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The Sins of an Omega who has no Mate Novel Cover

The Sins of an Omega who has no Mate

Within a rigid pack hierarchy, an unmated Omega carries the heavy weight of her ancestors' supposed crimes. Deprived of a partner's protection, she must navigate a perilous world of werewolf politics and ancestral feuds. As hidden truths emerge and tensions escalate, her survival transforms into a desperate quest for redemption. Amidst constant danger and rising passion, she fights to reclaim her honor and forge a destiny beyond her status.
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Chapter 3

~Zaria~

---------------------------------------------------------------

The forest always smelled different before a storm.

It wasn’t just the rain you could feel in your bones it was the stillness. The eerie hush, like every leaf and every creature had paused in worship of the chaos to come.

That was how it felt now.

Except I was the storm.

And I wasn’t done brewing.

I sat beneath a crooked willow tree, legs stretched out, arms behind my head, watching the moon crawl behind the clouds like a coward. My blade lay across my stomach, still crusted with blood. I hadn’t cleaned it yet. There was something sacred in leaving the stains, like wearing your kill proudly.

Every breath I took was laced with copper and pine.

The river roared not far behind me.

And Levi was gone.

He left with a bruise on his jaw, bite marks down his chest, and blood on his tongue. I didn’t need him to stay. That was the difference between me and every Omega they tried to mold me into.

I didn’t need anyone to stay.

But I remembered what he said.

“The Alpha King’s watching.”

Yeah. I felt it.

Like a thread of heat at the base of my spine. A prickle beneath my skin that didn’t belong to my body, but something older. Something tethered to me by history and blood and hate.

He hadn’t spoken to me in years.

Not since the exile. Not since he branded me a disgrace to his bloodline and spat on the bond that had once almost connected us.

Alpha Kings don’t kneel.

But back then… I was just a trembling little Omega, on the edge of my first shift, daring to challenge him.

Now?

Now I was everything he feared I’d become.

The campfire I built was weak.

I didn’t care.

I wasn’t trying to stay warm.

I was baiting wolves.

Sure enough, I heard them.

Not footsteps wolves don’t move like that. Not when they’re trained. What I heard was the shift of air. A rhythm in the leaves. A subtle disruption in the wrong direction of the wind.

Trained soldiers.

Royal guards.

I smiled.

Let them come.

They didn’t attack.

They didn’t charge.

They surrounded me.

Three of them Alphas, clearly. Clad in dark armor etched with the symbol of the royal crest: a crescent moon over a wolf’s skull. The Alpha King’s sigil.

One of them stepped forward. Scar down his cheek. Eyes like ice and judgment.

“Zaria of Black Hollow,” he said, stiff and formal. “The King requests your return.”

I yawned.

“Tell the King to shove his request up the nearest royal *ss.”

The soldier didn’t blink. “Refusal will be considered treason.”

“Oh no,” I mock gasped, pressing a hand to my heart. “Treason? What a terrifying word for someone who was already thrown out like rotten meat.”

The other two wolves bristled. The one who spoke narrowed his eyes.

“You are to return with us. Now.”

“And if I don’t?”

His lips curled. “Then we drag you.”

That made me laugh.

I rose slowly, blade in hand, firelight licking the side of my face.

“I’d love to see you try.”

The wolf lunged.

Too slow.

Too loud.

Too Alpha.

I ducked, spun, and carved a clean arc across his leg. He dropped with a grunt. Not dead just embarrassed.

The second came next. I slammed the hilt of my blade into his throat before he could draw his dagger. The third? He hesitated. Smart.

“Tell your King,” I said, standing over them, voice cold, “that if he wants me, he can come get me himself.”

They left.

Crawled, limped, stumbled away into the trees. Bleeding. Shamed.

And I stood there, chest rising and falling, my blade dripping at my side.

I didn’t smile this time.

Because now I knew.

He really was watching.

Not from the shadows.

Not through the guards.

But from the place only bonded wolves could feel through the tether.

Yes. That bond.

That almost bond.

He’d reached for it tonight.

A pulse.

A spark.

Not strong enough to control me.

Not yet.

But strong enough to know I was still his at least in blood. If not in body.

The King still thought he could summon me like some mutt.

He forgot who I was.

I turned my eyes to the distant hills.

Toward Red Hollow his territory. His throne. His seat of power.

Maybe it was time I started sending messages.

The kind that burned.

The next day, I found the village.

A border town, straddling no man’s land between rogue country and royal rule. Half of them followed the crown. Half followed coin. No loyalty. Just survival.

My kind of place.

I walked in with my hood up and my boots caked in dried blood. Nobody stopped me. Nobody dared.

They whispered.

"She’s back."

"That’s her Zaria, the cursed Omega."

"I heard she made an Alpha sl*t his own throat just to breathe her scent again."

Let them talk.

I needed supplies.

And a map.

And a plan.

But first, I needed to visit someone.

The woman who'd taught me how to sharpen a blade with broken bones.

The healer who’d sewn up my stomach the night my first heat nearly killed me.

The one person left in this world who didn’t want to tame me.

Mother Myra.

I found her in the apothecary shop, grinding herbs with calloused hands, eyes white as snow from age but seeing more than any seer ever could.

She didn’t look up when I entered.

“You reek of lust, blood, and vengeance,” she said, voice rasping like smoke.

“Your perfume’s gotten better,” I replied.

She cracked a smile.

“Sit, child. The King’s finally stirred, hasn’t he?”

I froze.

“…you knew?”

Myra looked up. Blind, but somehow staring straight into my soul.

“I dreamed of him last night. His claws dipped in gold. His eyes burning like war. And your name… written in ash on his tongue.”

My throat tightened.

“What does he want from me now?” I asked.

Her voice dropped.

“He doesn’t want to claim you, Zaria. He wants to kill the part of you he couldn’t ever control.”

I stared at her.

Then whispered, “And if he fails?”

Myra grinned, all teeth.

“Then you’ll wear his crown like a trophy. And every wolf who doubted you will kneel in your scent.”

Later that night, I sat on the rooftop of the tavern, wine in my hand, blade in my lap, stars overhead.

The wind was shifting.

The King’s soldiers would come again.

But this time?

I’d be waiting.

And if he dared show his face?

The exile would end the only way it ever could.

With blood on a throne.

And an Omega ruling alone.

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