The Cursed King's Salvation: The Omega's Hidden Power

I was the pack's lowest Omega, scrubbing floors by day, but secretly waiting for the night my Fated Mate, the Alpha Heir Desmond, would finally claim me.

Instead, he brought home a billionaire heiress and looked at me with cold, dead eyes.

"I choose power," he sneered, rejecting our soul-bond in front of everyone. "An Omega can never be my Luna."

To seal his business deal, he sold me off like cattle to Kennedy Simmons-the "Crippled Alpha" rumored to be a broken, rot-filled monster.

On my last night in the territory, his new fiancée pushed me off a yacht.

As I drowned in the freezing water, I watched Desmond dive in.

He swam right past me to save her.

That was the moment my heart finally stopped beating for him.

They thought sending me to Seattle was a punishment. They thought I would wither away and die in the hands of a beast.

But they didn't know two things.

First, Kennedy Simmons wasn't a monster; he was a King waiting to be healed.

Second, I wasn't a weak Omega. I was a White Wolf, a legend thought to be extinct, capable of miracles.

Three months later, Desmond stood outside my gates, bankrupt and desperate, begging for a second chance.

I looked down from my balcony, wrapped in the arms of my true Alpha, and smiled.

"Get off my property," I commanded, my eyes glowing white. "Or I'll finish what the ocean started."

Chapter 1

Dallas POV:

The roast beef had been in the oven for exactly four hours. The scent of rosemary and garlic filled the kitchen of the Morgan estate, masking the underlying smell of damp earth that always clung to the servants' quarters. I wiped my hands on my apron, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

Tonight was the night.

Desmond had promised.

I was an Omega, the lowest rank in the pack hierarchy. I scrubbed floors, I cooked meals, and I kept my head down when the high-ranking wolves walked by. But the Moon Goddess, in her infinite and confusing wisdom, had given me a gift that defied all social order.

Desmond Morgan, the Alpha Heir, was my Fated Mate.

I remembered the moment it happened three years ago. The air had shifted, smelling suddenly of storm clouds and fresh pine. My wolf, usually a dormant whisper in the back of my mind, had howled, Mate! The electric current that zipped through my veins when our hands brushed was undeniable. It was a biological law, a soul-tether that no amount of money or power could buy.

The front door slammed open.

"We're home!" A booming voice echoed through the hallway.

I smoothed my hair, untying the apron and tossing it aside. I walked toward the foyer, my legs trembling. Desmond was finally going to announce it. He was going to tell his father, the Alpha, that the pack's future Luna was standing right here in the kitchen.

I rounded the corner and froze.

Desmond stood there, tall and broad-shouldered, his dark hair glistening with rain. But he wasn't looking for me. His arm was wrapped possessively around the waist of a woman with sleek blonde hair and a smile that looked like it was cut from glass.

Chelsea Taylor. The daughter of the neighboring Alpha.

My wolf let out a high-pitched whine, scratching at the inside of my chest.

The scent hit me a second later. It wasn't just pine and storm clouds anymore. It was tainted. Desmond smelled like her. Their scents were mingled, a cloying mix of his musk and her expensive, floral perfume. It was the scent of intimacy.

"Dallas," Desmond said, his voice flat. He didn't let go of Chelsea. "Take Chelsea's coat. She's staying for dinner."

I stood rooted to the spot. My lungs felt like they were filled with water. "Desmond?"

Chelsea laughed, a tinkling, cruel sound. She stepped forward, shrugging off her wet trench coat and thrusting it into my arms without looking at me. "Be careful with that, Omega. It costs more than your entire life's earnings."

She leaned into Desmond, nuzzling his neck right over his scent gland. "Come on, darling. Your father is waiting."

Desmond didn't look at me. He turned, guiding her toward the dining room.

I stood there, clutching the coat that smelled like my enemy, while my mate walked away.

Dallas.

The voice echoed inside my head. It was the Mind-Link, the telepathic connection shared by pack members. But this was a private channel, directed only at me. It was Desmond.

Go to the garden. Now.

I didn't want to obey, but the command of an Alpha Heir pushed against my will, heavy and suffocating. I hung the coat and walked out the back door into the rain.

Five minutes later, Desmond appeared. He didn't come close. He stood five feet away, the rain soaking his dress shirt.

"You brought her here," I whispered. "You said... you said tonight would be different."

Stop it, Dallas, his voice hissed in my mind, though his lips barely moved. He was blocking our conversation from the rest of the pack. The merger with the Taylor Pack is worth billions. My father expects this union.

"But the bond," I choked out. "You feel it. I know you feel it. It's burning you just like it's burning me."

Desmond's jaw tightened. "I am an Alpha. I control my instincts; they don't control me. I cannot have an Omega as my Luna. It would make the pack look weak."

"So I'm just a dirty secret?"

"You are a liability," he said coldly. I am going to marry Chelsea. You will continue your duties. If you make a scene, if you embarrass me... you know what happens to wolves without a pack.

He turned and walked back toward the warmth of the house, leaving me shivering in the cold. The pain in my chest wasn't a metaphor. It felt like someone had taken a serrated knife and was slowly sawing through the invisible cord that connected our souls.

I sank to my knees in the mud, a sob tearing through my throat.

"Shh, it's okay."

A warm coat draped over my shoulders. The scent of sandalwood and old books surrounded me. I looked up through the rain to see Antone Morgan, Desmond's younger brother.

He was a Beta, lacking the sheer dominating aura of an Alpha, but he was handsome in a softer, sharper way. He crouched down, ignoring the mud staining his expensive slacks.

"He doesn't deserve you," Antone murmured, wiping a wet strand of hair from my cheek. "I saw what happened. He's a fool, Dallas."

"He chose her," I wept. "He chose the money."

"I would never choose money over you," Antone whispered. He pulled me into his arms. He felt warm. Solid. "I've watched you for years, Dallas. Scrubbing these floors, taking their abuse. You have a fire in you that they don't see."

I leaned into him, desperate for any comfort to numb the agony of the rejection. "It hurts, Antone. It hurts so much."

"I know," he soothed, rubbing circles on my back. "Let me take care of you. Let me be the one to protect you from him."

I looked up at him, my vision blurry. In the darkness of the garden, his eyes seemed full of kindness. I was drowning, and he was the only driftwood in the ocean.

"Why?" I asked brokenly. "I'm just an Omega."

Antone smiled, and he leaned in close, his lips brushing my ear. "Because to me, you're the only thing in this house that's real."

I closed my eyes, letting the lie soothe the open wound in my soul. I didn't see the way his eyes flicked toward the dining room window, where Chelsea was laughing, nor the twisted hunger that darkened his gaze.

I thought I had found a savior. I didn't know I had just let the devil in.

Dallas POV:

Two weeks had passed since the dinner. Two weeks of Desmond ignoring me in the hallways, and two weeks of Antone whispering sweet promises in the shadows.

Antone made me feel human. He took me on drives to the edge of the territory where we could walk in human form without being sneered at. He brought me flowers stolen from the greenhouse. He filled the void Desmond had carved out of me.

I was in Antone's room, waiting for him to finish his shower. He had left his laptop open on the bed. I moved to close it, not wanting to pry, but a notification pinged.

It was a group chat titled "The Inner Circle."

My eyes caught my name. I shouldn't have looked. I should have walked away. But my fingers moved on their own, scrolling up.

Beta_Antone: The little Omega is easier to crack than a walnut. She actually thinks I'm in love with her.

Pack_Warrior_2: Does Desmond care?

Beta_Antone: Desmond is grateful. I'm keeping his distraction busy so Chelsea doesn't smell the mate bond on him. I'm taking one for the team, boys. Besides, once I get her into bed, she'll be too ashamed to look at Desmond anyway.

Pack_Warrior_2: You're sick, man. She's practically your sister.

Beta_Antone: She's a servant. And honestly? I'm just imagining she's Chelsea. Have you seen the legs on the Taylor heiress? That's the real prize.

The air left the room.

I backed away from the laptop, my hand covering my mouth to stifle a scream. The kindness, the flowers, the late-night talks-it was all a game. I was a pawn to protect Desmond's political marriage, and a practice doll for Antone's twisted fantasies about Chelsea.

The bathroom door creaked open. Steam billowed out, and Antone stepped into the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist.

"Dallas?" He smiled, that same charming, boyish smile that had fooled me. "You look pale, sweetheart. Come here."

He reached for me.

For the first time, I really smelled him. Underneath the soap and the sandalwood, there was something else. A faint, cloying floral scent.

Chelsea's perfume.

He hadn't been in the shower alone. Or he had been with her just before coming here.

"Don't touch me," I whispered, stepping back.

Antone's smile faltered. He glanced at the laptop, then back at me. His expression shifted instantly. The warmth evaporated, replaced by the cold, arrogant sneer of a high-ranking wolf.

"You shouldn't snoop, Dallas. It's bad manners."

"You're disgusting," I spat, grabbing my bag. "You and your brother. You're both rot wrapped in silk suits."

I tried to push past him, but his hand shot out, gripping my arm like a vice. He wasn't gentle anymore. He yanked me back, throwing me onto the bed.

"Where do you think you're going?" Antone growled. His eyes were glassy, dilated. He was drunk on power and probably expensive scotch. "I've put in the time. I've played the nice guy. You owe me."

He climbed over me, his weight pinning me to the mattress. "Desmond doesn't want you. No one wants a broken Omega. You should be grateful I'm willing to claim you."

"Get off!" I screamed, thrashing against him. But he was a Beta. His strength was far superior to mine.

He buried his face in my neck, his teeth scraping against the sensitive skin where a mating mark should go. "Just close your eyes," he muttered against my skin. "Just pretend I'm him. I'm pretending you're Chelsea."

The mention of her name snapped something inside me.

It wasn't a thought. It was an explosion.

A shockwave, cold and absolute, erupted from the center of my chest. It wasn't the fiery rage of a typical wolf. It was a blast of pure, kinetic energy, like a glacier cracking apart.

My hand moved before I told it to. I struck him across the face.

CRACK.

The sound was like a gunshot.

Antone didn't just turn his head. He was thrown off me, his body flying backward as if he'd been hit by a car. He crashed into the wardrobe, wood splintering on impact.

He slid to the floor, clutching his cheek. There was no burn mark, but his skin was stark white where I'd hit him, as if the blood had been terrified out of his veins.

"What..." He looked up at me, eyes wide with genuine fear. "What the hell are you?"

I scrambled off the bed, my entire body vibrating. My skin felt too tight. My vision sharpened, the colors of the room becoming hyper-vivid.

"I am not your toy," I said. My voice sounded different-deeper, layered with a growl that didn't sound like a regular wolf.

I didn't wait for him to recover. I turned and ran out the door, the strange chill fading back into the cold pit of my stomach, leaving me terrified of what I had just done.

Dallas POV:

I didn't sleep. I spent the night scrubbing my skin until it was raw, trying to wash away the phantom sensation of Antone's hands.

By morning, I had made a decision. I gathered every photo I had of the Morgan family-the ones where I stood awkwardly in the background-and threw them into the fireplace in the servant's lounge. I watched the edges curl and blacken. The smoke smelled like freedom.

"Dallas Cole. The Alpha requires your presence."

The pack Gamma stood at the door, his face impassive.

I followed him to the main office. The house felt like a tomb. Desmond sat behind the massive mahogany desk, his father, Alpha Marcus Morgan, standing by the window. Antone was there too, nursing a bruised jaw, refusing to meet my eyes.

"Sit," Alpha Marcus commanded.

The Alpha Command slammed into my shoulders, forcing my knees to bend. I collapsed into the chair, my muscles locking up against my will. This was the power of an Alpha-absolute control over the body of a lower-ranking wolf.

"We have a situation," Marcus began, turning to face me. "The Simmons Pack in Seattle has agreed to a trade deal. They control the shipping ports we need for our expansion."

He paused, his eyes cold and calculating. "Kennedy Simmons, their Alpha, requires a bride."

My blood ran cold.

Kennedy Simmons. The name was a ghost story in the werewolf world. They called him the Cursed King. Five years ago, he was the most powerful Alpha on the West Coast. Then came the ambush. Silver poisoning. It didn't kill him, but rumor said it rotted him from the inside out. He was paralyzed, unable to shift, a broken monster locked in his high-tech fortress.

"You want me to marry the Crippled Alpha?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"It is a generous offer," Desmond said, speaking for the first time. He looked at the paperwork on his desk, avoiding my gaze. "He needs a caretaker. Someone docile. An Omega is perfect for him."

"I am not a piece of furniture you can ship across the state!" I shouted, fighting the pressure of the Command.

"You are whatever I say you are!" Marcus roared. The room shook. "You should be grateful we kept you, Dallas. After your parents destroyed our lab."

I froze. "What?"

"Your parents didn't die in an accident," Marcus sneered. "They were incompetent. They caused the explosion that set our research back ten years. We took you in out of pity to cover up their mess. You owe this pack your life."

It was a lie. I could smell the sulfur of deceit rolling off him. My parents were top-tier warriors. They wouldn't make a mistake like that. They were murdered. I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper. I wouldn't scream. I wouldn't fight them-not here, not when I was powerless. I would verify the truth later, when I had claws of my own.

I looked at Antone. He stepped forward, putting on a mask of concern. "Father, surely there's another way. Dallas is... fragile."

"Silence," Marcus barked. "Sit down, Antone."

Antone sat instantly. He looked at me, and for a split second, I saw the panic. He wasn't worried about me. He was worried about losing his shield, his excuse, his punching bag.

I looked at Desmond. My mate. The man who was supposed to tear the world apart to keep me safe. He was signing a document.

The Transfer of Ownership.

He was selling me. Like cattle.

A strange calm settled over me. It was the calm of a prisoner who realizes the jail cell is actually unlocked, if only they are willing to walk through fire to get out.

"Fine," I said. The Alpha Command loosened as my resistance faded.

Desmond's pen stopped. He looked up, surprised by my surrender.

"I'll go," I said, standing up. I smoothed my skirt. "I'd rather live with a monster in Seattle than stay in a house full of cowards."

Antone flinched. Desmond's eyes narrowed, a flash of regret battling with his greed.

"Pack your things," Marcus said, dismissing me. "You leave after Desmond's wedding."

"No," I said softly. "I leave today. Or I don't go at all."