Alpha Sovereign And His Omega

Name: Alpha Sovereign And His Omega
Rating: 5.0 (1 reviews)

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Werewolf | Ongoing

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Living in a pack that prided power and status meant suffering for a weak Omega like me. As if I'd committed some unforgivable sin in my past life, the Moon Goddess chose to double that pain by not giving me a wolf. I couldn't shift. Every passing day, the torture brought upon me by my pack members increases until I find myself constantly seeking death. At the apex of my pain, just when I'm about to reach my breaking point, I decide to run away. I should consider living with my pack members, despite how cruel they are, better than living on the outskirts among rogues, but I don't. I feel free here. Unrestrained. It was during the large hunting season that I met Maximo Wright. He'd been injured...badly and I had to help him. His large frame made keeping him hidden difficult, but I'd managed. The rogues would have me killed if they knew I was harboring a lycan, but I couldn't leave him. Something in him called to me. It couldn't be the mate's bond because he was a lycan, or so I thought. The three months I cared for him only made me more attached, more curious. When he finally woke up, I'd expected him to leave. Thank me for my help maybe. Rather, he bent to nuzzle my neck placing a gentle kiss between my neck and shoulder blades. My breath hitched with the feel of his coarse tongue licking me. Then with a deep groan he mumbled, "Mine." I, Isabella Gomez, the weakest Omega who can't even shift, am the mate of Maximo Wright, the Alpha Sovereign, and the most powerful lycan to ever exist. Isn't that just...wow.

R18+ Arrogant/Dominant Werewolf Forbidden love Queen

Chapter 5 AWAKE

Yesterday 03:20

Chapter 1 SAVING HIM

Isabella's POV

THREE MONTHS ON THE OUTSKIRTS.

The forest is quiet. Like quiet. I guess that's to be expected around this season, the animals seemed to detect the hunger wolves emanate. I always felt bad for them. I knew firsthand what being a prey felt like.

I shift the sack of fruits on my shoulder, the weight digging into my collarbone. My traps dangle from the other hand- three rabbits, two unlucky squirrels, but not enough to keep me fed while the others go feral. The wolves- they're already shifting. Their ear-splitting howls made the hair on the skin stand.

I had to get home fast. A scent caught my nose that made me pause. I recognized it. The thick and metallic scent of blood. Fresh blood. I gulped. The underbrush shook with a crash and a low, ragged growl sounded. Is someone hurt?

Dropping my traps and sack, I crouch and crawl slowly towards it. I must be stupid or suicidal. Maybe both. Then I see him. Not a wolf. Definitely not a wolf. It's huge. Half-shifted. Silver fur streaked with blood, deep gashes slicing across his chest and back. He's trying to crawl, dragging himself with his claws, snarling low in his throat like a cornered beast.

And gods, he's beautiful. Even like this. There's power etched into every trembling muscle, a wildness that makes my brain go hot and cold all at once. There's a tingle in my chest that seems to swell the more I look at him. I can't help him. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't. He's too big, we'd never make it. And the rogues, they'd kill me. How will I feed him? I can't even feed myself. I should leave. But I don't.

Then he lifts his head, and his eyes- unnatural violet that seems to glow lock unto mine. 'Help me.'

I must be losing my mind because my body moves before my brain does. "Shit," I whisper to myself once I realize what I'm doing. I sling one of his massive arms over my shoulders, then crouch lower, digging my hands under his ribs and pull.

A sound tears out of me- half grunt, half scream. The weight of him nearly folds me in half. He's heavy- all muscle. My knees threaten to buckle, my spine screams but I dig my heels into the dirt and take another step.

And another.

The forest gets darker. Then dimming moon and louder howls curdles my blood. I can't take the main path. The wolves are already gathering there- I double back toward the ridge and slip into the old hunting trail, overgrown and forgotten, hidden beneath thick branches and a curtain of thorns. Every step summons unimaginable pain from my body. His claws dig into my arm, his blood soaks through my clothes. I almost collapse when I hit a slope. I have to half-roll him down it, then crawl after him.

"I hate you," I hiss, chest heaving as I lift him again. "I hate myself more."

We move in bursts. A few feet, a pause. A few more feet. My shoulders are raw from pain, my pain blistered. My thighs scream. But I kept going. Because something in me knows he'd die if I leave him.

And worse, knows I can't.

By the time we reach the cottage, I'm half-dead myself. My knees buckle as I slam the door shut behind us with my foot, then collapse on the splintered floorboards panting.

My home isn't much. Just four walls, a patchy roof, and a crooked chimney. The single room holds everything I can't afford to lose which is really nothing. He lies motionless on the floor, blood pooling beneath him, seeping into the fur pelt I used as a rug. I stare at him and shake my head. "What the hell am I doing?"

I left everything. The traps. The meat. The fruit. My entire plan for survival this season- gone. I should never have looked into this stupid lycan's eyes and decided to ruin my life.

I swallow my rising panic and drag him closer to the firepit, limbs trembling. Then I shuffle over to the cabinet in the corner and pull it open. There, tucked behind a withered spring of dried sage, sits the vial.

I'd sold everything for it. Wolfsbane-burn tonic. It was meant to be for me- it had amazing effects. Magical effects. It might even make one...shift. It always sounded far-fetched, but I just needed something to believe in. Something to hope for. I stifled a sob and reached for it.

I glance at him. Unconscious and pale, his body remained still. His breathing got shallower. My fist tightens around the bottle. "Dammit," I whisper and blink back my tears. Before I can think about it, I uncork it, tilt his head back and pour it between his lips.

He flinches. Then...nothing. I sit back on my heels and breathe out slowly, my body slumping forward like a collapsing tent. My stomach makes a rumpling sound. Right, I haven't even eaten today. I sighed. I shuffle to the back of the room and grab the last of my supplies-half a bag of barley, a single turnip, and some dried deer meat that's mostly bone.

It's barely enough for a sick pup, let alone a lycan the size of a small horse. But I cook it anyway, boiling it over a weak fire, and when it's soft enough not to choke him, I bring the bowl to his side.

I lift his head and press the rim of the bowl to his lips. "Come on," I murmur, coaxing. "Eat."

Some of it dribbles down his chin, but he swallows. Slowly. I feed him in silence, spoon by spoon, until there's nothing left but empty breath and the crackle of the fire.

Then I wipe his face with a torn cloth and set the bowl aside.

His wounds need cleaning. Some are deep. One slash across his ribs looks infected already. I reach for the hem of the shredded trousers barely clinging to his hips, blood-caked and torn-

And his hand shoots out.

Clamps around my wrist.

My breath catches in my throat. His eyes snap open-those same glowing violet eyes that haunted me all the way home.

I freeze.

"I just need to see the wounds," I whisper, barely moving.

His grip doesn't tighten, but it doesn't let go either. He wants to say something. His lips part-

And then his head falls back.

Unconscious again.

I pull my wrist free, my pulse thundering.

Who the hell is he, and what have I done?