The Cursed King's Salvation: The Omega's Hidden Power

Dallas POV:

I didn't sleep. I spent the night scrubbing my skin until it was raw, trying to wash away the phantom sensation of Antone's hands.

By morning, I had made a decision. I gathered every photo I had of the Morgan family—the ones where I stood awkwardly in the background—and threw them into the fireplace in the servant's lounge. I watched the edges curl and blacken. The smoke smelled like freedom.

"Dallas Cole. The Alpha requires your presence."

The pack Gamma stood at the door, his face impassive.

I followed him to the main office. The house felt like a tomb. Desmond sat behind the massive mahogany desk, his father, Alpha Marcus Morgan, standing by the window. Antone was there too, nursing a bruised jaw, refusing to meet my eyes.

"Sit," Alpha Marcus commanded.

The Alpha Command slammed into my shoulders, forcing my knees to bend. I collapsed into the chair, my muscles locking up against my will. This was the power of an Alpha—absolute control over the body of a lower-ranking wolf.

"We have a situation," Marcus began, turning to face me. "The Simmons Pack in Seattle has agreed to a trade deal. They control the shipping ports we need for our expansion."

He paused, his eyes cold and calculating. "Kennedy Simmons, their Alpha, requires a bride."

My blood ran cold.

Kennedy Simmons. The name was a ghost story in the werewolf world. They called him the Cursed King. Five years ago, he was the most powerful Alpha on the West Coast. Then came the ambush. Silver poisoning. It didn't kill him, but rumor said it rotted him from the inside out. He was paralyzed, unable to shift, a broken monster locked in his high-tech fortress.

"You want me to marry the Crippled Alpha?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"It is a generous offer," Desmond said, speaking for the first time. He looked at the paperwork on his desk, avoiding my gaze. "He needs a caretaker. Someone docile. An Omega is perfect for him."

"I am not a piece of furniture you can ship across the state!" I shouted, fighting the pressure of the Command.

"You are whatever I say you are!" Marcus roared. The room shook. "You should be grateful we kept you, Dallas. After your parents destroyed our lab."

I froze. "What?"

"Your parents didn't die in an accident," Marcus sneered. "They were incompetent. They caused the explosion that set our research back ten years. We took you in out of pity to cover up their mess. You owe this pack your life."

It was a lie. I could smell the sulfur of deceit rolling off him. My parents were top-tier warriors. They wouldn't make a mistake like that. They were murdered. I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper. I wouldn't scream. I wouldn't fight them—not here, not when I was powerless. I would verify the truth later, when I had claws of my own.

I looked at Antone. He stepped forward, putting on a mask of concern. "Father, surely there's another way. Dallas is... fragile."

"Silence," Marcus barked. "Sit down, Antone."

Antone sat instantly. He looked at me, and for a split second, I saw the panic. He wasn't worried about me. He was worried about losing his shield, his excuse, his punching bag.

I looked at Desmond. My mate. The man who was supposed to tear the world apart to keep me safe. He was signing a document.

The Transfer of Ownership.

He was selling me. Like cattle.

A strange calm settled over me. It was the calm of a prisoner who realizes the jail cell is actually unlocked, if only they are willing to walk through fire to get out.

"Fine," I said. The Alpha Command loosened as my resistance faded.

Desmond's pen stopped. He looked up, surprised by my surrender.

"I'll go," I said, standing up. I smoothed my skirt. "I'd rather live with a monster in Seattle than stay in a house full of cowards."

Antone flinched. Desmond's eyes narrowed, a flash of regret battling with his greed.

"Pack your things," Marcus said, dismissing me. "You leave after Desmond's wedding."

"No," I said softly. "I leave today. Or I don't go at all."