Wolfless Omega Slipped a Note to the Alpha King — “Your Mate Sold You Out They’re in Position ”

Wolfless Omega slipped a note to the Alpha King. "Your mate sold you out. They're in position."

In a world where the beast inside you determines your worth, I was worth less than the dirt on an alpha's boot. I am Isolder, a wolfless omega, a genetic failure, a ghost in the halls of the powerful. They ignored me. They spoke freely around me. They thought I didn't matter, and that was their fatal mistake.

While the Obsidian king looked into the eyes of his fated mate, seeing only love, I saw the dagger hidden behind her back. I heard the price she put on his head. I had one chance to save the monster who ruled us, or let him fall to the woman who sold him out. All it took was a scrap of paper, a steady hand, and 5 seconds of courage that would change history. This is the story of how the weakest member of the pack saved the king.

The grand hall of the obsidian court smelled of roasted venison, pine needles, and the cloying metallic scent of raw power. It was the night of the lunar solstice, the most sacred evening for our kind, and the air was so thick with alpha pherommones, it made my human lungs ache. I gripped the heavy silver tray of wine flutes until my knuckles turned white. My name is Isoldincaid, but in this room, I was simply girl or runt, or mostly nothing at all. I was 22 years old and had never shifted. My inner wolf wasn't just quiet. She was absent. In a society built on claws and hierarchy, I was a mistake that the pack kept around solely to scrub floors and serve wine.

But being nothing had its advantages. No one lowers their voice when the furniture walks by. No one checks the shadows for a creature that poses no threat. I moved through the crowd of silkclad women and tuxedoed men, weaving between them like smoke. They didn't move for me. I moved for them. If I spilled a drop, I'd be in the stocks by morning.

"More red," a burly bait growled, not even looking at me as he thrust his glass onto my tray.

"Of course, sir," I whispered, head bowed. My eyes, however, were locked on the deis at the front of the room. Two thrones sat there, carved from black volcanic glass. In the larger one sat Allaric Vain, the Alpha King. He was terrifyingly beautiful. He didn't have the bulky steroid pumped look of his generals. All Alaric was lean, like a whip cord, with hair the color of midnight and eyes that looked like frozen gold. He radiated a dominance so potent that even from 50 ft away my skin prickled. He was the apex predator, the man who had united the three waring clans of the northern territory. And sitting beside him, draped in emerald silk that clung to her perfect curves, was Lyra, his queen, his fated mate. She was laughing, her hand resting possessively on All Alaric's forearm. To the court, it was a picture of romantic bliss. The bond between fated mates was supposed to be sacred, unbreakable, the pinnacle of werewolf biology. All Alaric looked at her with a softness he showed no one else. He trusted her with his life. He shouldn't.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I knew something no one else in this room knew. I knew why the western border guards had been rotated out two hours ago. I knew why the ventilation shafts in the east wing had been unlocked. I had been scrubbing the floor of the subellar yesterday, tucked behind a stack of aging wine barrels, when Lyra had met with a man who smelled of sulfur and rogue magic. I had heard the transaction. [clears throat] I had heard the price. "Midnight at the solstice," she had whispered. "When he is drunk on the bond, the southern rebels will have clear entry."

I had debated running. If I tried to flee, I'd be caught and killed by the perimeter patrols. If I stayed and did nothing, all Alaric would die, and the resulting power vacuum would lead to a slaughter that would wipe out the servant cast first. I had one option, a suicide mission. I adjusted the napkin under the tray. Hidden beneath the linen was a scrap of parchment torn from an inventory log. On it, I had scrolled seven words in charcoal. "Your mate sold you out. They're in position."

I took a breath that tasted of fear and stepped toward the deis. Servants weren't supposed to approach the high table unless summoned, but I had timed this. Allaric's goblet was nearly empty. I ascended the three marble steps. My legs felt like lead. The conversation at the high table died down slightly as I approached, not because I was interesting, but because Allaric shifted his gaze. Those golden eyes landed on me. For a second, I felt stripped bare, as if he could see the treasonous note sweating against my palm. He didn't see a woman. He saw a defect, a wolfless waste of rations.

"Wine, Alpha." My voice was barely a tremble. Allaric didn't speak. He just tapped the rim of his glass. I moved forward. This was the moment. Lyra was turned away, accepting a compliment from a visiting dignitary. I leaned in to pour the dark crimson vintage. As the liquid filled his glass, I used the cover of my body to block Lyra's view. With a slight of hand, I had practiced a thousand times in the scullery. I slid the folded parchment from under the napkin and pressed it under the base of his wine glass. It was a clumsy move. A shifter with heightened senses should have caught the rustle of paper. But the hall was loud, music was playing, and Allaric was distracted. I finished pouring and pulled back. The note was sitting there, a white glaring flag beneath the crystal stem of his goblet.

Allaric lifted the glass. My heart stopped. He paused. He felt the texture of the paper against his fingertips. his brow furrowed, a microscopic movement. He didn't look at me. He didn't look at the paper immediately. He brought the glass to his lips, took a slow sip, and then, with agonizing slowness, lowered the glass. He slid the paper into his palm with the grace of a magician. I bowed low, terrified that I was about to be beheaded. "Enjoy the solstice, my king." I backed away. I needed to disappear. I needed to fade back into the gray mass of the servant class.

But as I reached the bottom step, I felt it. A wave of focused, freezing rage slammed into my back. It wasn't a physical blow, but the sheer weight of his alpha aura flaring up. I risked a glance back. Allaric was no longer looking at Lyra. He was looking at the note cupped in his hand. Then his head snapped up. He wasn't looking at his generals. He wasn't looking at the exits. He was looking directly at me. And for the first time in my life, I wasn't invisible. I was the target.

The music didn't stop, but the air around the high table had changed. It was subtle. A shift in barometric pressure that only predators could feel. Allaric stood up. "My love?" Lyra asked, her voice like tinkling bells. "Where are you going?"

"Business," Allaric said. His voice was flat, devoid of the warmth he had shown her moments ago. "A perimeter breach reported in the north."

"He was a good liar."

"Can't it wait?" she pouted, reaching for his hand. He pulled away just before she could touch him smoothly, as if adjusting his cuff. "No, enjoy the dance, Lyra. I will return shortly." He signaled to his head of guard, a massive brute named Kale, and then pointed a finger. Not at the door, at me.

"You," All Alaric said, his voice carrying over the string quartet. "Girl, with the tray." The room went silent. To be addressed directly by the Alpha King was usually a death sentence for someone of my rank. I froze.

"Yes, Alpha."

"I spilled. He lied," his golden eyes boring into mine. "You will attend to the mess in my study. Immediately." He turned and strode toward the heavy oak doors leading to the royal wing. He didn't wait to see if I followed. He knew I had no choice. I walked past the rows of staring nobles. I could smell their derision, their confusion. Why her? I followed him out of the hall, down the long torch lit corridor that led to the alpha's private sanctuary. Kyle, the guard, stayed at the door of the great hall, leaving me alone with the king. I walked 10 paces behind him, staring at the broad expanse of his back, the tension in his shoulders. He walked with a lethal, predatory grace. He opened the door to his study and stepped inside. I followed, and the heavy door slammed shut behind me, engaging the magnetic locks with a heavy thud.

Before I could breathe, all Alaric was on me. He moved faster than human eyes could track. One moment he was across the room. The next I was pinned against the mahogany door, his forearm braced against the wood by my neck. He didn't touch me, but he was close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him. He held the crumpled note up to my face. "Who sent you?" he snarled. His voice was a low rumble that vibrated in my chest. "Which faction? The Southern Rebels? The Ironclaw Pack?"

I shook. the silver tray clattering to the floor. "No one, no one sent me."

"Liar," he hissed. "You are a wolfless scullery maid. You exist to clean chamber pots. And yet you hand me a note accusing my queen, my fated mate, of high treason." He leaned closer, his nose flaring as he scented me. "You smell of fear and dish soap. You don't smell like a spy."

"Because I'm not." I gasped, trying to shrink into the wood. "I heard them, alpha. Please, you have to believe me."

"Heard who?"

"Lyra and a man. He [clears throat] had a scar here." I traced a line from my ear to my jaw, and he smelled like sulfur.

All Alaric froze. His eyes widened slightly. I saw recognition there. He knew who the man was. "Silus," he whispered. the name a curse, the rogue general. He pulled back, pacing the room like a caged tiger. He ran a hand through his dark hair, disrupting the perfect styling. "Silas has been dead for 2 years. I killed him myself."

"He isn't dead," I said, my voice gaining a fraction of strength. "He was in the subellar yesterday behind the reserve barrels of the '98 vintage."

All Alaric turned to me, his face a mask of conflict. "And Lyra, you claim my mate was with him."

"She She called him brother," I whispered. The color drained from Allaric's face. The silence that followed was deafening. It was a well-known historical fact that Lyra was an orphan found wandering the borders as a pup. If Silas, a known terrorist and rogue leader, was her brother, then her entire identity was a fabrication.

"If you are lying," All Alaric said, his voice dropping to a terrifyingly calm register. "I will not kill you quickly. I will hand you over to the Skinners."

"If I'm lying, you can kill me right now," I said, looking him in the eye. "But if I'm right and you do nothing, you die at midnight and the pack dies with you."

All Alaric stared at me. For a long moment, he searched my face, looking for the telltale micro expressions of deceit. He was an ancient soul in a young body, a man who had survived a dozen assassination attempts. He glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. "10:45 p.m. 1 hour and 15 minutes," he muttered. He walked back to his desk and pulled a sleek black handgun from a drawer, tucking it into the back of his waistband. Then he grabbed a tablet, tapping rapidly on the screen. "The cameras in the subellar were disabled yesterday for maintenance," he said, reading the report. "Authorized by the Queen's Seal." He looked up at me, and the devastation in his eyes was heartbreaking. It was the look of a man whose world was cracking down the center. But beneath the pain, the alpha was waking up.

"What is your name?" he asked.

"I sire."

"Well, Isold," he said, moving toward me. He reached out and surprisingly adjusted the collar of my servant's uniform, straightening it. His fingers brushed my skin, electric and hot. "You are no longer a servant. For the next hour, you are my eyes. Your eyes?"

"I cannot move against Lyra yet. If she senses I know, she will signal the attack early. I need to catch them in the act. I need to go back out there and play the loving husband while my heart is being carved out of my chest." He gripped my shoulders. The strength in his hands was immense. "You are wolfless. They ignore you. Go back out there. Refill glasses. Listen. Find out where the breach point is. They said 'in position.' I need to know where."

"I I can't go back," I stammered.

"If she sees me, she won't see you," Alaric said fiercely. "Because to her, you are nothing. But to me," he paused, his gaze intensifying. "To me, you are the only person in this castle I know isn't trying to kill me." He opened the door. The sound of the party flooded back in. The laughter, the music, the lies. "Go," he commanded. "Bring me a location. Do this and you will never scrub a floor again. Fail and we all burn."

Walking back into the grand hall felt like walking into the mouth of a sleeping dragon. Every laugh sounded like a threat. Every clink of silverware sounded like a sword being drawn. Allaric had returned to the high table 5 minutes after me. He was an incredible actor. He sat beside Lyra, leaning in to whisper something in her ear that made her giggle and swat his arm playfully. To anyone watching, he was besotted, but I had seen the gun in his waistband. I knew that every muscle in his body was coiled tight, ready to snap her neck if she made a wrong move. I circulated the room with fresh champagne, my heart thumping a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Where? Where are they?

I moved toward the lower tables where the gamma guard sat. They were drunk, loosening their collars. "Perimeter check was a joke," one was muttering. "Western sector is wide open. Captain's orders." Another shrugged. "Said the sensors were glitching due to the solar flares." Western sector. That matched what I knew. But that was outside. I needed to know where the assassins were inside.

I drifted toward the orchestra pit. The music masked conversations well, which made it a prime spot for secrets. And there, standing in the shadows behind a velvet curtain, was Lyra's personal handmaidaiden, a beta female named Jessa. She was speaking into a tiny encrypted earpiece, her hand cupped over her mouth. I pretended to collect empty glasses from a nearby table, inching closer.

"Target remains oblivious," Jessa whispered. "The bond is clouding his judgment. Yes, team Alpha is in the north ventilation shaft. Team Beta is staged in the kitchen pantry." The pantry? My blood ran cold. The pantry opened directly into the service corridor behind the high table. It was less than 20 ft from Allaric's back.

"Wait," Jessa hissed. She stiffened. "No, he's he's looking at her differently." I risked a glance at the deis. All Alaric had slipped. He wasn't smiling. He was staring at Lyra, studying her profile with a mixture of grief and cold calculation. Lyra had noticed her smile was fading, her eyes narrowing.

"Abort stealth," Jessa whispered urgently into the comms. "I repeat, the king suspects. Initiate order 66 immediately." Order 66. Attack now.

There was no time to run back to the note. No time to be subtle. I dropped the tray. The crash of crystals shattering on the marble floor was like a gunshot. The entire hall went silent. The music stopped screeching. Hundreds of heads turned to me. I didn't look at the crowd. I looked directly at all Alaric.

"The pantry!" I screamed, my voice tearing through my throat. "Behind you!"

Lyra's face contorted into a mask of pure fury. She moved faster than I thought possible, pulling a ceramic hairpin from her updo. A hairpin that I suddenly realized was a sharpened obsidian dagger. She spun on Allaric, driving the blade toward his throat. But Allaric was ready. He caught her wrist inches from his jugular. The impact of their collision sent a shock wave through the room.

"You should have run, brother lover," Allaric roared, his voice distorting into a partial roar as his canines lengthened. At that exact moment, the wall behind the high table exploded inward. Debris and plaster rained down as a dozen men in tactical gear, wearing the crest of the rogue army, burst through the concealed pantry door. They carried assault rifles loaded with silver bullets.

"Protect the king!" Kyle screamed, shifting midair into a massive gray wolf. Chaos erupted. The ballroom descended into a war zone. Nobles were screaming, shifting, flipping tables for cover. Gunfire ripped through the air, shattering the chandeliers. I scrambled backward on my hands and knees, glass slicing into my palms. I was defenseless. A human in a room of monsters. A rogue soldier spotted me. The girl who had screamed the warning. He raised his rifle, aiming directly at my chest. This is it, I thought. I died for him. I squeezed my eyes shut.

Bang. A spray of hot liquid hit my face, but no pain followed. I opened my eyes. The rogue soldier dropped to the ground, a hole in his forehead. Standing over me, gun smoking in hand, was all Alaric. He had thrown Lyra across the room and leaped off the deis, landing in front of me like a shield. He wasn't looking at the assassins. He was looking at me, his body a wall of hard muscle and fury, protecting my fragile form.

"Get up, isolder," he commanded, firing two more shots over my shoulder without looking. "Stay behind me." For a king to abandon the high ground to protect a servant was unheard of. But as he grabbed my arm and hauled me up, pressing me against his back, I realized the dynamic had shifted. The traitor queen was on one side of the room, rallying the rogues. The king was on the other, surrounded by confused loyalists. And I was right in the middle, holding on to the back of his tuxedo jacket, as if it were the only solid thing in the world.

"Can you shoot?" All Alaric yelled over the roar of gunfire.

"I've never held a gun," I cried. He shoved a spare pistol into my hand. "Point and pull. Don't let them flank us." He turned back to the fight, his eyes glowing with alpha power. "Tonight we purged the traitors, starting with my wife."

The gun bucked in my hand, a wild, angry thing I didn't know how to control. I squeezed the trigger, eyes half shut, and the kickback jarred my shoulder so hard I thought it popped the socket. "Eyes open," all Alaric roared, grabbing the back of my collar and yanking me behind a tipped over banquet table. "You can't kill what you can't see." Wood splintered above our heads as a hail of bullets shredded the table. The grand hall, once a place of suffocating elegance, was now a slaughter house. The smell of expensive perfume was replaced by the copper tang of blood and the acrid stench of cordite.

"We're pinned," allaric growled. He checked the magazine of his pistol. "Two rounds left. My shift is blocked by the silver in the air. They're using aerosolized nitrate. Smart." He looked at me, his golden eyes blazing with a terrifying intensity. "Can you run?"

"I've been running my whole life," I snapped back, adrenaline making me bolder than I had any right to be.

"Good. The main doors are blocked by Lyra's rogue units. We need another way out now." I looked around. The glorious double doors were swarming with tactical gear. The windows were too high. The kitchen staff door was currently being battered down by a massive werewolf in shift.

"The laundry shoot," I said breathlessly.

Allaric stared at me. "The what?"

"It's laundry," I corrected, grabbing the rim. "And unless you want your head mounted on your wife's wall, you'll jump." Boots thundered in the hallway behind us. The rogues had found the door. Allaric grabbed my waist together. He didn't wait for my consent. He pulled me into his chest and threw us both into the darkness. We fell for a terrifying second, then hit the slide. We careened down the spiraling metal chute, picking up speed, tumbling over each other in a tangle of limbs and tuxedo fabric. We were spat out at the bottom with high velocity, landing hard in a massive pile of dirty linens.

I groaned, rolling onto my back. The world was spinning. I was buried in silk sheets that smelled of lavender and sweat. All Alaric erupted from the pile like a Leviathan rising from the deep. He shook his head, sending dirty socks flying. He looked ridiculous, his tuxedo jacket torn, his hair wild, a pair of someone's undergarments draped over his shoulder, but there was no humor in his eyes. He grabbed my arm and hauled me up. "Are you hurt?" he demanded, scanning me for bullet holes.

"Just bruises." I wheezed. "You," he winced, touching his side. His hand came away red. "Grace, silver bullet. It burns."

"We need to keep moving," I said, my voice trembling as the reality of our situation crashed down on me. "The laundry room connects to the boiler tunnels. If we follow the steam pipes, we can get to the old servant quarters in the north tower. It's abandoned. They won't look there."

All Alaric nodded, his face grim. "Lead on, little ghost. It seems you know my kingdom better than I do."

The North Tower servant quarters had been condemned 50 years ago due to a mold infestation. But for me, it had been a sanctuary, a place to hide when the head housekeeper was on a rampage. I kicked open the door to room 4B. It was a small, dusty cell with a single cot and a broken window that looked out over the stormy cliffs. All Alaric collapsed onto the cot, his breathing ragged. The silver nitrate in the bullet graze was preventing his accelerated healing. His skin was turning a sickly shade of gray. "I need water," he rasped. "And fire."

"I have something better," I said. I went to the loose floorboard in the corner and pried it up. Hidden underneath was my stash, a bottle of cheap brandy stolen from the kitchens, a box of matches, and a sewing kit I used to mend my uniform. I knelt beside the king of werewolves. He looked at the bottle of cheap swill with skepticism. "It's 80 proof," I said, unccoring it with my teeth. "It'll clean the wound."

"Do it," I poured the alcohol over the gash in his side. Allaric didn't scream, but his back arched off the mattress, and a low, guttural growl ripped from his throat. His claws punched through the thin mattress. "Sorry," I whispered, my hands shaking.

"Don't apologize," he gritted out, sweat beading on his forehead. "Just get the silver out." I threaded the needle. I had no tweezers, so I had to use my fingers to probe the wound. It was intimate, terrifying work. I was touching the raw flesh of an alpha, smelling the potent scent of his blood. Pine, rain, and iron.

"Why?" he asked suddenly, his eyes squeezed shut as I dug for a fragment of metal. "Why? What? Why save me?" He opened his eyes, fixing me with that intense golden stare. "I know how the pack treats the wolfless. I know you are paid scraps. I know you are invisible. You could have let Lyra kill me. She might have rewarded you."

I finally found the silver shard. With a quick tug, I pulled it out. He shuddered. "Yeah, Lyra wouldn't have rewarded me," I said, dropping the bloody metal onto the floor. "She would have killed everyone who witnessed her coup. Besides," I began to stitch the wound. My movements practiced and efficient. "Chaos is bad for the bottom of the food chain. When alphas fight, omegas die. You are a hard king, Allaric. You are ruthless, but you keep the borders secure. You keep the rogues out. Under you, I am ignored. Under Silus and Lyra. I would be prey."

Allaric watched me, his expression unreadable. "Pragmatism," he mused. "I expected a plea for mercy or a declaration of loyalty, but you calculate survival like a general."

"I have to," I said, tying off the suture and biting the thread. "I don't have claws. I have to be smarter than the things that want to eat me."

He sat up slowly, testing the stitches. The color was already returning to his face as his healing factor kicked in, no longer impeded by the silver. He reached out and took my chin in his hand. His thumb traced the line of my jaw. The touch sent a jolt of electricity straight to my core. A feeling so foreign and intense I almost pulled away. "You are not nothing, is older," he said, his voice low and rough. "Tonight you are the most valuable wolf in the pack, and you don't even have a pilt." He dropped his hand, the moment breaking as the sound of distant sirens wailed outside.

"Lyra has locked down the castle," he said, moving to the window. "She will be broadcasting her narrative by now, claiming I went mad, claiming I attacked her. She has the media, she has the element of surprise, and she has the castle defenses."

"She doesn't have the codes," I said quietly.

Allaric turned. "What?"

"The master security override," I said. "Every Tuesday, I clean the war room. The general writes the daily codes on a sticky note under his desk because he can never remember them. I I memorize them."

All Alaric stared at me, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. It was the first time I had seen him smile, and it was terrifying. "You memorized the nuclear codes of the Obsidian Court."

"I was bored," I shrugged. "And I thought knowledge is the only weapon they can't take away from me."

All Alaric laughed. It was a dark jagged sound. "Isoldincaid. If we survive this night, I am going to make you my hand."

"I'd settle for a raise," I muttered.

"We need to get to a terminal," all Alaric said, pacing the small room. "If you can input those override codes, we can lock Lyra out of the defense grid. We can turn the castle's automated turrets against her rogues. We can open the coms and call for reinforcements."

"There's a terminal in the library," I said. "But it's across the courtyard. It's open ground. Snipers will see us."

"Not if we go under," Alaric said.

"There are no tunnels under the courtyard," I argued.

"Just the drainage pipes. Exactly," All Alaric said, grabbing his torn jacket. "You showed me the way of the rat, is older now. We played dirty."

The drainage pipes were worse than the laundry shoot. They smelled of stagnant water and decay. We crawled on our hands and knees, the freezing water soaking my uniform to the bone. Allaric was in front of me. I could hear his breathing, steady, rhythmic. But I could also feel his pain. Not physical pain, but a psychic backlash that rolled off him in waves. "It hurts, doesn't it?" I whispered, the echo bouncing off the concrete walls.

He stopped crawling. "What? The bond, Lyra. It must feel like like cutting off a limb."

Allaric was silent for a long time. "It's worse," he said finally. "The bond is absolute. Even now, knowing she wants me dead, my wolf is crying out for her. It wants to submit. It wants to bear its throat to her. I am fighting my own biology every step of this way." He looked back at me over his shoulder, his eyes glowing faintly in the dark. "That is why she chose tonight. She knew the solstice heightens the bond. She bet that I wouldn't be able to pull the trigger on my mate."

"But you did," I said. "You shot at her."

"I missed on purpose," he admitted, his voice full of self-loathing. "I could have put that bullet between her eyes. My hand. It wouldn't do it."

"That doesn't make you weak, all Alaric," I said softly. "It makes you not a monster."

"Kings must be monsters," he growled, resuming his crawl. "If I cannot kill her, she will win. [clears throat] And if she wins, thousands die." We reached the great that opened up into the library subfloor. All Alaric pushed it up effortlessly. We climbed out into the silent booklined sanctuary. The library was vast, a cathedral of knowledge. Moonlight streamed through the high windows.

"Terminal is at the main desk," I whispered. We moved through the shadows. The library was empty, but the silence felt heavy. Watchful. I reached the computer terminal. It was locked, displaying the obsidian crest. "Do your magic," allaric whispered, standing guard, his gun trained on the entrance. I typed in the sequence I had seen the general write down. "Alpha 9 Zulu Tango 44."

"Access granted. I'm in," I hissed. "I'm accessing the defense grid." My fingers flew across the keyboard. I brought up the camera feeds. The ballroom was empty of bodies. They had been moved. The courtyard was patrolling with rogue wolves. "I'm locking down the perimeter gates," I said, executing the command, trapping them inside with us. "And disabling the internal sensors so they can't track us."

"Can you open the armory?" Allaric asked.

"Done. [clears throat] And I've triggered the silent alarm to the eastern garrisons. They should be here in click."

The sound of a hammer cocking back echoed through the library. Allaric spun around. I froze. Emerging from the shadows of the biography section was not a rogue soldier. It was Lyra. She looked pristine, not a hair out of place. She held a heavy assault rifle, but she wasn't aiming it at Allaric. She was aiming it at me.

"I knew you'd come here," Lyra purred, walking closer. Her eyes were black pools of malice. "Allaric is too proud to hide, but he's too injured to fight. He needs tactics. And who better than the little mouse who watches from the corners."

"Lyra," all Alaric said, stepping in front of me. "Put the gun down."

"Step aside, husband," she spat the word like an insult. "The bond makes it hard for you to hurt me, doesn't it? I can feel your wolf whimpering. You can't attack me."

"Try me," Alaric warned, a low growl building in his chest.

"I don't need to fight you," Lyra smiled. "I just need to hurt you. And I've realized something interesting tonight. You didn't save yourself in the ballroom. You saved her. She shifted her aim slightly, correcting for all Alaric's movement. She was going to shoot through him if she had to. "You care about the help?" Lyra laughed. "How pathetic. an alpha king attached to a genetic defect."

"She's worth 10 of you," Allaric said, his voice steady.

"Then watch her die." Lyra's finger tightened on the trigger. Allaric didn't lunge at her. He lunged at me. He tackled me to the ground just as the rifle roared. Bullets chewed up the computer terminal, sending sparks and plastic flying.

"Run!" Allaric screamed, shoving me toward the stacks.

"I'm not leaving you," I yelled. "She won't kill me yet. She needs my biometric print to access the vault. She'll kill you for sport."

"Go." He turned and shifted. It was painful to watch. Without the full moon, and with the silver in his system, the shift was jagged and wrong. Bones cracked and reformed. Fur burst through his skin. A massive black wolf standing five feet at the shoulder rose up to face the queen. He was limping, bleeding, but he was still the king. He roared, a sound that shook the books from the shelves and threw himself at his mate.

I didn't watch the collision. I scrambled on hands and knees into the labyrinth of bookshelves, tears streaming down my face. I had to hide. I had to survive because I was the only one who knew that the distress signal had gone through. I just had to stay alive for 20 minutes until the cavalry arrived. But as I huddled behind a first edition history of the War of the Ancients, I heard Lyra's voice echo through the library, calm and terrifying. "Find her," she commanded her soldiers. "Burn the library down if you have to. Flush the rat out."

The smell of burning paper is distinct. It smells like lost memories. As I huddled behind the heavy oak shelf of the history section, smoke began to curl along the ceiling. A gray serpent choking the life out of the library. Lyra wasn't bluffing. She had ordered her rogues to torch the exits, hurting us into the center like cattle in a pen.

"Come out, little mouse," Lyra's voice drifted over the crackle of flames. "The king is bleeding out. Don't you want to say goodbye?" I pressed my hand over my mouth to stifle a cough. My eyes watered, stinging from the acrid fumes. I wasn't a soldier. I wasn't a shifter. I was a 22year-old girl who knew how to fold napkins and polish silver. But I also knew this library. While the alphas and betas spent their days training in the combat pits, I had spent my breaks here. I knew that the biography section had a false floor for ventilation. I knew that the ladder on the west wall had a rusted wheel that squeaked. And I knew that directly above the central reading area where Lyra was currently standing hung the iron chandelier, a two-tonon monstrosity of rot iron and candles suspended by a winch cable that was anchored. I looked to my left, anchored right next to the philosophy section. I began to crawl. The heat was rising, pressing down on me like a physical weight. I kept low, my knees scraping against the rough wool carpet.

Below, in the center clearing, a drama was unfolding. I peaked through a gap in the books. Allaric was in human form again, forced out of his shift by exhaustion and silver poisoning. He was on his knees, blood pouring from his side, his chest heaving. Standing over him was a man I recognized from the descriptions. Silas. Silas was Lyra's mirror image. But where she was beautiful, he was jagged. He held a serrated blade to Allaric's throat.

"Look at him," Silus sneered, addressing the dozen rogue soldiers surrounding them. "The great king Allaric, defeated by a woman and a matchstick." Lyra paced around Allaric, her heels clicking on the marble floor. "He chose a servant over me, Silas. Can you believe it? He broke the sanctity of the high table for a cleaner."

"Where is she?" Silas asked, scanning the burning shelves.

"Dying? The smoke will get her before the fire does."

I reached the winch. It was a heavy rusted mechanism hidden behind a velvet curtain. The locking pin was thick steel. I grabbed the handle. It was hot to the touch. Below, all Alaric lifted his head. His golden eyes were dim, but they found the curtain where I was hiding. He couldn't see me, but he knew. He stared right at the spot and gave a microscopic shake of his head. "Don't." He didn't want me to reveal my position. He was ready to die, to keep me hidden. That was the difference between him and them. They ruled by fear. He ruled by sacrifice.

"Any last words, brother-in-law?" Silas asked, raising the blade.

"Yes," Allaric rasped, blood coating his teeth. "You forgot to check the ceiling."

I yanked the locking pin with every ounce of strength I had. It didn't budge. It was jammed with years of rust. Stuck. I panicked. The fire was licking at the shelves behind me. I looked around for a lever, a bar, anything. My eyes landed on a heavy leatherbound book. "The rise and fall of the northern clans." Irony, I whispered. I grabbed the massive tome and slammed it down onto the locking pin like a hammer. Clang. The pin popped loose. The winch screamed as the cable unspooled at breakneck speed. Gravity did the rest. The massive iron chandelier plummeted. Lyra screamed. Silas looked up too late. The impact shook the entire foundation of the castle. The chandelier crashed into the center of the room, crushing three rogue soldiers instantly and sending shrapnel of iron and wax flying like grenades. The floor cracked. Dust and debris billowed up, blinding everyone.

"Now," I screamed, abandoning stealth. I grabbed the winch cable, which was still dangling, and in a moment of pure insanity, swung out from the balcony. I wasn't an action hero. I had zero upper body strength. I slid down the grease sllicked cable, burning the skin off my palms, and landed in a heap on top of the broken chandelier. I rolled off, landing next to all Alaric. He looked at me, bewildered.

"You were supposed to run."

"I told you. I'm bad at following orders." I panted, grabbing his arm and hauling him up.

Silus emerged from the dust cloud, coughing. One of his arms hung uselessly at his side, crushed by the impact, but he was an alpha. He was already healing. "Kill them!" He roared to the surviving rogues. "Kill them both." We were surrounded. Fire on one side, soldiers on the other. All Alaric swayed, his weight heavy against me. He was running on fumes.

"Isa," he whispered. "The bond. I can't fight Lyra. If she attacks, I will freeze. It's biology."

"Then don't fight her," I said, eyeing the approaching shapes in the smoke. "Fight for me."

Lyra stepped through the haze. She was untouched, her emerald dress pristine amidst the ruin. Her face, however, was twisted into a mask of pure hatred. "You annoying little insect," she hissed at me. "Why won't you just die?" She raised her hand. "Pack! Submit!" She used the alpha voice. It was a wave of psychic power that hit the room like a physical blow. The rogue soldiers stiffened. Allaric fell to his knees, clutching his head, a groan of agony ripping from his throat. The command to submit to an alpha queen was overriding his nervous system. Silas smirked. "Game over. The biology always wins."

Lyra walked toward us. A predator toying with food. "Neilgirl." I stood there. I looked at Allaric writhing on the floor. I looked at the rogues frozen in obedience and then I looked at Lyra.

"No," I said.

Lyra blinked. "What?"

"I said no."

"I am your queen. I gave you a command," she screamed this time, the power vibrating the windows.

"And I," I said, stepping forward, "am wolfless." The realization hit her. The alpha voice worked by dominating the inner wolf. I didn't have one. Her magic flowed right through me and hit nothing but empty air. To me, she was just a woman shouting. "I am immune to you," I said, my voice steady despite the terror gripping my heart. "Your pherommones, your voice, your bond. It means nothing to me. You have no power here, Lyra. You're just a traitor in a fancy dress."

Lyra's face turned purple. The illusion of her godhood was shattered. "Kill her!" she shrieked at Silas. Silas lunged, his good arm transforming into a clawed gauntlet. He was fast. Too fast. I raised my hands, bracing for death. But death didn't come. A blur of motion intercepted Silas. Allaric. He had fought through the command. He had forced his body to move against the crushing weight of the alpha voice. He caught Silas's wrist midair.

"She said," All Alaric snarled, his eyes bleeding from the effort. "You have no power." All Alaric headbutted Silas, the sound of bone cracking, echoing through the library. Silas crumpled.

Lyra stood alone. She looked at Allaric, her eyes wide. "You can't hurt me, Alaric. I am your mate."

"The moon decided it," All Alaric stood up, shielding me. He looked at the woman he had loved for 10 years, the woman who had slept in his bed while planning his murder. "Made a mistake." He reached into his jacket, not for a weapon, but for the connection in his chest. I watched as he closed his eyes and pulled. It wasn't physical, but I felt it. A snapping of a tether, a rejection so profound it sent a shock wave through the room. Lyra screamed. She clutched her chest, falling to her knees as if shot. "You rejected the bond," she gasped, blood trickling from her nose. "You can't. The pain will kill you."

"I'd rather die free than live as your puppet," Allaric growled.

The library doors exploded inward. Flood lights blinded us. "Obsidian garrison down. Everyone down." The cavalry had arrived. Dozens of loyalist soldiers poured in, securing the room, tackling the confused rogues. Medic teams rushed toward us. Allaric didn't look at them. He turned to me. He was pale, shaking from the aftershocks of severing a mate bond. But he was alive. He reached out a hand. I took it.

"You didn't kneel," he whispered, sounding aed.

"My knees are bad," I joked weakly. Then the adrenaline crashed, and the world went black.

I woke up in a bed that cost more than my parents' house. The sheets were silk, not linen. The air smelled of sterile medical supplies and fresh flowers. I sat up, panic spiking. "The king is eating a steak in the next room," a deep voice answered. I looked to the doorway. Kyle, the head of the guard, was standing there. He looked at me differently now. There was no sneer. He bowed his head.

"Miss Concincaid is older," I corrected, swinging my legs out of bed. "Where am I?"

"The royal suite, the king insisted." I walked, wobbled really, into the adjoining chamber. All Alaric was sitting on the edge of a massive four-poster bed, a team of healers finishing up the bandages on his torso. He looked tired, older, but the tension that had always carried in his shoulders was gone. When he saw me, he waved the healers away. They bowed and left us alone.

"You're [clears throat] awake," he said.

"I slept for 2 days. Three smoke inhalation and exhaustion. You pushed your human body past its limits." He stood up and walked over to me. He didn't tower over me to intimidate. He stood close to share the space.

"Lyra, I asked."

"In the Obsidian dungeons, the trial starts tomorrow. She will be executed for treason." He said it without emotion. The bond was truly gone. "And Silas dead. His neck didn't survive our encounter."

Alaric walked to the window, looking out over the rebuilt courtyard. "The council is in an uproar. They don't know how to process this. An alpha king saved by a wolfless omega. It breaks every tradition we have."

"I can go back to the kitchens," I said quickly. "If my presence causes trouble."

Allaric spun around. "If you go back to the kitchens, I will burn them down." He crossed the room and took my hands. "You saved me, Isolda. Not just my life, but my kingdom. You saw what no one else saw. You stood when everyone else knelt." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. My heart stopped.

"Allaric. I..."

He opened it. It wasn't a ring. It was a pin. the crest of the obsidian court, a black wolf, but this one held a quill in its mouth. It was made of solid gold. "I am creating a new position," he said. "Royal Chancellor. I need someone who isn't blinded by instinct. I need someone who sees the truth even when it's ugly. I need you." He pinned it to my hospital gown.

"I can't be your queen," I whispered. "I have no wolf. The pack won't accept a mate who can't shift."

"I don't need a queen, Alaric said softly, lifting my chin to look into his eyes. "I had a queen. [clears throat] She sold me for power. He leaned in, his forehead resting against mine. "I need a partner, and if the pack doesn't like it, they can take it up with the woman who dropped a chandelier on the rogue general." I laughed, a tear slipping down my cheek. "It was a really heavy chandelier."

So Allaric smiled, the expression transforming his face into something breathtakingly human. "What do you say, Wolfless? Will you help me run this pack?"

I looked at the pin. I looked at the king who looked at me like I was the only person in the room. "I have a few conditions," I said. "First, better wages for the kitchen staff." Allaric chuckled. "Done." "Second," I said, grinning. "No more laundry duty." "Granted." And third, I leaned up and kissed him. It wasn't a tentative servant to master Peck. It was a claim. "You have to teach me how to shoot."

Allaric wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into the warmth of his chest. "Deal." Outside, the sun was rising over the Obsidian Mountains, painting the world in gold. The night of betrayal was over. The era of the wolfless had begun.

So there you have it. The wolfless Omega who brought an empire to its knees. Not with claws, but with courage. Allaric and his older proved that power isn't about biology. It's about loyalty. If you enjoyed this story of highstakes betrayal and romance, please hit that like button. It helps the channel immensely. Subscribe and ring the bell so you don't miss our next saga. And let me know in the comments, do you think All Alaric should turn his older into a wolf or should she stay human? Thanks for watching.