Rejected Omega: The Lycan King's Obsession

Alaric Thorne POV:

The storm broke just after the council meeting, a torrential downpour that mirrored the tempest in my soul. Thunder cracked, rattling the thick panes of my study window. I shoved a stack of treaties aside, the parchment scratching against the polished mahogany of my desk. The words were meaningless, the ink a black smudge against my frustration.

I rose and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the main courtyard. Rain hammered the cobblestones, turning the empty space into a churning, gray expanse.

He is mated. An Omega. It's an insult, my wolf grumbled, his anger a hot, coiling thing in my chest. He felt the Goddess's choice as a personal slight, a cruel joke.

I tried to reason with him, with myself. Perhaps it was a fluke. A trick of the senses. Maybe the scent wasn't what I thought it was.

Just then, a figure appeared at the edge of the courtyard, a small, solitary shape battling the wind and rain. It was a she-wolf, her thin dress plastered to her slender frame, making her look impossibly fragile against the storm's fury.

My vision, a gift of my Lycan blood, was unnaturally sharp. I could see her face, pale and strained, her lips pressed into a thin line of determination as she trudged toward the main entrance of the Packhouse.

She reached the massive doors and was stopped by the guard on duty. I couldn't make out all their words, but I saw her speak, her voice likely lost in the roar of the downpour. "I... I'm looking for Gamma Blackwood."

Gamma Blackwood's... mate? The thought was a splinter of ice in my mind.

On instinct, I cracked open the window. A blast of cold, wet air rushed in, carrying the scent of rain-soaked earth and ozone. And with it, something else.

Chamomile.

This time, it was a thousand times more potent, more pure than it had been in the hall. It wasn't a lingering fragrance on a warrior's tunic; it was the source, the very heart of the scent, and it was coming from directly below my window.

My heart slammed against my ribs. My gaze snapped back to the shivering she-wolf.

My wolf gave a confused grunt. The Omega? She smells of him.

The pieces clicked into place, forming a picture I didn't want to see. A new, "logical" explanation took root in my mind, a lie wrapped in the truth of pack lore. Mates shared scents. Their auras intertwined until it was difficult to tell one from the other. Of course. This Omega, so thoroughly bonded to her Alpha, reeked of him. The intensity of the scent on her was merely a testament to the strength of their connection. It was a bitter, painful kind of sense.

Down below, the guard must have mind-linked Ryker. A few moments later, the Gamma appeared in the doorway. His face was a mask of irritation. He didn't offer her a cloak, didn't move to shield her from the rain.

My Lycan hearing sharpened, sifting through the hiss of rain. Ryker's voice cut through the storm with the clarity of a blade. "What are you doing here?" His voice was sharp enough to carry, even over the storm. "I told you to wait for my call."

The she-wolf-Elara, I supposed her name was-flashed a look of hurt across her face. "The rain was so heavy, I..."

"Enough. Get inside," Ryker cut her off, turning his back on her and striding into the Packhouse without a second glance to see if she was following.

She trailed after him, her head bowed, looking like a chastised child.

I watched from my window, a cold fury building inside me. The admiration I'd felt for Ryker that morning began to curdle. That was his mate. A she-wolf bound to him by the Goddess herself, an Omega under his protection. And he treated her with less care than he would his own boots.

My wolf growled, his displeasure a low, dangerous vibration. He does not treasure what is his.

They disappeared from view, and the intoxicating scent vanished with them. I shut the window, the silence of the study pressing in on me. My mind was no longer calm. It was a raging sea of confusion and a new, unfamiliar emotion: disgust.

One question burned brighter than all the others. Why would an Alpha who carried the scent of destiny treat his own mate like she was nothing?

A warrior who cannot cherish his own mate... what kind of warrior is he?