Arriving

 Veyra POV

I can't believe this is happening. Their hands are gripping me, rough and unrelenting. My body is dragged across the floor like I'm nothing. I can't move, and I can't fight. Not with whatever they had shot me with still flooding my system. My vision blurs, and I catch a glimpse of familiar faces. Some look away, too ashamed to watch. Others watch with silent satisfaction, but no one steps forward, and no one helps me. 

"Opening my mouth, I try to speak, to scream to fight against this, but my voice is still gone. The cuffs are burning around my skin, dampening any trace of power that I might have had left. They are silver-lined, made to ensure my wolf is shielded. Of course, because if they didn't use these, I could shift and run. 

Lyra strolls ahead of me like she's already won everything. She has, for now, but there's no way I'm not fighting to get back my pack. Her steps are slow and almost deliberate, and I know it's for show. She turns back once, just once, like that is all that's needed and smirks. "Smile, Veyra. The crowd loves a good fall from grace."

They drag me through the pack grounds and towards the gate. There, I see the car and people recording. This was planned. I feel like Kieran and my father discussed it and decided what would happen if I refused to do it.  

"The final participant of the Omega Trials," a woman says as she pushes the camera into my face, as I'm pulled into the car. 

I can't escape this, not yet, not while I'm in the car. As the time passes, it jerks violently, the wheels grinding over uneven earth as I’m driven away from my home. The journey is long and I don't know exactly how much time has passed, only that darkness begins to stretch across the sky. The moon is sinking now as well. 

I'm still shackled, the silver-lined cuffs burn against my wrists, keeping my wolf hidden; my feet are chained to the bottom of the car, almost as if they expect me to fight. If I could, I would.  Two guards sit opposite me, and they don't even acknowledge me. They are from my pack; I know them, but they are pretending like I'm no one. 

They act as if just hours ago, they weren't addressing me as their alpha. They don't acknowledge that I was the one who trained with them and ate meals with them. Now, I'm nothing, just an Omega who has been sent to her death, essentially. 

We cross into foreign land after foreign land, and I feel like the moment we left Dravenwood behind, something inside of my shatters all over again when I realise getting back won't be easy. Eventually, the car slows, and I hear footsteps come closer.

The guards move, one gets out and the other unlocks me from the floor. "Out," he grunts.

I hesitate, only because my legs are stiff and my body is still sore and half-numb. When I don't move quick enough, he grabs my arm and yanks me. I stumble, catching myself before I fall. I step out and look into what looks like an abandoned training compound turned prison. 

The gates are high, surrounded by stone walls with armed guards patrolling. Behind the gates though, it's chaos. 

I can already see the other omegas, loads of them huddled in corners, some pacing like caged animals. Others are already injured, and I know there are over fifty. These trails are never small. Only four survive, sometimes not even four. We're basically dumped here like offerings, for entertainment and shock factor.

I'm herded toward a checkpoint, my wrists still stay cuffed and a woman sits at a long table with parchment and ink. She's leaning back with a bored expression on her face. 

"Name?"

I don’t answer, they can get screwed if they expect me to bow down and follow their rules.

She looks up, raises a brow. “Fine. Pack?”

“Dravenwood,” one of the guards answers. Of course, they answer.

The name gets her attention instantly, she straightens, and her eyes narrow on me. "Oh. You're that one." The way she says it pisses me off and my jaw tightens instantly. 

"Put her in the west barracks," she instructs to the guards. "That's where we keep the ones who won't last."

Her words make me want to react, but I hold it in and stay quiet as I'm shoved forward. I move past the others who watch with their pity or amusement. I'm marked and labeled already. You can see which Omegas willingly came here. It's disgusting. 

The ones who willingly come are feeding into the notion that Omegas are weak, must work, and beg to be claimed.

From past stories, I know that the west barracks are a death sentence. They continue to guide me through the compound to a long, narrow building that reeks of sweat, blood and fear. They unlock my cuffs before shoving me inside and slamming the door shut behind me.

The room is silent for a moment, and then eyes stare at me, Omegas who were already dumped here.

"Oh, look, fresh meat." One scoffs. 

Another sneers. "Pretty little thing won't last a day." 

I don't bother responding. I move to the farthest wall and sit down slowly. I brace my back against the cold stone wall. My limbs still ache, and my throat is raw. The rejection is still burning under my skin, but I'm here and alive. How long for, though, is another question. 

The trials haven't started yet. Let the Omega's and guards mock and laugh at me. Let them out me and throw me to the Alpha's like I'm nothing more than a game.

The truth is, I will not be claimed, I won't beg, and I won't die for their sick entertainment. I remember when these trials began. When it wasn't about death, submissive and begging, it was simply a dating show, a way for Omega's to be seen and found. Somewhere along the lines, it turned into death.