His Omega, His Punishment

Clara’s POV

My wrists burned, encased in cold, unforgiving iron. The shackles had chewed my skin raw, each new twitch a punishment. Panic picked me apart, breath shattering in my chest. I awoke not in the dungeons but in Taehyung Blackwood's lair—a room that stank of predatory cedar and cruel, crackling fire. Shadows writhed on the walls, never resting, always hungry.

Chains anchored me to the carved bedpost, heavy enough that when I struggled, I felt every fiber of resistance twisting into bone-deep bruises. The flames spat light across the room—a hellish glow that made everything sharp, everything hostile.

And there he was. Taehyung.

Alpha. Monster. Devil in beautiful skin.

He sat in the velvet armchair like a king at a pyre, eyes gleaming gold and red, the veins at his temple shuddering with rage. The world narrowed to that gaze—merciless, inhuman.

“You’re awake,” he said. His voice was gravel ground in thunder, full of the promise of violence.

He turned a gun in his hand, metal catching firelight. Every slow movement was pure threat.

“Alpha… please…” My voice cracked, more breath than sound, but desperation was all I had. “Let me go. I swear—I didn’t…”

He exploded forward—air slapping cold behind him as he pressed the gun’s barrel to my cheek, grinding it painfully into my skin.

“Lies,” he spat. “I see them in your eyes. I can smell them in your sweat.”

He yanked the gun away and fired.

BAM!

Stone and splinters erupted inches from my ear. I screamed—a raw, animal shriek—and curled away, chains wrenching my arms behind me.

He only smiled, wild and savage.

“You killed her,” he whispered, voice trembling with hate. “My Luna. My future.”

Tears soaked my vision, mingling with the blood seeping from the wound his mark had left the night before.

“She was my friend,” I sobbed. “I could never…”

He roared and hurled a heavy decanter at the fireplace. It shattered, shards skidding across the flagstones like a chorus of knives. He seized a chair, splintering it against the wall. Wood exploded, fragments skittering at my feet. Embers leapt in the hearth, making the shadows dance like demons.

“I should rip your throat out,” he growled. The words twined around me like thorns.

He closed the distance, gun now shoved under my chin, forcing my head up, forcing my eyes into his. All I saw there was hell.

“No,” I croaked, too terrified to defy his grip. “I don’t want to die. I—I didn’t—”

He squeezed my cheeks until my teeth cut my tongue.

“You’re not dying, Clara. Not yet. First, you’ll remember your place. Every second. Every breath.”

His fist smashed into the wall beside my face—dust and broken stone rained down, the floor rattled beneath us.

“I will make your life so wretched you’ll beg for the grave,” he hissed, breath wet with fury. “Every day, punishment. Every day, reminder.”

He released me with a shove—the chains jolted, my knees buckled. My skin burned under the bruises left by his hand.

He stalked to the door, pausing as if the only thing holding him back from murder was the twisted satisfaction of my suffering.

“At dawn, you’ll marry me,” he declared. “In front of every pair of eyes I command. You’ll be marked. You’ll never forget who you belong to.”

He slammed the door behind him so hard the hinges screamed.

I flinched—broken glass on the floor, the iron in my mouth, the certainty: my nightmare had just begun.

---

Sleep never came—only waiting, wrestling the pain in my body and the dread in my mind. Even after the guards yanked me to my feet, their cold fingers leaving fresh bruises, terror gnawed at my bones.

A maid shoved a dress into my arms: white, moth-eaten, reeking of old sorrow and dust. Not Clara’s dress—a relic from a Luna buried and forgotten, worn now as a shroud. I shrugged it on with trembling hands, wincing at every scrape of lace against the angry flesh of my neck.

Chains unlocked, I was paraded through the stone corridors, warriors and omegas spitting at the ground, hate feeding the shadows. My footsteps echoed, each clang of steel a judge’s gavel.

The grand hall was thick with bodies—Pack from every borough, elders in midnight robes. They lined the walls with narrowed eyes, their contempt oozing between their teeth. The blood-red carpet bled through the center, leading me to Taehyung as if I were walking to a gallows.

He waited, Alpha in black, eyes rimmed in red, jaw clenched into something savage. He didn’t offer his hand—he didn’t greet me as a bride. I knelt beside him, legs quivering, dress falling like a burial garment.

The Elder’s voice rolled out, sharp as winter:

“Clara Carter. Before the Moon, do you take Alpha Taehyung Blackwood as your mate—bound by blood, soul, and the law of our kind?”

Every word was a blade.

Taehyung’s grip seized my wrist—cruel, claws almost breaking skin.

“Answer,” he snarled, breath foul against my ear. “Or I’ll take your tongue before the ceremony is done.”

“I do,” I breathed, a broken thing, too small.

He squeezed so hard a sob escaped me.

“Louder.”

“I—do!” The shout fractured, echoing back to me from stone.

Taehyung didn’t wait.

He reached into the air, forcing my head aside by the hair. His mouth was a snarl, no pretense of affection.

In full view of his Pack, he bit into my neck—no kiss, no warning. Just fangs, tearing deep through skin and muscle.

Pain screamed through me. Hot, tearing agony as blood splashed against the collar of the borrowed dress. He didn’t care that I whimpered, didn’t care that I shook, didn’t care that I sobbed. The crowd watched—the mark was his punishment, their justice.

He held me upright by sheer strength, refusing to allow me to collapse. Blood dripped from his chin—he painted the wound with his tongue, eyes never leaving mine, daring me to flinch. The mark throbbed, burning hot as brands pressed to flesh.

Taehyung released my hair, letting me drop, knees hitting cold stone, the dress blooming red as blood dripped into ancient lace.

He rose, facing his Pack.

“Look!” he commanded. “She wears my claim. Not as Luna—but as the symbol of her crime. Mine to break, mine to own, mine to punish. Weak, pathetic—but mine.”

The Pack howled, but it wasn’t celebration. It was fury. Judgment. Vindication.

Taehyung smiled—a cruel, hollow thing—fingers slick with my blood.

“You belong to me,” he whispered, only for me. “And you’ll wish you didn’t.”

The world spun as I was dragged away, the mark on my neck throbbing, the taste of blood lingering on my tongue. Each step away from the altar echoed with pain, humiliation, and the certainty that the worst had only just begun.

I was Luna in name only. I was Alpha’s prisoner—for all to see.

I was marked.

And now, every beat of my heart belonged to him.