste" and demanded I annul our engagement so Dante could mark Chiara. They thought I was a weak Omega they could discard.

They didn't know that the silver hadn't killed me; it had forged me. They had no idea that the "runt" they abused possessed the blood of the White Wolf, the most powerful creature in our history.

When the truth finally shattered their lies, Dante crawled to me, bleeding and begging on his knees in a hotel hallway. But I didn't feel triumph. I felt nothing.

"I, Alessia Salinas, reject you, Dante Moretti."

I walked away from the Alpha who broke me, leaving him to scream into the silence of a severed bond.

Chapter 1

Alessia POV:

The heavy iron gates of the Federal Silver Prison groaned as they opened. It sounded like a beast dying in slow motion. I stepped out, shielding my eyes from the gray sky.

Seven years.

For two thousand, five hundred and fifty-five days, I had breathed air filtered through silver vents. Silver is poison to our kind. It suppresses the wolf, burns the skin, and rots the spirit. Most wolves go mad after a month. I lasted seven years.

A black SUV waited on the asphalt. The window rolled down.

Dante Moretti sat in the driver's seat.

My heart hammered against my ribs, not out of love, but out of a terrified instinct. He was the Alpha of the Blood Moon Pack. He was the most powerful predator on the West Coast.

And he was my Fated Mate.

I smelled him before I saw him properly. Dark chocolate and burnt driftwood. It was a scent that used to drop me to my knees. Now, it just made my stomach turn.

"Get in," he said. His voice was low, vibrating with the Alpha tone that usually commands instant obedience.

I climbed into the passenger seat. My clothes, a cheap gray sweatsuit given to me by the warden, hung loosely on my skeletal frame. I looked at my wrists. The skin there was permanently scarred, a ring of angry red flesh where the silver cuffs had eaten into me.

Dante didn't look at me. He put the car in gear and sped away.

"You look thin," he said after ten minutes of silence.

"Silver tends to do that," I rasped. My voice was rusty from disuse.

Dante gripped the steering wheel tighter. His knuckles turned white. "It was necessary, Alessia. You know that."

I looked out the window at the passing forest. "Necessary to lock me in a cage for a crime I didn't commit?"

"Chiara hit the heir of the Shadow Claw pack," Dante said, his jaw tight. "If the Shadow Claw knew it was her, they would have demanded a blood debt. A war would have started. You... you were the Omega. You were safe in there. The prison was the only place the Shadow Claw couldn't reach you. It was my protection."

Protection.

He called seven years of torture protection. He thought he was being a benevolent Alpha.

"I took the fall so your precious Chiara wouldn't break a nail," I whispered.

"Chiara is fragile," he snapped. "Her wolf is sick. She wouldn't have survived a week in a cell. You are resilient."

Resilient. That was the word people used when they wanted to use you as a punching bag.

Suddenly, Dante's expression shifted. His eyes glazed over. He was Mind-Linking.

*Dante! It hurts! My chest... I think my spiritual core is cracking again!*

The voice screamed in my head, echoing because of the open channel in the car. It was Chiara.

Dante's face paled. "I'm coming, Chiara. Hold on."

He slammed his foot on the gas. The SUV lurched forward, pinning me to the seat. He drove like a madman, ignoring the speed limits, ignoring me.

We arrived at the Salinas Estate. My home. Or it used to be.

Dante didn't drive to the front entrance. He swerved around to the back, near the servants' quarters and the garbage bins.

"Get out," he said, not looking at me. "I have to get to her."

"Dante, I just got out of prison. I have nowhere-"

"Go to the storage room on the third floor. The main rooms are occupied. Chiara needs space for her therapy equipment."

He didn't wait for me to close the door. As soon as my feet hit the gravel, he peeled away, tires screeching, leaving me in a cloud of exhaust fumes.

I stood there, shivering in the cold wind. My Fated Mate had just treated me worse than a stray dog.

The back door opened. The Beta butler, old Mr. Henderson, looked at me with pity.

"Miss Alessia," he said. "You're back."

"Where do I sleep, Henderson?"

"The attic, Miss. Third floor. It... hasn't been cleaned."

I climbed the stairs. My legs shook with every step. The silver radiation from the prison had leached the calcium from my bones.

The room was a closet. It smelled of dust and mothballs. There was a cot in the corner and a broken desk.

I sat on the cot and pulled a small, encrypted laptop from my bag. It was the only thing I had smuggled out, a gift from a hacker inmate who owed me a favor.

I opened it. A message blinked on the screen.

*From: Dominica Neutral Zone Council*

*To: Subject 8940*

*Message: We have reviewed your application. Your skills are needed. The boat leaves in three days from the smuggling port. Are you in?*

I looked at the scar on my wrist. I looked at the dust motes dancing in the light of the tiny window.

I typed two words.

*I accept.*

*

Alessia POV:

I used to be an artist.

Before the cage, before the silver, I could paint the wind. My grandmother told me I had the "sight." I could see the colors of a wolf's soul.

Now, my hands trembled as I tried to hold a glass of water. The nerve damage from the silver cuffs was deep.

I checked the time. Two days left until the boat. I just had to survive forty-eight hours in this house without killing anyone.

I walked downstairs. I needed food. The prison fed us nutrient paste that tasted like wet cardboard. I craved an apple. Just a simple, red apple.

Laughter drifted from the dining hall. The crystal chandelier was lit, casting a warm, golden glow that I hadn't seen in years.

My mother, Isabella, was there. My father, Marco. My older sister, Giuliana. And in the center, sitting on a velvet cushion like a queen, was Chiara.

She looked healthy. Her skin was glowing, her hair shiny. For someone with a "cracked spiritual core," she looked remarkably vibrant.

Dante was sitting next to her. His eyes looked slightly glassy, pupils dilated, as if he were running on autopilot.

I walked into the room. The laughter died instantly.

My mother wrinkled her nose. "What is that smell?"

"It smells like antiseptic and rust," Giuliana sneered. "And low-grade wolf."

It was the scent of the Silver Prison. It clung to my pores.

"I'm hungry," I said, my voice flat.

"The kitchen staff will prepare a plate for you," my father said, not looking me in the eye. "Eat it in your room. We are celebrating Chiara's recovery month."

Chiara looked at me with wide, innocent eyes. "Oh, Alessia! You're back! I'm so sorry I couldn't visit. The doctors said the negative energy of the prison would shatter my core."

"It's fine," I said.

Chiara suddenly gasped, clutching her chest. A sweet, cloying scent filled the room. It was pheromones. She was releasing a synthetic distress signal, mimicking a heat.

Dante's head snapped toward her. The biological instinct of an Alpha to comfort a distressed female took over.

"It hurts, Dante," she whimpered. "I'm too weak to peel this grape."

Dante, the fearsome Alpha of the Blood Moon, the man who could crush a skull with one hand, picked up a grape. He carefully peeled the skin and fed it to her lips.

A sharp pain ripped through my chest.

It was the Mate Bond.

Seeing my mate serve another female triggered a primal rejection in my biology. My inner wolf, who had been comatose for seven years, stirred. She let out a low, mournful whine.

*Mine?* she asked weakly.

*No,* I told her. *Not ours.*

Dante paused. He rubbed his chest, frowning. He felt it too. The pull. The magnetic snap of the bond trying to connect us.

But he looked at me-gaunt, smelling of prison, wearing rags-and then he looked at Chiara. He blinked hard, shaking his head as if trying to clear a fog.

He shook his head, clearing the feeling, and turned back to the grape.

I turned to leave. I couldn't watch this.

"Where are you going?" my mother snapped. "Show some respect to the Alpha."

"I am showing respect by not vomiting on the table," I said.

My mother stood up, her face twisting in rage. She spoke in the Ancient Tongue, the old language of the first lycans, assuming I was too stupid or too "Omega" to understand.

*"Kala'ni ro ta,"* she hissed. *Soulless waste of blood.*

The room went silent. They thought I didn't know the high dialect. They thought I was just the spare part, the genetic mistake.

I stopped. I turned around slowly.

I looked my mother dead in the eye. The air around me seemed to drop ten degrees.

*"Ni'ka la so'ra, ma'ti,"* I replied in perfect, fluent Ancient Tongue. *The blood you waste is the blood that saved you.*

My mother's jaw dropped. My father dropped his fork. Dante froze, his eyes widening in shock.

The Ancient Tongue was reserved for high-ranking wolves and scholars. An Omega shouldn't know it. An Omega shouldn't be able to speak it with such perfect accent.

I didn't wait for their reaction. I walked out the front door, into the night.

It was my twenty-fifth birthday. The day a wolf fully matures.

No one had remembered.

I walked to the edge of the garden. The moon was full and bright. I looked up at it, and for the first time in seven years, I felt a spark of heat in my belly.

It wasn't the heat of a mate. It was the heat of something older. Something white.

My inner wolf didn't just whine this time. She howled.

*

Alessia POV:

I found refuge in a greasy spoon diner on the edge of town. It was run by a human named Sal. Humans were better than wolves sometimes. They didn't care about hierarchy or pheromones. They just cared if you could scrub a grill.

I was scrubbing the grease trap, the harsh chemicals burning my nose, but I preferred it to the smell of the manor.

"You okay, kid?" Sal asked, flipping a burger. "You look like you fought a lawnmower."

"I'm fine, Sal."

The bell above the door chimed.

The atmosphere in the diner changed instantly. The air became heavy, thick, and hard to breathe. The humans stopped eating, looking around nervously, sensing a predator even if they couldn't see one.

It was Alpha pressure.

I didn't turn around. I kept scrubbing.

"Alessia."

Dante's voice was right behind me.

I rinsed the sponge and turned. He was wearing a black trench coat that cost more than this entire building. He looked out of place among the vinyl seats and ketchup stains.

He placed a small white box on the counter.

"Coconut cake," he said. "From the bakery on 5th. It was your favorite when you were ten."

I looked at the box. I remembered that cake. I remembered saving my allowance for weeks to buy a slice for him when his father died.

"I'm not ten, Dante. And I don't eat sugar anymore. My stomach can't handle it."

"It's just a peace offering," he said, pushing the box toward me. "Chiara... she didn't mean to upset you yesterday. Her medication makes her emotional."

"Is that why you're here? To apologize for your mistress?"

"She's not my mistress," Dante growled. "She is my responsibility. I owe her my life."

I froze. My hands gripped the edge of the sink.

"You think you owe *her* your life?" I asked quietly.

"Seven years ago," Dante said, his eyes distant. "When I was poisoned with silver nitrate during the coup. I was dying. My kidneys were failing. Chiara gave me the transfusion. Her blood type is rare. She gave so much she damaged her spiritual core. That's why she's sick, Alessia. She sacrificed her wolf for me."

I wanted to laugh. I wanted to scream until my throat bled.

It wasn't Chiara.

I remembered that night. Chiara had fainted at the sight of blood. I was the one who dragged Dante into the safe house. I was the one who hooked up the tubes. I was the one who lay next to him for six hours, draining my own veins until I went into hypovolemic shock.

My blood healed him because I carry the White Wolf gene. My blood is potent.

My parents had come in when it was over. They saw me unconscious and Dante healing. They swapped us. They put Chiara in the bed and threw me in the cellar to recover. They told me if I ever spoke of it, they would kill Dante.

"Is that the story they told you?" I asked, looking at him with pity.

"It's the truth," he said firmly. "I smelled her scent on me when I woke up."

"Because she doused herself in your cologne while you slept," I muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing." I wiped my hands on a rag. "Take your cake, Dante. Go back to your castle."

His phone buzzed. He looked at the screen, and his face crumbled.

"I have to go," he said, panic edging his voice. "Chiara is on the roof of the West Tower. She says she's going to jump."

"Of course she is," I said dryly. "It's Tuesday. She always needs attention on Tuesdays."

Dante slammed his hand on the counter, denting the metal. "She is suicidal! Have you no heart?"

"I had one," I said, looking him dead in the eye. "But I left it in a silver cage."

He glared at me, torn between the pull of the Mate Bond that urged him to stay with me, and the guilt that tethered him to Chiara.

Guilt won.

He grabbed the cake box and threw it in the trash can as he stormed out.

I watched him go. The humans in the diner let out a collective breath.

I walked over to the trash can. I looked at the smashed cake.

That was us. Sweet, nostalgic, and garbage.

*