Omega Slave to Hybrid Queen

The shout tore through the dining hall like a blade drawn too fast from its sheath.

 “Hey—you. Omega. Get over here and clean up this mess! How dare you cause the Luna to spill her drink!”

 Alpha Alex’s voice thundered off the stone walls, rattling plates and goblets, sinking into bone and marrow. It didn’t just echo—it struck, vibrating through Rebel as if her body were nothing more than an instrument built to receive his rage.

 For a single, fragile heartbeat, she could not move.

 She knelt on the cold stone floor, hands submerged in soapy water, scrubbing where someone else had spilled earlier. The stones were rough, unforgiving, gnawing at her skin until her fingers were raw and burning. When she lifted her head, she did so only a fraction—just enough to see the Alpha’s boots advancing toward her.

 Heavy. Polished. Immaculate.

 Each step closed the distance and reinforced the truth she lived with every day.

 She was nothing here.

 An Omega. Property. A reminder of what happened when someone was born wrong.

 Rebel’s throat tightened, scorching with the words she would never be allowed to speak. It wasn’t my fault. She bumped into me. You saw it. The protest clawed its way up, desperate and trembling, but she forced it back down. She knew better. In this pack, truth was meaningless. Fairness was a myth whispered to pups before it was beaten out of them.

 Her voice had no weight. Her pain had no value.

 If she spoke—if she even breathed in a way Alex didn’t like—she would end the day bruised, bleeding, or locked in that freezing storage room again, where time stretched into madness and silence gnawed at her sanity.

 And today, of all days, the Alpha King was coming.

 The ruler of every pack on the continent. The male whose shadow swallowed entire bloodlines.

 Anything that made Alex appear imperfect would be punished.

 And punishment always landed on Rebel.

 She pushed herself upright, knees screaming after hours pressed to stone. Pain flared sharply through her joints, but she didn’t dare react. Her fingers shook as she reached for the fallen goblet, the golden liquid spreading like a stain across the floor—sticky, sweet, and expensive. She gathered it up with a rag already soaked through with grime.

 When she spoke, her voice was small. Controlled. Trained into obedience.

 “Yes, Alpha.”

 Inside her, something whispered—a low, dangerous murmur that did not belong to fear.

 One day.

 One day he would not be able to do this. One day she would find her mate, her freedom. One day every bruise, every command, every moment he pretended she was less than human would come back to haunt him.

 That promise was a thin thread, but it was the only thing keeping her from unraveling completely.

 Across the hall, Luna Ashley pressed a manicured hand to her chest and released a delicate, theatrical gasp.

 “Oh, darling,” she cooed, voice dripping with syrupy concern. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to cause Rebel more trouble.”

 Trouble.

 The word landed like an insult carved into bone.

 Rebel’s jaw clenched until it ached. Ashley had tripped herself—she always did. A stumble timed just right, a flutter of lashes, a breathy gasp. Suddenly Rebel was the monster who had “loomed” too close, whose Omega presence had “frightened” the Luna.

 Rebel wanted to scream. Wanted to laugh—wild and unhinged. Wanted to tear the mask off Ashley’s face and expose the cruelty beneath the perfume and silk.

 She did none of those things.

 Instead, she bowed her head lower, letting her dark hair fall forward like a curtain, hiding the fury burning behind her eyes.

 Inside, she was on fire.

 She was so tired.

 Tired of being the pack’s joke. Their scapegoat. Their convenient target for every frustration and flaw. Exhaustion pressed down on her chest until breathing felt like work. Why had she been born into this pack? What twisted joke of fate had made her an Omega here, where mercy did not exist?

 If her wolf were awake—if it hadn’t been silent since birth—Rebel knew she wouldn’t be kneeling. Wouldn’t be bowing. Wouldn’t be breaking herself smaller and smaller just to survive.

 Her lips twitched, the faintest spark of rebellion flickering in the ashes of her fatigue.

 Imagine it, she thought bitterly. Imagine being so powerful the Luna trembles at your presence.

 The image was absurd. Laughable. Rebel—an Omega slave—frightening Luna Ashley.

 A sharp, hysterical laugh nearly escaped her. She crushed it down, but it echoed in her mind anyway, fractured and bitter.

 Ashley stood there in all her artificial perfection, and Rebel couldn’t help noticing the details—perhaps because noticing was safer than feeling. The bleached hair cascading down her back, so pale it looked unnatural beneath the lights. The orange tint of her skin from relentless fake tanning. The eyelashes—thick, dramatic, absurdly long.

 Rebel imagined them sliding off in clumps if Ashley ever jumped into water, imagined streaks of tan washing down her legs, revealing patchy, ordinary skin beneath.

 The thought almost made Rebel smile.

 Almost.

 Before she could fully bury the dangerous humor, the dining hall doors slammed open with a deafening crash.

 The sound exploded through the room.

 Beta Jacobs rushed in, breathless, sweat beading on his brow.

 “Alpha,” he panted, “the King is here!”

 Everything froze.

 The hall fell into a suffocating silence. Alex straightened instantly. Ashley’s lips parted in a practiced gasp of awe. Servants scattered, heads bowed, bodies shrinking. Even the air seemed to draw tight, heavy with anticipation and fear.

 Then Alex’s gaze snapped back to Rebel.

 Cold. Calculating. Merciless.

 “Omega,” he said quietly, dangerously, “you know the rules. Out of sight while the King is here. Otherwise… you’ll need to be taught a lesson.”

 Rebel barely had time to react.

 His hand struck her face with brutal force.

 CRACK.

 Pain exploded across her cheek, white-hot and blinding. Her head snapped to the side, vision bursting into sparks. The taste of blood flooded her mouth—metallic, choking, immediate. The world tilted as she staggered, a sharp gasp tearing from her throat.

 Her hand flew up instinctively, cupping her face as agony radiated outward in vicious waves.

 Ashley made a soft sound of mock concern, fingers fluttering to her chest. Her eyes gleamed—not with pity, but with satisfaction. This was entertainment. This was power.

 “That,” Alex growled, “is for making a fool of your Luna. Get. Out. Of. My. Face.”

 Rebel swayed, fighting to stay upright. Her cheek throbbed violently. Something warm slid over her lip—blood dripping onto the stone below.

 She bowed her head, every movement deliberate, every breath a battle.

 “Yes, Alpha,” she whispered, her voice ragged and raw.

 She turned away, the room spinning as she staggered toward the hallway leading to the servants’ quarters. Each step sent pain lancing through her body. Her hand remained pressed to her face, feeling the swelling, the heat, the sharp reminder of her place.

 Behind her, she could feel Ashley’s smug smile burning into her back.

 Inside Rebel’s chest, something shifted.

 Not fear.

 Not weakness.

 Something old. Something dark. Something that had been waiting patiently beneath the scars and silence.

 One day, she promised again, the vow carving itself deeper into her soul.

 One day they would pay.

 Not with blind violence—but with truth. With strength. With power they were certain she would never possess.

 One day she would find her mate. One day her wolf would awaken. One day the Goddess would reveal exactly who Rebel was meant to be.

And when that day came, she hoped they remembered moments like this.

 The slap. The humiliation. The laughter they thought she didn’t hear.

 Because when that day arrived, Rebel would no longer be the Omega trembling in a dining hall.

 She would be the storm they never saw coming.

 And she would make sure they drowned in it.