Page 8 of Feral Omega

He slides a file across the desk to me. "She's a prospect at the Refinement Center."

"The Refinement Center?" I scoff. The name itself is a joke, considering everyone knows that place is where the Council stuffs all the omegas it doesn't deem fit for society. Most of them end up in breeding centers. The ones who end up being successfully "refined" go to packs that are desperate for omegas, but not privileged enough to secure one through a proper arrangement with good breeding.

Definitely the Council's way of giving us the middle finger while also trying to ensure we don't turn on them like junkyard dogs. An interesting little tightrope those fuckers are walking.

Whiskey calls them all shish kabobs since they've got sticks shoved firmly up their asses. I have to admit, that's probably my favorite of his little nicknames.

"You're not in any position to be choosy," my father says in a dry tone. "Even if you do bear the name Hargrave, no decent family in their right mind would consign their omega daughter over to you and that group of rabid wolves you call a pack."

I snort. He's not wrong. "I'm still not sure a delinquent omega stands a much better chance at surviving us than a regular one does."

"She's a unique case, even for the Refinement Center," he says, a hint of something in his tone that I'd think was admiration if I didn't know him better than that. "She has been marked Irreparable."

"Irreparable?" I echo dryly. "I thought that was an urban legend they use to scare wayward omegas into compliance."

"No, it's quite a legitimate designation, albeit a rare one," he muses.

"Why haven't they sent her to a breeding facility already?" I ask, unable to help being a bit curious about this omega the Council seems to have hand-picked for us.

"She's been deemed too great of a security risk," he answers, his mouth quirking slightly to one side beneath his thick gray mustache.

"A security risk?" Now he's got my attention. "She's an omega."

"An omega who's caused roughly half a dozen guards to quit their post, and the last one to lose a digit, if my contact at the Refinement Center is to be believed," he clarifies.

I snort. "So she's feral."

"Quite literally," he says, flipping open a file sitting on his desk. "She was found as a young girl, wandering alone in the woods not far from a rebel encampment."

"How old is she?" I ask warily. It's against Council law for any omega under the age of eighteen to be given to a pack, but I wouldn't put it past those twisted fuckers to make an exception for an omega they want to be rid of. And that's the last damn thing I need or want, for a myriad of reasons.

"She's twenty-three," he says, and I feel a surge of relief, even if it's not by much.

"Don't they usually marry them off as soon as they turn eighteen?"

"Like I said, these are special circumstances," he answers. "After six months of solitary confinement with no progress, this is her last chance."

"Six months of solitary?" I echo. "What the fuck? Is this Refinement place a glorified finishing school or a fucking torture chamber?"

My father's expression remains a stony mask. "I don't ask questions outside my purview, Thane, and I suggest you do the same."

Anger burns in my gut at the thought of an omega being subjected to such conditions, feral or not. I may be more brutal than most, but I'm still an alpha. There are some lines that shouldn't be crossed.

The only thing worse than solitary might be condemning her to a life with the Ghosts.

"And if I refuse on moral grounds?" I ask.

"You don't have a choice," he says in a pointed tone. "But like I said, it's her last chance."

My brow furrows. "What exactly do you mean by that?”

He doesn't answer, but his silence speaks volumes.

"For fuck's sake, she's an omega!" I cry, throwing my hands up. Even my father shifts slightly, unnerved by my outburst. If even he's on edge around me, no wonder the Council is shitting their pants.

"A feral omega who has burned through even the vast resources of the Refinement Center," he says in the tone of a man who doesn't actually believe what he's saying and is just following orders.

That's the difference between me and him. Always has been. We were both born and bred to fight and kill, but unlike him, there are some lines I'm unwilling to cross even when the chain of command demands it.

---