Feral Omega: A Dark Reverse Harem Omegaverse Romance (Ghost Alpha Unit Book 1)

I watch the rugged peaks of the Redtooth Mountains slide past the helicopter windows, their snow-capped heights scraping the bellies of low-hanging clouds. The vast expanse of untamed wilderness stretches out in every direction, a world away from the sterile confines of the Refinement Center that have been my entire existence for years until now.

The hours pass like minutes as I take in every second, every breathtaking view. I’ve never known what it’s like to truly have a home, but the nostalgia that grips my chest feels like how I imagine it would feel to come back to your childhood home, wrapped up in all the warmth of those bittersweet memories. The woods, the mountains, the freedom. Tears prickle my eyes, but I bite them back, well aware the alphas surrounding me are watching my every move and unwilling to show even a moment’s weakness.

They’re more somber than usual. Even Whiskey hasn’t made one of his wiseass cracks. It’s not fear, exactly. These beasts are much too stalwart and experienced for that. If anything, it’s excitement tinged with the sobriety that comes with knowing what they’re doing is dangerous. That they could go out as five and return as fewer.

It should scare me, but that’s the thing about getting pushed to the point where you long for death so many times. The threat of mortal danger loses its sting after a while.Exclusive © content by N(ô)ve/l/Drama.Org.

My heart pounds with a heady mix of excitement and nerves as we draw nearer to our target—a secluded mansion nestled high in these remote peaks, smoke tendrils curling lazily from its chimneys.

This is it.

My first taste of true freedom, even if it comes cloaked in the guise of a dangerous mission alongside these brutish Ghosts.

A shiver races down my spine, raising goosebumps along my bare arms despite the layers of tactical gear they gave me to put on over my clothes on the ride. The heavy fabric is stiff and unfamiliar against my skin, a far cry from the thin, threadbare shifts I grew accustomed to at the Center. But it’s the rifle slung across my back that weighs heaviest, a constant reminder of the violence to come.

They didn’t trust me with a loaded weapon, of course. Just an empty husk to complete the disguise of a soldier in case I get spotted on the mission, a thin veneer of inclusion that fools no one—least of all me.

I’m a prisoner being dragged into the fray.

A lamb among wolves whether I like it or not.

Still, a reckless thrill surges through me at the prospect. If I play my cards right, keep my wits sharp… this mission could be my chance. My opportunity to finally break free from these alphas’ clutches and disappear into the vast, unforgiving wilds.

I would be utterly alone. No allies, no shelter from the punishing elements or the vicious predators that roam these peaks. Just me, my wits, and whatever supplies I can scavenge if I manage to slip away.

If I’m lucky, I can find bullets for my empty gun.

A tendril of doubt snakes through me, hissing of all the ways I could die a brutal, bloody death in these merciless heights. Ripped apart by the slavering jaws of some starving beast, frozen solid by the bitter winds, dashed to pieces on the jagged rocks…

And that’s if an alpha who’s even hungrier doesn’t find me.

My jaw clenches as the images assault me, fingers tightening around the butt of my useless rifle. No. I can’t afford to dwell on the risks, can’t let fear cloud my judgment. I’ve come too far, endured too much to wither now.

This is my chance. Maybe my only chance.

And I have to take it, no matter the cost.

‘That’s it.’ Whiskey’s gruff voice shatters my reverie. He’s leaning forward, peering through a pair of high-powered binoculars as the structure nestled between the mountain peaks draws nearer. ‘Smoke coming from the main house. Looks like our boy’s home.’

My gaze snaps toward the plumes of gray drifting up through the trees, resolve hardening in my chest. Whatever happens, I need to be ready to seize my moment. No hesitation, no mercy. Just the single-minded determination to survive that’s kept me alive this long.

The chopper banks hard, swinging in a wide arc to avoid alerting the target. Through the tinted plexiglass, I catch a better glimpse of the sprawling estate nestled in a hollow between two towering peaks. My breath catches in my throat at the sight—a cluster of rustic log buildings centered around a palatial glass mansion, all encircled by a high fence bristling with razor wire and armed patrols.

No chance of just strolling through the front gate, then.

That muscle twitches in Thane’s granite jaw as he surveys the compound, those piercing obsidian eyes missing nothing. ‘Doesn’t look like our intel was exaggerating,’ he rumbles, the words edged with rare approval. ‘Place is locked up tighter than a bank vault.’

Valek shifts beside me, the buckles and straps of his gear creaking as he straightens from his lazy slouch. ‘The more security, the better,’ he purrs in that smooth, lethal rasp. ‘Means our little bird’s got plenty of fat fuckers to slice open when we hit them.’

A shudder wracks me at the sinister glee in his tone, the almost sensual way he speaks of dealing death. The others don’t seem phased by his dark bloodlust. Just another day at the office for these depraved beasts.

Wraith, as usual, says nothing. Just sits there, those icy eyes boring into me from beneath the hood that shadows his masked face. He never blinks, and I doubt it’s just because he can’t fully close his scarred left eye.

I’m not sure if he’s actually looking at me, though. Sometimes it seems like he spaces out. Loses himself in the dark corners of his mind, staring emptily at whatever he was looking at before he got lost.

Not unlike the zombie Whiskey accuses him of being.

Or maybe he has the most complex mind out of all these alphas and he just doesn’t have anything to say.

The chopper banks again as the pilot searches for a suitable landing zone. My knuckles ache from gripping the useless rifle strap so tightly, the weight of it across my back like a millstone.

At last, the bird settles onto a narrow ridge a few miles out from our target, skids crunching into the fresh powder. The rotor blades slowly cycle down, their whup-whup-whup fading to silence as the engine winds down.

Thane is on his feet in an instant. Even with a skull mask covering his face, I can always tell it’s him by how he moves like a lion. ‘Listen up,’ he says, already barking orders. ‘We’ll be approaching the compound on foot from the south to avoid any roaming patrols. I want absolute radio silence once we’re within a click. Plague, you’re on point with me and Wraith. Valek, Whiskey, you’ll be providing overwatch with the .50 cals.’

Whiskey groans. ‘Never get to blow shit up anymore.’

Thane ignores him. ‘Keep our omega with you at all times. If you talk about her over the comms, refer to her as the little rabbit, and she’s a ‘he’ for now.’

Whiskey perks up. I fight the urge to roll my eyes.

‘Speaking of which,’ Thane says, tossing me a plain black balaclava, then a matching hat with two long fabric flaps hanging down from the sides like a rabbit’s lop ears. ‘Put this on so you blend in. Your hair will draw too much attention otherwise, but we need to be able to tell it’s you without a shadow of doubt.’

I pull the balaclava down over my head and neck, then tug up the edge to cover the lower half of my face before gathering my hair and securing it inside the wool. I’m sure I look the part of the code name that seems to be growing on them, but if it helps me blend in when I escape, so be it.

‘Ivy, you stick to the center of our formation, you hear?’ Thane adds as if reading my mind. ‘No wandering off, no playing the hero. One foot out of line and I’ll have you hogtied and carried the rest of the way. Understood?’

I bristle at the condescending command, the implication that I need to be kept on a leash like some unruly pup. But I know better than to voice my indignation. Defiance will only breed harsher restrictions, more chains to bind me.

So I simply nod once, keeping my gaze carefully schooled into an impassive mask as we begin filing out of the chopper into the biting chill. My combat boots crunch into the fresh powder, the icy flakes swirling in little eddies around my calves.

One by one, the others disembark, a well-oiled machine of brutal efficiency. Even Wraith moves with a strange, loping grace for one of such massive stature, each footfall sending tiny avalanches cascading from the ridgeline.

I can’t tear my eyes away from the feral alpha. There’s something almost hypnotic about the steady rasp of his breathing, that eerie whisper of air through the filters of the gas mask that covers most of his face.

A feather-light touch on my elbow breaks the spell. I start, whipping around to find Plague watching me with those unsettling gold-tinted lenses.

‘Easy,’ he murmurs, that deep, rasping voice sending an unexpected shiver racing down my spine. ‘Just thought I’d lend a hand.’

He gestures to the open bay, offering to assist me down to the ground. I eye him warily for a beat, caught off guard by the unexpected courtesy.

I war with myself for a moment over whether or not to take his hand. When I decide refusing is more trouble than it’s worth, I slip my gloved hand into his, jolting a little when he puts his other hand on my waist and easily lifts me down.

He may be leaner than the rest of them, but he’s still a powerful alpha who moves me as easily as air.

My boots crunch as they sink into the fresh powder and Plague releases his hold on me, taking a step back to allow me to move past him and into the center of the group, like Thane instructed. A few stray flakes catch on my lashes, the icy kiss raising goosebumps along my bare arms.

The rest of the team is already forming up, weapons at the ready as they scan the silent, snow-blanketed ridge.

The frigid mountain air stings my lungs with every breath. Snow crunches underfoot as we forge deeper into the rugged wilderness, the imposing peaks of the Redtooth Mountains looming all around us. I keep my eyes trained on the massive, hunched form of Wraith ahead, using his hulking frame to blaze a path through the deep powder.

With every grueling step, icy flakes swirl up to sting my face, clinging to my lashes. The cold seeps through my layers of tactical gear, raising goosebumps along my bare arms. But I grit my teeth and push onward, determined not to be the weak link.

The deep drifts swallow my combat boots up to the knees, the powdery resistance making each stride feel like I’m wading through wet sand. My thighs burn with the exertion, calves screaming in protest. Sweat trickles down my spine despite the bitter chill, plastering stray tendrils of hair to my flushed cheeks.

A huff of frustration escapes me as I lose my footing yet again, pitching forward. I brace for the full-body impact, ready to be swallowed by the snow…

Only for a massive hand to seize my bicep in an iron grip, hauling me back upright with dizzying ease.

I suck in a sharp breath as I’m righted, snow exploding in a frozen cloud around my boots. My gaze snaps up, pulse thundering in my ears as I find myself staring straight into Wraith’s shock-blue eyes.

The feral alpha towers over me, that strange, whooshing rasp of his breath filling the air between us. He regards me for a tense heartbeat, giving no hint of the thoughts lurking behind his frigid gaze, even more unrelenting than the sharp wind rushing through the mountains.

Then, without a word, he simply releases my arm and turns away, continuing his loping strides through the fresh powder.

I swallow hard, rooted in place for a beat as I stare at the massive set of footprints stretching out before me. The path he’s cleared seems to mock me, daring me to keep up with that brutal, unhurried pace.

A snicker from behind me snaps me out of my reverie. ‘You need me to carry you, Princess?’ Whiskey’s mocking drawl rings out, that mischievous smirk evident even in his tone. ‘Can’t have you slowing us down before we even reach the good stuff.’

God, I’d take ‘rabbit’ any day over that.

Heat flares in my cheeks, a spike of humiliation and anger rushing through me. I whip around to face the smug alpha, jaw clenched and hands balling into fists at my sides.

For a beat, I teeter on the razor’s edge, warring with the urge to unleash a blistering retort, maybe even throw a punch. Anything to wipe that infuriating grin off the bastard’s face.

Keeping my face carefully blank, I simply raise my middle finger in a rude salute, holding the defiant gesture for a beat before turning on my heel and resuming the trudge after Wraith.

Whiskey’s laugh rings out behind me, a deep, rich sound that carries on the frigid wind. To my surprise, it holds no trace of malice or condescension—just pure, unfettered amusement. As if my crude gesture was the funniest thing he’s seen all day.

I risk a glance over my shoulder, brow furrowed in confusion. Even Thane’s granite facade seems to soften a fraction, the barest hint of amusement glinting in his eyes.

I don’t understand. Any other alpha would have retaliated instantly at such a brazen display of disrespect, especially from an omega. I’ve seen it happen countless times at the Center—a defiant look, a muttered curse, and suddenly there’s blood on the floor and a broken body being dragged away.

But these alphas… they just laugh it off like it’s nothing.

The realization sends a strange pang through my chest, an odd mix of relief and confusion. I quickly shove the feeling down, burying it deep. I can’t afford to let my guard slip, not even for a moment.

Just because they didn’t lash out this time doesn’t mean they won’t eventually. Alphas are all the same at their core. Brutal, domineering beasts who live to control and subjugate. It’s only a matter of time before the Ghosts show their true colors.

I turn my face back to the wind, letting the icy sting numb my flushed cheeks as I focus on putting one foot in front of the other. The snow crunches rhythmically beneath my boots, a soothing metronome that helps drown out the nagging doubts swirling in my head.

Time seems to blur as we trek onward, the rugged peaks of the Redtooth Mountains sliding past in an endless procession of snow and stone. My lungs burn with each labored breath, the thin air leaving me lightheaded and queasy. But I grit my teeth and push through the discomfort, determined not to show any weakness.

I can feel the others’ gazes on me like physical weights, assessing and calculating with every step. Waiting for me to falter, to prove myself the fragile little omega they all believe me to be.

But I won’t give them the satisfaction. I’ve survived far worse than a little cold and exertion. I’ll be damned if I let a bit of snow bring me to my knees.

So I keep my head down and my strides steady, ignoring the burn in my muscles and the ache in my chest. One foot in front of the other, over and over, until the rhythm becomes almost meditative.

I lose myself in the monotony of it, letting my mind drift as the miles go by.