The Sins of an Omega who has no Mate

Zaria.

They called me cursed before I even had teeth.

Before blood stained my thighs, before fur ever broke my skin, whispers painted my name in ash and venom. I didn’t cry when I was born. I opened my eyes. Silent. Watching. Breathing in the world like a predator, not prey. Even then, the elders said my scent was wrong. Too rich. Too sharp. Too tempting. My mother wept the day the midwife recoiled from me. She knew.

Omegas are supposed to be soft.

Docile. Fragile. Anchored by a mate’s knot, ruled by a pack’s leash.

But I have no mate. No Alpha. No leash.

I was born an Omega, but the moment the world turned its back on me, I became something else entirely.

And I never turned back.

The moon was a silver whore bleeding light over the forest.

Every shadow pulsed with sound: the crack of twigs under paws, the hiss of cold wind through pine, the quick heartbeat of prey and predator alike. Barefoot, skirts shredded, I slipped through the undergrowth like a ghost. Blood streaked my thighs— not mine. A warning.

Behind me, they hunted.

Five Alphas. Big. Ruthless. Feral. Arrogant enough to think I’d kneel because their cocks got hard at my scent. The cursed one, they whispered. The heatless one. The mate-less one.

“Zaria…” one of them crooned, low and sing-song, fake sugar before the fangs. “Little Omega. Come out and play…”

I didn’t answer.

I didn’t run.

I crouched behind a tree, breath slow, pulse steady, the forest drinking in my scent— molten sugar and violence. That was the thing about me: my scent didn’t just lure; it ruined. It made them lose control. That’s why they wanted to own me. Trap me. Breed me.

But I wasn’t made to be bred.

I was made to burn.

A twig cracked to my left. A Beta scout. They always sent the Beta first— easy to lose, easier to replace. He stepped into view, steel glinting in his hand, a smug grin cutting his face.

He never saw my blade coming.

A whisper through the ribs. A flick under the chin. Hot blood sprayed the night like perfume. He dropped without a sound. I crouched over him, fingers slick, eyes locked on the trees beyond.

They’d smell his death.

They’d come harder now.

Good.

I wanted them to.

They found me at the river, of course.

I stood waist-deep in the black current, moonlight painting my skin silver, hair slick against my back. My scent—warped by blood, wet skin, defiance—curled like smoke over the water.

Darius stepped out first. Broad. Brutal. Smirking like a man who thinks he’s already won.

“You killed my Beta,” he said lazily, like we were discussing tea blends.

“I gave him mercy,” I murmured. “More than he deserved.”

The others fanned out behind him, eyes glowing, teeth bared. They wanted to drag me down, knot me, mark me, break me until I whimpered for relief.

I let them come