Omega Secret

Elenor POV

The neon sign of the Tribeca bar flickered like a dying heartbeat, casting a sickly crimson glow over the sticky wooden counter. I stared into the amber liquid in my glass, watching the ice cubes surrender to the cheap whiskey. It burned. Goddess, it burned. But the fire in my throat was nothing—nothing—compared to the phantom claws still raking through my chest.

Three hours.

Three hours since Caleb Thornton, the Alpha I had devoted my entire worthless existence to serving, held me up to his glittering Pack like a piece of trash and let them watch me shatter.

I had been his secret weapon. The invisible architect behind the Silvermoon Pack's rise. I managed his affairs, memorized his enemies' weaknesses, smiled through every degradation while his Pack whispered wolfless freak behind my back. And I endured it all because I actually believed—stupid, desperate, pathetic creature that I was—that my loyalty meant something.

Then his eyes landed on Deann Hensley. Beautiful. Pure-blooded. The daughter of a powerful Alpha with territory stretching across three states. And in the span of a single heartbeat, I ceased to exist.

I squeezed my eyes shut, but the memory was a wound that refused to scab over.

"Her?" Caleb's laugh had been champagne-bright, his arm already snaking around Deann's narrow waist. "She's just a wolfless charity case my Pack took in. Barely an Omega. Don't take her seriously."

Wolfless. The word was a silver-tipped dagger twisting into the hollow cavity where my wolf should have lived. Every werewolf pup shifted by sixteen. I was twenty-four, and my body remained a silent, empty tomb. Defective. Broken. A cosmic joke the Moon Goddess forgot to finish. I had spent ten years in the Thornton Pack, ten years letting Caleb use me, bleed me dry, all to prove that I wasn't the burden everyone whispered I was. And he had reduced my entire existence to a punchline just to make himself look available.

The glass trembled in my grip. I wanted to shatter it. I wanted to shatter myself.

"Hey, sweetheart."

The voice slithered through my grief like oil on water. A heavy, sweat-slicked hand clamped down on my thigh, fingers digging into my flesh with entitled familiarity.

I flinched, my eyes snapping open.

Two human men had boxed me in. The one touching me reeked of stale beer and three days of unwashed body odor. His friend stood at my other side, blocking my exit with a yellow-toothed grin that made my stomach lurch.

"A pretty little thing like you shouldn't be drinking alone," the first one crooned, his thumb stroking my thigh through the silk of my dress. "What's wrong, baby? Someone break your heart? We can make it better."

"Let go of me." My voice came out steadier than I felt. I shoved at his hand, but without a wolf to grant even a whisper of supernatural strength, my resistance was laughable. His grip only tightened.