Chapter 3 : The Drakvolk’s Omega

Vincenzo

The private room upstairs smelled of leather, sweat, and submission—familiar, almost comforting in its predictability. Red lights pulsed low, casting long shadows over the padded bench where the omega girl knelt, wrists cuffed high to the cross, back arched, thighs spread by a spreader bar. She was pretty enough: dark hair spilling down her spine, skin flushed from the warm-up, a soft whine already leaking from her throat.

Lorenzo circled her like a wolf toying with prey, black shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, gold eyes gleaming. He trailed the flat leather flogger down her spine, teasing the curve of her ass before delivering a light snap—crack—against one cheek. She jolted, a sharp “Ah!” bursting out, then melted into a trembling moan.

“Again,” I said, voice low, velvet command from the center chair. My legs were spread, cock half-hard in my pants from the power play, nothing more. Routine. “Make her beg properly this time.”

Lorenzo grinned, feral and teasing. “You heard the king, little one. Beg for it.”

The girl whimpered, hips twitching. “Please… Sirs… harder…”

Valentino stood silent at her side, white hair catching crimson light like fresh snow in blood. His silver eyes were locked on her face—predatory, reverent—as he reached down, fingers precise, sliding a thick, ridged dildo along her slick folds. No rush. He pressed the tip in slow, inch by inch, watching her lips part on a choked gasp. “Nngh… oh gods…”

Lorenzo stepped behind her, gripping her hips. He lined up another toy—a smooth, curved plug—and pushed it into her ass with deliberate pressure. She cried out, body rocking forward onto the dildo Valentino held steady. “Fuck—yes—more—”

The room filled with wet sounds, her moans rising in pitch: “Ah! Ahh! Please—fuck me—”

Lorenzo thrust the plug deeper, twisting it. “Ride it, omega. Show us how desperate you are.”

She obeyed, hips rolling, grinding back onto both toys in frantic rhythm. Her cries turned desperate, broken: “I’m—I’m gonna—nngh—coming—!”

Valentino’s free hand clamped her throat lightly—not choking, just holding—silver eyes never leaving hers as he worked the dildo faster. She shattered with a wail: “Yes—yes—fuck—!”

I watched it all with cool detachment, amber eyes half-lidded. Another night. Another toy. Another release that meant nothing beyond the moment.

Then the air shifted.

A faint thread of scent slipped through the vents—rain-soaked skin, heartbreak, omega distress… and something sweeter, deeper, perfect. It hit my lungs like a blade.

My cock surged to full, painful hardness in an instant, knot throbbing at the base like it had been waiting centuries. A growl tore from my throat—low, involuntary, feral.

Lorenzo froze mid-thrust, plug still buried. His gold eyes snapped wide, nostrils flaring. “What the—”

Valentino’s hand stilled on the dildo. His silver gaze lifted, pupils blown, white hair shifting as he inhaled sharply. A rare sound escaped him—a deep, reverent rumble.

The omega on the bench whimpered in confusion, still trembling through aftershocks, but we were already gone.

“Mate,” I snarled, voice rougher than I’d ever heard it.

“Mate,” Lorenzo echoed, yanking the toys free without care, leaving her gasping and empty.

“Mate,” Valentino growled, the word vibrating like thunder.

We moved as one—door slamming open, boots pounding down the stairs, following that intoxicating trail through the pulsing crowd. Nothing else mattered. Not the club. Not the omega we’d just abandoned. Only her.

Downstairs, the scent sharpened—sharp, needy, calling us like a siren’s song.

There she was.

Slumped at the bar, soaked, broken, beautiful.

Ours.

She hadn’t seen us yet. Her forehead rested on folded arms, wet hair curtaining her face, shoulders rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. The thin dress stuck to her like wet silk—every tremble outlining small, perfect breasts, narrow waist, the soft flare of hips that made my hands itch to grip. Rainwater dripped from the ends of her hair onto the bar top. Tears had left dark tracks down her cheeks. She looked like she’d been carved open and left bleeding.

And still her scent wrapped around my throat like a fist—distressed omega, salt, heartbreak, and underneath it all that sweet, untouched core of fertile heat that belonged to us alone. My knot pulsed thick and heavy, already swollen halfway, pressing painfully against the zipper. I’d never felt anything like this—not in centuries of rut, not with any toy or plaything upstairs. This was different. This was truth.

Her head lifted slowly. Eyes—storm-grey edged with green—blinked open, glassy from whiskey and pain. They found us.

Recognition hit her like a slap.

Not understanding, not acceptance—just raw, animal instinct clashing with whatever human walls she still had left. Her pupils blew wide. Nipples peaked hard against the soaked fabric. Thighs clenched together so tight I could see the muscles jump. Fresh slick bloomed in the air between us, sweet enough to make my mouth water and my growl catch in my chest.

But her face crumpled in terror.

She shoved off the bar so fast the stool toppled. Bare feet slapped tile. She spun and bolted—small, frantic, weaving through bodies like she could outrun fate itself.

My lips curved despite the fire in my blood.

Adorable.

She thought she could run from us.

From the pull already sinking claws into her core.

Lorenzo laughed low beside me—dark, delighted. “Look at her go. Little rabbit doesn’t even know she’s already caught.”

Valentino said nothing. He simply tilted his head, silver eyes narrowing with that quiet, reverent hunger, white hair shifting as he tracked her every desperate step. His fingers flexed once, like he could already feel her throat under his palm.

We didn’t chase. We didn’t need to.

We moved—fluid, coordinated, predators closing a net she couldn’t see.

She darted left toward the side exit. Lorenzo was there before she reached the edge of the dance floor, gold eyes flashing, body a casual wall of muscle and heat. She skidded, spun right—straight into Valentino’s path. He stood motionless, towering, silver gaze locked on hers. She froze for half a heartbeat, chest heaving, then tried to duck under his arm.

My hand caught her wrist first—gentle, unbreakable. She yanked hard, breath coming in sharp, panicked pants.

I pulled her back just enough to press her against my chest. Not trapping. Guiding. Letting her feel the steady thunder of my heartbeat, the heat rolling off me in waves.

She twisted in my grip, eyes wild. “You’ve got the wrong person,” she gasped, voice cracking on every word. “I’m not—I’m not whoever you think I am. Please. Just let me go.”

Her free hand pushed at my chest—weak, trembling. But her fingers curled into my shirt instead of shoving away. Holding on even as she fought.

Lorenzo stepped in behind her, hands settling lightly on her hips. Thumbs stroked slow, soothing arcs over wet silk. “Nonsense, little mate,” he murmured against her ear, voice thick with amusement and hunger. “It’s you. Your scent doesn’t lie. Your body doesn’t lie. Feel how you’re trembling for us already.”

Valentino closed the last gap, cupping her cheek with one massive hand. Thumb brushed away a tear. His silver eyes softened—just a fraction—as he tilted her face up so she had to meet all three of us at once.

“Ours,” he said. Low. Final. Reverent.

She shuddered violently—full-body, helpless. A small, broken sound escaped her throat. Not quite a sob. Not quite a moan. Somewhere in between. Her thighs pressed together harder, slick scent spiking so sharp it made my knot throb painfully.

She tried one last twist—weak, instinctive, like a bird beating against a cage she couldn’t see.

I lifted her then. One arm under her knees, the other cradling her back. Bridal carry. Protective. Possessive. She gasped, hands clutching my shoulders, nails digging in.

“I can’t—” she whispered, fresh tears spilling. “I’m broken. You don’t want me. Nobody wants me.”

I leaned down, lips brushing her temple, inhaling deep. Rain. Salt. Mate. “You think we’re mistaken?” My voice was dark velvet. “Your omega is screaming for us. Your slick is coating your thighs. Your pulse is racing under my thumb. You want this. You just haven’t let yourself believe it yet.”

Her breath hitched. She hadn’t told us her name. She didn’t need to. But I wanted it on my tongue. Wanted to taste it while we worshiped her.

We didn’t go back to the playroom. That space was tainted now—leather, toys, the faint ghost of another omega’s release. She deserved purity. Worship. A place that smelled only of us and her.

We took the private corridor instead—straight to the inner sanctum. The elevator ride was silent except for her ragged breathing and the soft, involuntary whimpers she couldn’t hold back every time one of us shifted closer.

Doors opened.

Black marble floors. Deep leather sectional. Massive bed draped in dark silk. Dim amber lighting that turned everything warm and shadowed. Private bar. Soundproof walls. Fresh linens. No trace of anyone else.

I carried her straight to the bed and lowered her onto the edge—gentle, but my hand stayed splayed on her thigh, thumb stroking higher, brushing the hem of her dress.

She stared up at us—three shadows, eyes glowing, cocks straining hard and obvious.

Lorenzo knelt between her knees, hands sliding up her calves. “Tell us your name, little mate,” he rasped, voice rough with need. “So we know what to moan when we’re buried inside you, worshiping every inch.”

Valentino settled behind her, pulling her back against his chest. White hair brushed her shoulder as he nuzzled her neck—slow inhales, tongue flicking out to taste her pulse. A deep, satisfied rumble vibrated through him into her.

I leaned over her, bracing hands on either side of her hips, caging without touching. My amber eyes locked on hers.

“Give us your name,” I murmured, lips inches from her ear. “So we can growl it while we fill you. Stretch you. Knot you. Make you forget anyone ever hurt you.”

Her lips trembled. Fresh tears welled. But her body arched—just a fraction—toward my voice, toward Lorenzo’s hands, toward Valentino’s heat.

She swallowed hard, voice barely a whisper.

“Vel… Veleria.”

Lorenzo’s gold eyes flashed with dark delight. “Veleria,” he repeated, tasting it like wine. His fingers hooked under her dress hem, pushing it up inch by slow inch. “Beautiful name for our beautiful mate.”

Valentino’s fingers tightened gently on her throat—not choking, just holding—tilting her head back so her pulse was exposed to all three of us. He pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss there. Claiming. Worshiping.

I leaned closer, lips brushing hers. “Veleria,” I growled softly. “We’re going to spend the rest of forever moaning it while we prove how wrong he was. You’re wanted. You’re ours.”

Her breath hitched. Hands clutching at us—my shirt, Lorenzo’s arm, Valentino’s hair—desperate, instinctive.

“Please…” she breathed, so soft it was almost lost.

Lorenzo’s thumb traced the slick trail on her inner thigh. “Please what, Veleria?”

She closed her eyes, tears slipping free.

“Please… don’t let me run anymore.”

We smiled—dark, victorious, starving.

Ours.