Whispers of a Useless Omega

Elara woke to the smell of unfamiliar linen and the steady thud of her own heartbeat. For a moment she did not move. Her body felt heavy, limbs slow and sore, as if she had been dragged through water and left there too long. The ceiling above her was smooth stone, pale and clean, nothing like the cracked boards of the servant quarters. Sunlight spilled through tall windows she had only ever seen from the outside.

The Alpha house.

The realization landed with a jolt that made her stomach twist. She pushed herself upright too quickly and paid for it when dizziness rushed in. Her head swam. She grabbed the edge of the bed and waited until the room steadied. The sheets slid against her skin, soft and warm, wrong in a way that made her chest tighten. She should not be here. The door opened without warning.

Elara’s breath caught. Her shoulders went rigid as Rowen stepped inside. He had changed out of his traveling clothes. He wore a simple dark shirt, sleeves rolled back, his hair loose around his shoulders. He looked like he belonged here in a way she never would. “You are awake,” he said.

She did not answer. Her gaze flicked past him to the open doorway, measuring distance, escape, anything. Her body tensed, ready to bolt even though she knew it was useless. “You crossed the border,” Rowen continued. “You collapsed, you would have died if I had not brought you back.”

“I did not ask you to,” she said. Her voice came out hoarse, scraped raw by fear and exhaustion. He stepped farther into the room and closed the door behind him. The sound echoed too loudly. “You cannot leave the pack,” he said. She laughed, a short, broken sound. “I already did.”

“You crossed it,” he corrected. “You did not escape it.” Elara swung her legs off the bed and stood, ignoring the way her knees shook. She was suddenly aware of how small she was in this room, wrapped in borrowed clothes that smelled faintly of soap and pine. “You rejected me,” she said. “You do not get to decide where I belong anymore.” Rowen’s jaw tightened. “I am still your Alpha.” She flinched at the word.

Silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable. He looked like he wanted to say more. He did not. “I will have a guard posted outside,” he said finally. “You will rest. You will eat.”

“I am not your prisoner.”

“You ran,” he replied. “This is the consequence.” He left without waiting for her response. The door shut softly behind him, the sound final. Elara stood there long after he was gone, chest tight, fists clenched at her sides. Her wolf stirred uneasily beneath her skin, pacing, unsettled. It did not understand walls. It did not understand rejection and authority and pride neither did she. By midday, the whispers began. They always did.

Elara heard them through the open windows as she sat rigidly at the small table near the bed, untouched food growing cold in front of her. “She is in the Alpha house.”

“Did you see her come back?”

“I heard he carried her himself.”

“That useless omega?”

“She must have tricked him.”

“She crossed the border, bold for someone so weak.”

“She should be grateful he did not kill her for it.” Each word slipped under her skin, sharp and deliberate. She pressed her hands flat against the table, nails biting into the wood. Useless. The word echoed loudest.

It followed her when a servant entered quietly to change the linens, eyes averted but mouth tight with judgment. It followed her when a guard took position outside her door, gaze cool and impersonal. It followed her when she finally forced herself to eat, swallowing tasteless food because her body demanded it. She did not leave the room.

By late afternoon, exhaustion weighed her down again. She curled on the bed, staring at the wall, thoughts looping in restless circles. The bond hummed faintly, an irritating presence she could not escape. Every so often, a flicker of something passed through it. Watchfulness, awareness. Him. Rowen stood on the training grounds, pretending to oversee drills while his attention remained fixed on the upper windows of the Alpha house. Eamon noticed.

“You brought her back,” Eamon said quietly, stepping up beside him. “Yes.”

“You rejected her.”

“Yes.”

“And yet she is here.” Rowen’s gaze stayed forward. “She is safer here.” Eamon studied him for a moment. “The pack does not see it that way.”

“I do not care what the pack sees.”

“That is not like you.” Rowen finally looked at him. “Then perhaps the pack is about to learn something new.” Eamon said nothing, but concern creased his brow. The next day, Rowen ordered Elara to be escorted to the pack square. She refused to walk at first. “I will not stand there again,” she said, voice trembling despite her effort to steady it. “You will,” Rowen replied. “Not for judgment, for visibility.”

Visibility…. the word tasted bitter. Guards flanked her as she crossed the grounds, heads turned, conversations stalled. The square filled with that familiar charged silence, eyes crawling over her like insects. Elara kept her gaze forward. She felt the whispers more than she heard them. “That is her.”

“The rejected one.”

“She looks the same.”

“I expected more.” Rowen stood beside her, close enough that she could feel the heat of him, the steady presence of his body. It only made the weight heavier. “She remains under my protection,” he said to the gathered pack. “Any mistreatment will be answered directly by me.” Murmurs rippled outward, surprise, disbelief and anger. Elara stared at the stone beneath her feet. Protection, the word felt hollow.

Afterward, as they turned to leave, someone shoved her shoulder. Not hard enough to draw blood. Just enough to remind her where she stood. Rowen’s head snapped up. “Enough,” he said, voice low and dangerous. The pack stilled. The whispers did not stop. They simply learned to hide. That night, Elara sat alone in her room, knees drawn to her chest, staring at her hands. They shook faintly. She pressed them together until the tremor eased.

She felt it then, a shift. Not physical. Something deeper. Her chest tightened. Heat bloomed beneath her skin, slow and unfamiliar. Her heartbeat quickened. Her wolf stirred again, restless and demanding. Elara gasped and doubled over as pain lanced through her ribs, sharp and sudden. She clutched her side, breath coming in short, panicked bursts. “What is happening,” she whispered. The bond flared, brighter than before. Rowen felt it instantly.

He was halfway through a council meeting when the surge hit him, powerful enough to make his vision blur. He shot to his feet, chair scraping loudly behind him.

“Alpha?” someone called. He was already moving. By the time he reached her door, the guards were exchanging uneasy glances. He did not knock. Elara was on the floor when he entered, arms wrapped around herself, body trembling violently. Sweat slicked her skin. Her breathing was ragged, desperate. “Elara,” he said, dropping to one knee beside her. She recoiled, eyes wild. “Do not touch me.”

“I need to know what you are feeling.”

“I do not know,” she cried. “It hurts, everything hurts.” His wolf surged, alarmed. Rowen reached out slowly, stopping when she flinched again. “Let me help.” She hesitated, then sagged back against the floor, strength failing her. The moment his hand brushed her arm, the pain eased slightly. Both of them froze. The bond pulsed warmly, undeniable. Rowen swallowed hard. “You are not useless,” he said quietly.

She let out a shaky, disbelieving laugh. “Do not lie to me now.”

“I am not.” Her eyes searched his face, raw and exhausted. For the first time since the rejection, the whispers outside the door faded beneath something stronger. The truth neither of them was ready to face. Whatever Elara was becoming, the pack would not be able to ignore her much longer.