Page 6 of Hunting Their Omega

Bishop slid into his seat.

“Anything?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Everyone seems to know as little as we do. And the units from packs with Omegas are hesitant to speak of them.”

I frowned, meeting Alaric’s cerulean gaze. An unspoken question passed between us. Something told me every pack’s understanding of Omegas was purposefully varied. Why?

I thought about my sister. What would it be like for her and the other females of Hidden Creek to face the reminder of what they could never be?

“Don’t,” Alaric said in a steady voice. “It won’t do any good to dwell on it.”

He was right. There was nothing worse than pity, and the females of Hidden Creek deserved better.

The room fell silent when the Council members entered, their billowing purple robes dusting the floor behind them. The older shifters looked to be in their fifties, but I knew Councilman Raza was well into his one hundred and fiftieth year of life.

Though the average shifter lifespan was still thought to be three hundred, the war and plague made it uncommon to see many live past their hundredth year. Witches, on the other hand, lived a natural human life span unless they used their magic to extend it. Councilman Raza’s thick, graying hair was combed back, and he surveyed the units for a moment before speaking. “Units, we gather for another successful Hunt. The females are readyto be claimed and bear the sons and daughters as the Goddess decrees. But siring is an honor won with cunning and claws.”

A second councilman, whose name I could not recall, stepped forward. The deep river of scars on the left side of his face blended with his withering skin. I felt the weight of his age as my wolf studied him. His shrewd eyes were milky, and for a moment, I wondered if he was blind.

“There is but one rule,” he said, his voice like sandpaper. “No harm must come to any Omega during the Hunt. Do what you must to claim them, but remember the value they bring to your packs. Omegas are delicate creatures seeking guidance and protection. It is your duty as their mates to teach them what is expected, and in turn, they shall obey, yield, and bear your fruit so that your packs may be whole again.”

A wave of disgust flowed through our bond, and I resisted the urge to recoil at the councilman’s wording.

“Come, units,” Councilman Raza said. “It is time to take your place in the arena.”

Bishop, Alaric, and I shared a look and followed the other units into a domed room. Inside, the walls were lined with stone doorways at six-foot intervals. The Council ushered a unit into one before directing the next group toward another threshold. This process continued until our unit slipped into the starting station.

The room beyond the doorway was bare, apart from a steel gate on the far wall. Through the bars, we could see a large clearing and the menacing dark forest beyond. My wolf rose, pressing against the edge of my mind. An awareness I’d neverexperienced honed my human senses, making them sharper and more acute.

Shuffling and growling could be heard from the stations around us as every unit prepared for the moment the gates lifted.

“Do we have a game plan?” Alaric asked, rotating his shoulders.

“Choose one and stick to her. Hunting is always more successful when we have a target.”

Bishop crossed his arms over his broad chest, eyes fixed on the ground before us. There was a whirl of clanging metal, and the three of us froze as we waited for the Omegas’ release. My wolf quivered beneath my skin, adamant and excited.

I watched as several small forms shot out from another set of hidden doorways. All of them were too far away to see clearly, but I tracked the array of colorful clothing as they cut across the shorn grass in every direction.

I breathed in the lush, enticing scent of the Omegas, their aroma unlike anything I’d ever encountered.

Instantly, the Council’s reasoning for keeping the Omegas separated became clear. I could only imagine the fights that would happen among pack members if Omegas were walking around freely.

A scent—strong and bright, sweet with a hint of spice—drew my attention to a length of black hair. My wolf growled in my chest, low and possessive. Desire pumped through my veins, and my muscles swelled, testing the seams of my shirt. The world fell away until only her scent remained.

Track. Hunt. Claim.

The responding growls of my unit filtered through my ears, and our bond pulled taut.

We found her.

Our target.

Our Omega.

Chapter 3

Isolde

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