Feral Omega: A Dark Reverse Harem Omegaverse Romance (Ghost Alpha Unit Book 1)

The whiskey burns a fiery trail down my throat as I toss back another gulp straight from the bottle. Not my usual drink of choice, but the name’s fitting tonight.

I’m a mess.

A drunken, sorry-ass mess sitting on the exam table in the infirmary, waiting for Plague to pop my damn shoulder back into place.

Fucking Wraith.

One minute we’re all watching some dumb zombie movie, the next he’s seeing red and coming at me like a bat out of hell. That freak doesn’t need a reason to try and splatter my guts across the wall.

I take another swig, grimacing at the harsh bite. Stupid fucking idea to provoke him by trying to grab his mask and yelling that the zombie was in the room with us the whole time.

Even drunk off my ass, I know better than to poke that particular bear.

At least this time I managed to roll out of the way before he caved my skull in with that tree trunk of an arm. Not so lucky with the shoulder, though. Dislocated it when I hit the floor hard enough to crack the fucking tile.

So here I sit, knocking back the good stuff to dull the fiery ache radiating through my entire left side while I wait for Dr. Featherlight to grace me with his presence. The bitter taste of defeat and whiskey mingles on my tongue.

The door finally hisses open and there he is, resplendent in that stupid fucking plague doctor getup of his.

What a goddamn drama queen.

I snort into the bottle, glaring at him from beneath my lashes.

”Bout fucking time,’ I slur, words clumsy and thick on my tongue. ‘Was startin’ to think you snuck off to spy on our omega, Doc.’

Plague doesn’t answer, just moves closer, his footsteps eerily silent despite the steel-toed boots. He looms over me, masked face impassive, and reaches out to prod at my injured shoulder with gloved fingers.

I hiss through my teeth, the alcohol-soaked haze of pain fracturing for a white-hot burst of agony. ‘Easy there, featherweight,’ I growl. ‘You’re supposed to be fixing it, not wreckin’ it more.’

‘Then hold still,’ Plague says, his voice a low rumble behind the mask. ‘The more you squirm, the harder this will be. For you.’

I’m pretty sure I’m gonna do more than squirm. But then his pokes and prods turn to light caresses. I tense up again, but after a minute, I relax a little.

“Who gave you this octopus tattoo?” Plague asks curiously, brushing his fingertips over the grayscale ink covering my bicep. “I can’t imagine the artist was licensed.”

I shoot him a look. “One of the betas made a tattoo gun out of machine parts. And no, I didn’t ask if he was fuckin’ ‘licensed.’ By the way, it’s a kraken, not an octopus, asshole. It’s just faded.”

Plague hums. “Well, if you didn’t need to drink to get through it, the ink would have kept better. And it isn’t a kraken. It’s an octopus.”

“What the fuck do you know about krakens?” I mutter.

“I know they’re not small enough to hold beer bottles, guns, and grenades in their tentacles,” he replies curtly. “Have you ever even seen the ocean?”

I roll my eyes. Such a fucking bitch. “Seen it in movies and shit.”

Plague moves behind me, one strong hand braced against my back while the other grips my upper arm. “We should see it sometime,” he muses. “Take a trip after the wars are over.”

“Like it’s ever gonna be over,” I snort.

“Perhaps not.” He leans in close enough that I can feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric of my tank. “This is going to hurt.”

With a sharp tug and a sickening pop, he wrenches my shoulder back into its socket.

‘Son of a cock!” I yell, black spots dancing across my vision. Asshole was just fucking distracting me. Lulling me into a false sense of fucking security.

‘Don’t be such a baby,’ Plague chides, his voice far too mild for the fresh hell he’s just put me through. ‘It’s back in place now. You’ll be fine.’

I turn to glare at him, chest heaving, only to find myself face-to-face with that damn plague mask. Up close, I can see the intricate detailing etched into the leather, the gleaming metal beak curving down in a wicked point. My gaze traces the sharp lines, the harsh angles, before meeting the eerie glow of those golden lenses. His hand is still on my upper arm, gripping slightly.

‘Gee thanks, Doc,’ I sneer, letting as much venom as I can muster drip from the words. ‘What would I do without your expert hands all over me?’

Plague is silent for a beat, those unnerving lenses boring into me. Then, without a word, he reaches up and begins to unlatch the mask, each click of the buckles loud in the tense quiet.

‘Oh, you’re not afraid I’m gonna contaminate you?’ I taunt.

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Idiocy isn’t contagious.’

I tell him to fuck off under my breath and drink another swig, watching out of the corner of my eye as he pulls the mask away to reveal his face. Aristocratic features. A sharp jawline dusted with stubble. Full lips curved in the barest hint of a condescending smirk.

I swallow hard, the lingering burn of alcohol doing nothing to dull the weird twisting in my gut.

Fucking hate this asshole.

‘There,’ he murmurs, voice deeper and richer without the mask to muffle it. ‘That’s better, isn’t it? Now you can look me in the eye when I tell you what an insufferable ass you are.’

I bristle at the insult, lips peeling back in a sneer that feels far too forced. ‘Fuck you, Plague.’

‘Mmm, I don’t think so,’ he says lightly, setting the mask aside. ‘Not in your condition.’ His gaze drops meaningfully to the front of my pants. ‘Besides, we both know that’s not the way it would go.’

My cock twitches.

What the fuck? Why am I hard?

I hate this fucking guy.

Heat rushes to my face as I shift uncomfortably. Of course he noticed. The fucking bastard notices everything. ‘What the hell is that supposed to mean, birdbrain?’

Rather than answer, he just gives that smug little chuckle that makes me wanna stuff his mouth.

Shut. Not stuff.

The fuck?

‘Don’t look so scandalized,’ Plague chides, that infuriating smirk still playing about his lips. ‘It’s a perfectly natural reaction. Though I have to wonder…’ He leans in, so close I can feel the warmth of his breath fanning over my face. ‘Was it the pain that got you all worked up? Or something else entirely?’

I open my mouth, a vicious retort on the tip of my tongue, but he cuts me off with a soft tsk.

‘No need to get defensive, Whiskey. I’m sure in your… delicate state with your hurt finger and shoulder, you’re going to need a helping hand sooner or later.’

I snarl. ‘Like I’d let you anywhere near my dick, you creepy son of a⁠—’

‘Is that so?’ he challenges, his gloved hand suddenly resting on my thigh as he steps closer. Between my legs now.

My cock twitches again at the close proximity of his hand. Just a knee-jerk reaction, nothing more than that.

‘You’ve been worked up ever since our omega was brought here,’ he muses. ‘More so than usual. Is it getting to you that you can look, but you can’t touch yet?’Exclusive © content by N(ô)ve/l/Drama.Org.

I clench my jaw so hard I’m pretty sure something’s gonna crack, but I can’t bring myself to push his hand off my leg, even if that point of contact is all I can think about. I tell myself it’s only because it would feel like a concession, not because I’m enjoying this.

Which I’m not.

‘So what?’ I ask through my teeth. ‘Like you’re any better. You pretend like you’re so fuckin’ far above the rest of us with the high and mighty routine, but I see the way you look at her. You’re still an alpha. And you’re the one who spends all day in the room next to hers. I know it’s driving you just as crazy.’

I expect him to deny it. To offer some smartass remark in that hoity-toity accent of his.

‘Perhaps it is,’ he finally concedes.

I blink, not expecting that. Not sure what to do with it.

‘Maybe we could help each other out,’ he remarks thoughtfully, his hand traveling up the inside of my thigh. I brace myself as his gloved fingertips brush over the bulge in my pants, torturously gentle. He sure as fuck wasn’t gentle when he was popping my shoulder back in a second ago.

‘Fuck off,’ I mutter, the barb dying out in my throat as he grips my cock through my fatigues. My hips jerk violently into his touch.

He’s right. Being surrounded by that omega’s scent for weeks is doing a number on my sanity. It was bad enough before when I didn’t have a constant reminder of what I was missing walking around. She’s like a siren’s song in soft, supple skin, and now that she’s starting to have some curves to fill out those clothes, it’s even harder to keep myself under control.

When Thane first announced we were getting an omega, I thought she’d take the pressure off. Be a sweet little release to enjoy between missions where you never know if you’re coming back alive, dead, or wishing you were. Instead, it’s been nothing but sweet torture.

And she fuckin’ hates me, to boot.

Wish that didn’t make me want her even more.

Plague’s slender fingers make quick work of my belt buckle, the clink of metal on metal loud in the otherwise silent room. I glare up at him through the haze of pain and the buzz of alcohol, trying to summon some of my usual venom, but it’s like trying to light a match in a hurricane.

‘The fuck you think you’re doin’?’ I grumble, but there’s no real heat behind it. We both know I’m not gonna stop him.

‘Helping you,’ Plague replies, his voice infuriatingly calm as he tugs my belt free from the loops. ‘Since you’re incapable of helping yourself with that shoulder out of commission.’

I snort, letting my head fall back against the upright exam table with a thunk. ‘Right. Saint Plague, always looking out for the little guy.’

Plague hums. “I wouldn’t say little.”

“Fuck off,” I mutter again. Dick.

“I’m talking about your cock this time,” he replies pointedly. “And for the record, you look good. The extra padding suits you. I like it.”

I scowl warily at him.

He pauses, his hands stilling on the button of my pants. ‘This is for your own good, Whiskey. You’re too much of a hothead, ruled by your impulses. It’s not safe to have you so worked up around Ivy.’

Something in me bristles at that, a snarl building in my throat. I lift my head to pin him with a glare, ignoring the way the room spins at the edges of my vision.

‘I’ve never forced myself on an omega,’ I bite out, each word sharp and jagged. ‘And I’m not gonna start now.’

Plague meets my gaze steadily, unflinching. ‘No,’ he agrees after a moment. ‘You wouldn’t. But you’re still going to be useless on the field if you don’t get some relief.’ His lips quirk in a humorless smile. ‘So shut up and stop complaining.’

I open my mouth to tell him exactly where he can shove his relief, but the words die in my throat as he finally pops the button on my pants and tugs down the zipper. My cock springs free, already hard and leaking at the tip, and I can’t quite bite back the groan that rumbles up from my chest.

‘Doctor’s orders,’ Plague adds dryly, taking off the glove on his right hand one finger at a time in a fucked-up little striptease that fucks with my head way more than it should. Proof he’s right, and I really just need to get off if this asshole is doing anything but pissing me off.

Although, at the moment, he’s doing plenty of both.

Then his hand is wrapping around my length and all rational thought flies right out of my rut-adjacent brain.

His grip is firm, almost too tight, his strong hand smooth and cool against my overheated skin. He gives a slow, experimental stroke from base to tip, his rough thumb swiping over the sensitive head, and my hips buck up into his fist of their own accord.

‘Fuck,’ I hiss through clenched teeth, my eyes slamming shut as pleasure sparks up my spine like a live wire.

It’s been too long since I’ve had anything but my own hand. An eternity of pent-up frustration and denied release. Of catching hints of Ivy’s scent in the halls and feeling like I’m going to crawl out of my own skin with how badly I need to fuck her.

I hate that Plague is right. Hate that I need this so badly. Hate that it feels so fucking good to finally have someone else’s hands on me, even if they belong to the biggest asshole I know.

But most of all, I hate that some twisted part of me is enjoying this. Getting off on the humiliation of being at Plague’s mercy, of him seeing me so desperate.

Plague’s hand stills on my cock, his grip loosening until it’s nothing more than a teasing brush of fingertips. I let out a frustrated growl, my hips twitching up in search of more friction, more pressure, more anything.

‘What’s the matter, Whiskey?’ he asks, his voice a low purr that seems to vibrate through my entire body. ‘Not enjoying yourself?’

I crack one eye open to glare at him, a scathing retort on the tip of my tongue, but it dies in my throat as I watch him reach for his own belt with his free hand. The clink of the buckle is obscenely loud in the quiet room, and I can’t tear my gaze away as he slowly, methodically undoes his black pants.

Fuck. Is he really going to…?

My question is answered a moment later when he tugs down his zipper and frees his own cock. It’s just as impressive as the rest of him, long and thick and already hard. The head is flushed a deep red, pre-come beading at the tip, and my mouth goes dry at the sight.

And it’s an inch longer than mine. Because he always has to be a one-upping dick—literally, in this case.

Least I’m thicker. Not by much, but… still.

I’ve seen Plague naked before. Hard to avoid in close quarters like ours. But never like this. Never with his cock in his hand and that dark, hungry look in his eyes.

‘See something you like?’ he asks, his voice a low rumble that seems to resonate in my bones.

I swallow hard, my tongue darting out to wet my suddenly parched lips. ‘Fuck you,’ I rasp, but it’s an empty barb. We both know I’m not going anywhere.

Plague just smirks, that infuriating little twist of his lips that makes me want to punch him and do other shit to him in equal measure. Then he’s wrapping his hand around both of our cocks, pressing them together, and I nearly bite through my own tongue at the sudden burst of sensation.

‘Oh fuck,’ I groan, my head falling back against the exam table again. The metal is cool against my overheated skin, a sharp contrast to the searing heat of Plague’s cock against mine.

He starts to stroke us both, his grip tight and sure, and I can’t help the way my hips buck up into his fist. It’s too much and not enough all at once, the drag of his callused palm against my sensitive flesh sending sparks of pleasure racing up my spine.

I’m leaking like a faucet, pre-come dribbling down the side of my cock to slick the way for his hand. The obscene slicking sound fills the room, mingling with our harsh breathing and bitten-off groans.

Plague twists his wrist on the upstroke, his thumb swiping over the head of my cock, and I nearly come right then and there. My balls draw up tight against my body, my thighs trembling with the effort of holding back my release.

‘Not yet,’ Plague murmurs, his voice strained. ‘I’m not done with you yet.’

I let out a shaky laugh, the sound half-crazed even to my own ears. ‘Didn’t realize this was all about you, Doc.’

He leans in close, his breath hot against my ear. ‘It’s not. But you’re going to come when I say you can, and not a moment before.’

A shudder runs through me at the commanding tone, my cock jerking in his grip. I’ve never been one to take orders well, but there’s something about the way Plague says it that has me wanting to obey. To be good for him.

And isn’t that a fucked up thought?

Plague picks up the pace, his hand flying over our cocks in a blur of motion. The pleasure is building in the pit of my stomach, coiling tighter and tighter with each stroke. I’m so close, teetering on the edge, my breath coming in short, sharp pants.

‘Please,’ I grind out, the word tasting foreign on my tongue. I can’t remember the last time I begged for anything. ‘Fuck, Plague, I need⁠—’

‘I know what you need,’ he cuts me off, his voice rough. ‘And you’ll get it when I’m ready to give it to you.’

He punctuates his words with a particularly vicious twist of his wrist, and I can’t hold back the broken moan that spills from my lips. My whole body is trembling now, my muscles drawn taut as a bowstring.

Plague’s breathing is growing harsher, his rhythm faltering. He’s close too, I can tell. His cock is throbbing against mine, the heat of it searing my flesh.

‘Come for me, Whiskey,’ he commands, his voice barely more than a growl. ‘Now.’

And just like that, I’m coming, my orgasm slamming into me like a freight train. I cry out and snarl at the same time, my back arching off the table as ecstasy rips through me, white-hot and blinding. My cock pulses in Plague’s grip, spilling over his fist and onto my stomach in thick, pearly ropes.

Plague follows me over the edge a moment later, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as he comes. I can feel the hot splash of his release against my skin, mingling with my own.

For a long moment, there’s nothing but the sound of our ragged breathing filling the room. Plague’s hand is still wrapped around our softening cocks, his grip loose and slick with our combined release.

Slowly, he lets go, stepping back from between my legs. I watch groggily as he reaches for a towel, methodically cleaning himself off before tossing it to me.

I catch it reflexively, my limbs feeling heavy and uncoordinated in the aftermath. I wipe myself down, grimacing at the sticky mess on my stomach.

When I’m done, I look up to find Plague watching me, his expression unreadable. He’s already tucked himself back into his pants, his belt buckled and his gloves back in place.

Like nothing even happened.

‘Feel better?’ he asks, his tone carefully neutral.

I snort, tossing the towel onto the floor. ‘Like you care.’

Plague shrugs, a fluid roll of his shoulders. ‘You’re no use to anyone if you’re too wound up to think straight. Consider this a preventative measure.’

He picks up the discarded towel by a corner only to drop it pointedly in a biohazard bin with a grimace, as if he had nothing to do with the mess. Back to being a judgmental dick, I see.

I bristle, my hackles rising. ‘I’m not some fucking animal that needs to be kept in check.’

‘No,’ Plague agrees, his eyes glinting with something that might be amusement. ‘You’re worse. At least animals have instincts to guide them. You’re just a slave to your own impulses.’

I open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off with a wave of his hand. ‘Save it, Whiskey. We both know I’m right.’

And the worst part is, he is right. As much as I hate to admit it, Plague knows me better than anyone. Knows exactly which buttons to push to get under my skin.

Knows exactly how to take me apart and put me back together again.

I let out a harsh breath through my nose, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable in a way that has nothing to do with my half-naked state.

‘Fuck off,’ I mutter, zipping back up and refastening my belt. He doesn’t offer any help with that. ‘You’re no damn better than me.’

There’s a beat of silence, then the soft rustle of fabric as Plague moves. For a moment, I think he’s going to argue, but then I hear the click of his boots on the tile floor, growing fainter as he walks away.

The door hisses open, then shut, and I’m alone again.

I close my eyes, letting out a shaky breath. My shoulder still throbs with a dull ache, but it’s nothing compared to the twisted knot of emotions in my chest.

Anger. Shame. Resentment.

And something fucking weird I can’t put my finger on, but it feels a hell of a lot like desire.

I hate that anyone, especially Plague, can make me feel this way. Hate that he seems to know me better than I know myself.

But most of all, I hate that some small, traitorous part of me is already looking forward to the next time I have an excuse to do this shit with him.

I shake my head, pushing myself off the exam table on slightly unsteady legs. The alcohol is still sloshing around in my system, but the edge has been taken off. I no longer feel like I’m going to fly apart at the seams.

I shuffle out into the hallway, intent on going right back to pretending like nothing has ever happened between us.

‘Whiskey?’

The deep rumble of Thane’s voice stops me in my tracks. I whip around to find him standing there, arms crossed over that massive chest of his, brows drawn together in a scowl.

‘Where are you off to in such a hurry?’ he asks, dark eyes flickering over my disheveled appearance. ‘And why do you smell like alpha musk?’

I open my mouth, some blistering retort on the tip of my tongue, but Thane cuts me off with a curt shake of his head.

‘Never mind, I don’t want to know,’ he says. ‘I’ve got a call with my father. Sounds like we might have a new mission dropping soon.’

A new mission?

Finally, a chance to blow off some steam—in a less humiliating way—and get the fuck away from this shitshow for a while.

‘Thank fuck,’ I mutter, swaying slightly on my feet. ‘I need to get out of this place before one of you fucks snaps and finishes me off.’

Thane’s eyes narrow to slits, dark and assessing. ‘You’re in no condition to go on a mission,’ he says. ‘Not like this.’

‘Are you kidding me?’ I demand, the words slurring together. ‘I’m in more danger here than I would be out there! At least the bad guys only want to shoot me, not rip my dick off for looking at them sideways!’

And it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I’m not sure how I’m gonna look Plague in the eye—or those creepy ass golden lenses—over the next couple of days.

Thane stares at me, then laughs. ‘Maybe if you stopped bugging the shit out of people, they wouldn’t be kicking your ass all the time.’

I open my mouth to tell him he can fuck off, too, but he cuts me off with a sharp look. ‘But fine,’ he says, relenting with a sigh. ‘You can come on the mission⁠—’

‘Damn right!’ I crow, triumphant.

‘—If you can pull your shit together and behave yourself for once.’ His eyebrow ticks up meaningfully. ‘And that includes not eating all our goddamn rations while you’re drunk off your ass.’

‘What the fuck, bro! Why do you all keep saying I’m fuckin’ fat?’

Thane shakes his head, already turning to continue down the hallway. ‘Get sobered up and ready to roll out. That’s an order, Whiskey.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ I mutter as he walks away. ‘Whatever you say, boss.’

Always with the orders, the commands, like he’s got a stick shoved so far up his ass he can taste the bark.

Sometimes I wanna grab that stick and make him choke on it.