The Omegas Choice

Clara's POV

The champagne bottle hits the wall with a satisfying crash, spraying glass and golden liquid across David's pristine hardwood floor. My engagement ring follows, bouncing off his shocked face before clattering somewhere in the darkness.

"Clara, wait..." David scrambles off the bed, naked and pathetic, while my former best friend Sarah pulls the sheets up to cover herself. The same sheets I helped him pick out last month when we were planning our future together.

"Wait for what?" My voice comes out raw and broken. "For you to explain how you ended up inside my best friend on the night we were supposed to celebrate our engagement?"

Sarah won't even look at me. Three years of friendship, gone. Just like that.

"It's not what you think..."

"It's exactly what I think." I grab my purse from the dresser, my hands shaking so badly I can barely hold it. "We're done, David. We're so fucking done."

The rain hits me the moment I step outside, soaking through my silk dress, the one I bought specifically for tonight, that cost half my monthly salary because I wanted to look perfect for our announcement dinner. The irony makes me want to scream.

My heels slip on the wet pavement as I run down the street, not caring where I'm going, just needing to get away from the sight of them together. The storm matches my mood perfectly... violent, unpredictable, destructive. Thunder crashes overhead, and I tilt my face up to the sky, letting the rain wash away my tears.

How could I have been so blind? All those late nights David claimed to be working, all those times Sarah was "too busy" to hang out. They were together. Probably laughing at stupid little Clara who believed in fairy tales and happy endings.

I trip over a crack in the sidewalk and stumble, catching myself against a streetlight. My dress is ruined, my makeup probably running down my face like some tragic movie scene. But I don't care anymore. Nothing matters anymore.

That's when I see him.

At first, I think it's just a pile of discarded clothes in the alley between two buildings. But as I get closer, lightning illuminates the scene, and I realize it's a man. He's lying on his side in a growing pool of what looks like blood, his dark hair plastered to his head by the rain.

"Oh my God." I rush toward him, my medical training kicking in despite my emotional state. "Sir? Can you hear me?"

He doesn't respond. I kneel beside him, not caring that the dirty alley water soaks through my dress. The amount of blood is staggering, no one should lose this much and still be breathing. But his chest rises and falls steadily, and when I check his pulse, it's strong and steady.

The wounds on his torso look like claw marks. Deep, vicious gouges that should have killed him, but they're not bleeding as heavily as they should be. Actually, they look like they're already starting to close at the edges, which is impossible.

I press my hands against the worst of the wounds, trying to stem the bleeding. "Stay with me," I whisper. "I'm going to help you."

His eyes snap open.

They're silver. Not gray or blue-gray, but actual silver, like mercury in moonlight. For a moment, I think I'm hallucinating from shock and stress. No one has eyes that color.

A low sound rumbles from his throat, not quite human, almost like a...

"Leave." His voice is rough, commanding, despite his condition. "Get away from me."

"You're bleeding to death," I say, applying more pressure to his wounds. "I'm a doctor. Let me help you."

"I said leave!" The growl that tears from his throat is definitely not human. It's primal, dangerous, the kind of sound that triggers every survival instinct I have.