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

The nightmare grips me in its merciless talons, dragging me down into the abyss of my deepest fears. It’s a familiar terror, one that haunts the shadowed corners of my mind, waiting to pounce when I’m at my most vulnerable.

Wraith, my brother in all but blood, the other half of my fractured soul, lost to the feral rage that consumes him. He’s a tempest of savagery, tearing through our pack like a force of nature, unstoppable and uncontrollable.

It’s a familiar scene that torments me night after night.

Each time, I know what I have to do.

Each time, I fail.

It’s the one sacrifice I can’t—won’t—make for my pack.

This time, though, something is different.

Something that changes everything.

There, in the midst of the chaos, is Ivy. Our omega, the light in our darkness, caught in the crosshairs of Wraith’s madness.

Fear rushes through me, sharp and cold, constricting my lungs until I can barely breathe.

I have to protect her, have to shield her from the destruction Wraith leaves in his wake. It’s not just a duty, but a primal imperative, and it’s etched into my very bones, into the marrow, the cells.

The others shout, their voices a cacophony of desperation and fury. They demand I put Wraith down like the rabid beast he’s become, to end the threat before it’s too late.

But I hesitate, my finger frozen on the trigger of my rifle. He’s my brother, my responsibility. I can’t just extinguish his life like snuffing out a candle.

There has to be another way, some glimmer of humanity left to appeal to.

But then Wraith lunges for Ivy, a snarl ripping from his throat, his white-blue eyes devoid of any recognition or reason.

And just like that, my resolve hardens into unbreakable diamond.

I’ll do anything to keep her safe, even if it means putting my own brother in the ground.

We’re two titans locked in a battle to the death.

Only one of us survives this.

The pain of that realization is like a knife to the gut, twisting deeper with every ragged breath.Published by Nôv'elD/rama.Org.

Blood spatters the concrete, painting it in abstract swaths of crimson. Bones shatter like dry kindling, the sound echoing off the walls of the compound. My brother should be dead, but he keeps coming. Grabs my throat, lifts me off the ground like I weigh nothing. I shove the barrel of my rifle into his roaring jaws.

It’s a scene straight from the depths of hell itself.

I can feel myself slipping away, the man I once was eroding beneath the onslaught of violence. All that remains is the alpha, the primal beast that will stop at nothing to protect what’s his.

Ivy’s screams pierce the air, each one a barbed arrow finding its mark in my heart.

I have to end this, have to⁠—

I jolt awake with a gasp, Wraith’s snarls still echoing in my skull.

My pulse pounds in my ears, a staccato drum beat of adrenaline and dread. But as the haze of sleep clears, I realize it’s not snarls I’m hearing, but snores.

Deep, rumbling snores that rattle the very walls.

Slowly, I push myself up on my elbows, my muscles protesting the movement. The hard floor beneath me is a stark reminder of where I am.

Outside Ivy’s nesting room, where I’ve chosen to sleep tonight. I couldn’t bring myself to disturb her rest, not after the ordeal of her heat, but the thought of being too far away, of not being able to reach her at a moment’s notice… it was unbearable.

As my eyes adjust to the gloom, I spot another figure slumped against the far wall. Whiskey, his head tipped back and mouth hanging open as he dozes.

A soft snore escapes him every few breaths, the sound almost comical in its contrast to the tension still thrumming through my veins.

Looks like I wasn’t the only one reluctant to leave our omega unguarded.

With a grunt of effort, I heave myself to my feet, my joints popping in protest. I take a moment to stretch, rolling my shoulders to ease the kinks from sleeping on the unforgiving ground.

Then, with a sigh, I cross the short distance to Whiskey’s prone form.

I nudge him with the toe of my boot, not bothering with gentleness. It’s good for him to get put in his place once in a while.

‘Rise and shine, sleeping beauty,’ I mutter, my voice rough with the remnants of sleep. ‘I’ll go check on Ivy.’

Whiskey comes awake with a snort, nearly toppling over in his haste to sit up. He blinks owlishly up at me, his brow furrowed in confusion. ‘Fuck, what time is it?’ he grumbles, scrubbing a hand over his face. ‘And why does my back feel like I went ten rounds with a meat grinder?’

‘It’s early,’ I reply, already turning back to Ivy’s door. ‘And that’s what happens when you sleep sitting up like a damn gargoyle.’

But as my hand closes around the doorknob, I pause. Something’s different. Ivy’s scent, usually so rich and heady with the throes of her heat, has changed. It’s muted now, the desperate edge of it dulled. Like the fire that’s been raging inside her has finally been quenched, the flames reduced to softly glowing embers.

‘Huh,’ I say, glancing back at Whiskey with a raised brow. ‘Guess the others had better luck with their knots than we did.’

A twinge of something—not quite jealousy, but close enough to leave a bitter taste on my tongue—flares in my chest. I push it down, locking it away.

This isn’t about me, or my own primal need to claim Ivy as mine. It’s about her well-being, her safety and happiness.

Whiskey grumbles something under his breath, the words lost as he hauls himself upright with a wince. ‘Yeah, well, I call dibs on being first in line next time.’

I snort, shaking my head. ‘We’ll see about that,’ I mutter, but there’s no real heat behind it.

The air feels strangely calm now, even between us.

Before our banter can continue, the door swings open, revealing Valek’s imposing form. He fills the frame, his darkened gaze flicking between us with a sardonic arch of his brow.

‘You freaks want to come in?’ he asks, his accented voice a low drawl. ‘Or are you just gonna stand out there? And I thought Plague was the resident creep.’

I shoulder past him, not bothering to dignify that with a response. The room beyond is dim, lit only by the pale light of dawn filtering through the curtains. It lends everything a soft, ethereal glow, like something out of a dream.

And there, nestled in the center of her nest, is our omega.

She looks peaceful, her face relaxed in sleep, the usual furrow between her brows smoothed away. Her auburn hair fans out across the pillows, a halo of fire against the stark white of the sheets. Plague lies beside her, one arm thrown protectively across her waist, his face half-buried in the curve of her neck.

Something clenches in my chest at the sight, an ugly mix of emotions I don’t care to examine too closely. Jealousy wars with relief, possessiveness with gratitude.

They kept her safe, gave her what she needed when I couldn’t. I should be thankful for that, but the alpha in me rails against it, wants to rip Ivy away and stake my claim for all to see.

I push those thoughts down, locking them away with all the other dark impulses I can’t afford to indulge. Instead, I call out softly, not wanting to startle her from her slumber.

‘Ivy?’ I ask. ‘How are you feeling?’

Her lashes flutter, those striking aquamarine eyes blinking open. For a moment, they’re hazy with the remnants of sleep, unfocused and dreamy. But as they settle on me, a spark of clarity returns, chasing away the lingering shadows.

She shifts, wincing slightly as she pushes herself up on her elbows. The sheet falls away, revealing the creamy expanse of her shoulder, the elegant line of her collarbone. My gaze lingers on the worst scar there, on her shoulder, wondering as always how it got there. Knowing I don’t have the right to ask, but wanting to murder someone all the same. I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry as the wasteland.

‘Better,’ she rasps, her voice still rough with sleep. ‘I think the heat’s finally passed.’

Relief crashes over me like a wave as the tension drains from my muscles. She’s okay. She made it through hell, then that gunshot wound and a rough heat, and she’s still here with us.

With me.

She doesn’t seem like she’s on a hair trigger to escape again, either.

But I won’t let myself get my hopes up just yet.

Whiskey perks up at her words, a grin spreading across his face. ‘In that case, you must be starving,’ he says, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. ‘I can whip us up some grub, show off my master chef skills.’

Valek snorts, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed. ‘Master chef?’ he echoes, his tone dripping with disdain. ‘That’s debatable.’

‘It would explain how he manages to not have visible abs,’ Plague chimes in, sitting up groggily, his messy hair falling over his face. I’ve never seen him look remotely disheveled. It’s bizarre.

‘Fuck you, Leatherface,’ Whiskey shoots back, flipping him the bird and rotating to flash it at Plague, too. ‘Neither of you assholes would know good food if you bit you in the dick.’

Their bickering fades into the background as I watch Ivy, drinking in the sight of her like a man dying of thirst. She’s watching the exchange with a glimmer of amusement in her eyes, her lips quirking up at the corners. It’s such a welcome sight, a far cry from the haunted look that’s shadowed her face for so long.

I know she hasn’t let her guard down, not all the way, but she’s starting to relax around us. Starting to realize that we may be cavemen, may be half-wild ourselves, but we’re not monsters. And we’d never hurt her.

Not even Wraith.

At least, that’s what I want to believe.

But before I can say anything more, a crash echoes from the hallway, the sound like a gunshot in the quiet of the room. We all tense, heads whipping toward the door as heavy footsteps pound closer.

A hulking figure comes barreling through, a blur of motion and barely leashed aggression. Wraith appears in the doorway, taking it up from frame to frame, his broad chest heaving as his feral gaze flicks between us.

Ice floods my veins, the remnants of the nightmare still clinging to me like cobwebs.

Is this it?

The moment he finally snaps, when the beast inside him takes over completely? Will I be forced to put him down, to end the threat to our pack, to Ivy?

Was my dream a fucking premonition?

I’m already moving, putting myself between him and the bed. The others fan out beside me, a wall of muscle and menace ready to take Wraith down if necessary. They don’t hesitate to put themselves between the threat and our omega. Protecting her is the one thing that’s rallied us all together in a way the Council has been trying to for years.

And it might also be the thing that finally tears us apart.

But Wraith doesn’t attack. Instead, slowly, he raises his hands.

Convoy is coming, he signs, the movements sharp and urgent despite the usual clumsiness of his massive hands.

Relief crashes over me like a wave, so intense it nearly buckles my knees. I let out a shaky breath, running a hand through my hair as I turn to the others. Wraith wasn’t losing control, wasn’t succumbing to the feral madness that always lurks just beneath the surface.

He was trying to warn us.

To give us a chance to prepare.

Wraith hates signing. He uses it as sparingly as he can, and for the most part, we understand each other well enough without needing to use words. But there are some cases where it’s necessary. I learned to sign when our father first brought Wraith home, something the old man never bothered to do. Back then, our father—and everyone else—thought he wasn’t even capable of learning. Not that it changed anything when that turned out to not be true.

Guilt gnaws at me like a dog with a damn bone.

How am I any better than them?

‘How far?’ I ask him hoarsely once I find my voice.

Ten minutes, Wraith answers. Fifteen maybe.

Plague is the only one besides me who understands sign language, so I turn to the others to translate. ‘He’s saying he spotted the convoy ten or fifteen minutes out,’ I say, my voice grim as I meet each of their gazes in turn. ‘Looks like our timetable just got moved up. We need to get ready.’

I let the weight of my next words sink in, the gravity of the situation settling over the room like a shroud.

‘What about Ivy?’ Valek asks, his cold gaze flickering over to the omega sitting within the shelter of her nest. For the first time since I’ve known him, there’s a hint of softness to it. Something almost human.

‘She stays upstairs, out of sight,’ I answer, turning to Plague. ‘You’ve got more of that suppressant shit, right? How much is left?’

‘I did bring extra,’ Plague answers hesitantly. ‘But the scent of her heat is still lingering around the house. I don’t have enough to mask it fully.’

For some reason, Ivy’s face turns nearly as red as those soft tresses of hers.

‘I might have an idea,’ Valek chimes in.

‘Dangerous,’ I say dryly. ‘But let us hear it.’

‘This place has a full-on ventilation system,’ Valek says, looking around the ceiling. ‘We could break a few vials into it, let it circulate throughout the house.’

I hesitate, glancing over at Plague. ‘Would that work?’

‘Why the hell are you asking him?’ Valek asks, clearly insulted.

‘Because he’s the smart one, asshole,’ I mutter.

‘I was a fucking serial killer!’ Valek protests.

‘Yeah, one who got caught,’ Whiskey shoots back.

Valek gives him a filthy look, but he doesn’t deny it. Ivy just stares at him, pupils blown wide and mouth hanging open slightly, like that wasn’t information she was certain of before.

Guess I’ll be on damage control when we get back to the Chateau.

Plague pauses as if considering it. ‘It’s a bit of an out-of-the-box plan, but yes. The way the masking chemical works, it should bond to the scent molecules in the air well enough. It’s certainly worth a shot.’

‘Then we’ve got a plan,’ I mutter. ‘And whether it works or not, Ivy stays here. Two of us keep guard at all times, the rest of us meet the convoy outside. No one steps foot in this mansion. Do I make myself clear?’

They don’t have to nod or reply. I know from the looks in their eyes that I have their full assent.

Ivy looks between us, and even though I can tell she has to be nervous—she’d be crazy not to be—she hides her fear as well as any highly trained warrior I’ve ever met, with one exception.

Her scent is a dead giveaway.

‘There’s no need to worry, little rabbit,’ I tell her with a smile. ‘We won’t let anything happen to you.’

‘I’m not worried,’ she says in a sharp tone.

I have to stifle a smile. Always a tough one.

And I guess she’s had to be.

With time, I just hope she comes to realize she’s safe now.

At least with us.

Because if there’s one thing I’m certain of, one truth I’ll cling to until my dying breath, it’s this.

Ivy is ours.

Our omega.

Our mate.

The missing piece of our souls.

And God help anyone who tries to take her from us.