Page 1 of Storm
Chapter1
Storm
16 YEARS OLD
The walls are white. The floors are white. Even the beds are white. Everything in this Omega House is the same pristine, sterile shade of submission.
When I first arrived, I was given a stark white room with just the basics. You’re supposed to bring the color.
The other omegas here bring their favorite clothes, & softest blankets. They bring memories, family photos, childhood keepsakes, trinkets from places they’ve been, all the little things that make a space your own.
But if you grew up in the foster system like me, you bring with you one small backpack, which is barely enough to hold what little I own. A spare change of clothes, the oversized hoodie of my best friend Rook—the first boy to ever make my heart race—and the few small things I refuse to let go of.
Tucked inside is my dog-eared copy ofThe Hunger Games, the pages worn soft from too many re-reads. A cheap bracelet, fraying at the edges, but one of the few things that’s ever truly been mine—I got that on my thirteenth birthday from Rook.
And at the bottom of the bag, half-buried under everything else, is a pack of gum. A nervous habit, a distraction, something to focus on when the world feels too loud.
It’s not much. But it’s all I have.
Rook’s alphascent was embedded in that hoodie. It was the last piece of him I had, the only thing that made me feel like I wasn’t completely alone.
But they took that from me.
They washed it in scent blockers until nothing remained but fabric and emptiness. When they handed it back, it was just a hoodie. Just another thing that had been stolen with my freedom.
And I broke.
The only time I’ve ever truly broken. The only time I’ve ever felt so completely, unbearably alone.
I pull the hoodie over my head anyway, inhaling deeply, searching for even a ghost of Rook's scent.Nothing.Just the chemical tang of scent blockers that makes my nose burn. They couldn't just let me have this one thing.
Three weeks since my body betrayed me. Three weeks since I went from beta to omega in one feverish nightmare. Three weeks of "adjusting to my new reality" as the beta’s in charge like to say with their practiced smiles and condescending tones.
"It's a gift," they tell me. "Many beta-born would be thrilled with an omega presentation."
I want to scream at them that I was happy before. I had plans. Freedom. A future that didn't involve being some pack’s omega, someone's property.
My fingers trace the small photo I managed to hide in the lining of my backpack—the only thing I didn’t want them to see in fear they would take it away. Rook and me at the county fair last summer, his arm around my shoulders, both of us laughing at something I can't remember now. His dark eyes crinkling at the corners.Before everything changed.
I tuck the photo away when I hear footsteps approaching. Beta “house mom” Veronica probably, with another lecture aboutembracing your omegaor some other bullshit.
The foster system taught me how to survive by keeping my head down, but my new omega status has apparently stripped me of even that dignity. Every emotion I have broadcasts itself through my scent, betraying me before I can even open my mouth. My dark chocolate scent now fills rooms with my moods. Anger smells bitter. Sadness turns it flat. There's no hiding anymore.
The footsteps pauseoutside my door before a gentle knock breaks the silence.
"Storm? It's time for class." Miranda's voice is honey-sweet, dripping with fake enthusiasm. She isn’t as bad as Veronica. But I still don’t like her.
I don't answer, but it doesn't matter. She opens the door anyway—another privilege I've lost.Privacy.
"You haven't touched your breakfast," she notes, eyeing the untouched tray by my bed.
"Not hungry." I stand, pulling the sleeves of Rook's hoodie over my hands. It's enormous on me, even more so now that I've lost weight. My 5'2" frame practically drowns in it.
Miranda's eyes roam over the hoodie. I dare her to tell me it’s not allowed again. See if she wants to start another fight today. She lets out a huff and looks at me again, seemingly knowing it’s a fight she can’t win.
"You need to keep your strength up. The transition is taxing on your body."
She continues with her daily health chant. I usually ignore her, but today I’m extra edgy. Maybe because those heat suppressants I’m meant to be taking daily are piling up under my pillow.
