Mated to four

Lira pov

I don't remember the first time they drugged me.

Just waking up cold. On stone. Skin burning, throat dry, head pounding like I'd been screaming. Maybe I had. I remember the way it smelled—cheap alpha cologne and something sour underneath. Like fear and piss and blood. Like lies.

They called me "asset." Like I was inventory. A thing.

The Trinity Pack smiled for the outside world, pretended they honored the old laws. But behind closed doors, omegas like me were sold. Quietly. Cleanly. Muzzled.

Some of us didn't even get names. Just numbers burned into collars.

Mine was Three-Seven.

Not Lira.

Lira didn't exist anymore. She was too soft, too scared. I had to kill her off to survive. I stayed quiet. Did what I was told. Let them think I was broken.

Until I wasn't.

Last month, one of the handlers skipped my suppressant shot. Probably drunk. My heat hit me like a freight train—real and messy and loud. Every alpha down there smelled it.

They all wanted a piece of me.

That was the moment. The switch. I knew if I didn't leave, I wouldn't make it out alive. Not in one piece, anyway.

So I started watching. Listening. Waiting.

I figured out which guards got lazy. Which ones liked to sneak drinks. I counted steps. Doors. Locks. Waited for the right moment.

And tonight, it came.

Storm rolled in. Power flickered. And I moved.

Bare feet. Cold floor. Blade tucked under my cloak—stolen, like everything else.

I slit my handler's throat before he could shift.

Didn't hesitate. Didn't think.

I wasn't brave. I was done.

Done being a thing. Done being quiet. Done fading away piece by piece.

I ran.

Through the breach in the east wall—the one they never bothered to fix. "No omega would ever dare," they used to say.

I did.

Blood on my hands. Fire behind me. Forest ahead. Nothing but dark and cold and the sound of my own breathing.

I didn't stop.

Because even if I died out here, it'd be my death. Not theirs.

And then—I heard it.

A howl.

Low. Long. Too close.

Another answered.

They were tracking me.

And by the sound of it I didn't have much time

I didn't look back as I moved even faster.

If I looked back, I'd slow down. If I slowed down, they'd catch me.

So I ran even faster.

Branches tore at my arms. Mud sucked at my feet. My lungs burned. My throat was raw from breathing too hard for too long.

Another howl. Even Closer.

They were tracking me. Fast. Smart. Focused.

I pushed harder. Didn't matter how much it hurt—I wasn't going back.

Then I saw it. A stream, wide and fast.

I jumped in without thinking.

The water was like ice. It hit my skin and stole my breath. I almost went under, but I kept moving. One step. Then another. I slipped, hit a rock, bit my tongue.

Didn't stop.

I dragged myself out the other side, soaking wet and shaking. Clothes heavy. Hair plastered to my face. Everything hurt.

But I didn't hear them anymore.

No howls. No footsteps.

Did I lose them?

I didn't wait to find out.

I ran.