The Last Omegas

The weight room at Stonehaven smelled like sweat, metal, and fear. Kal stood near the edge of the yard, trying to keep his back against something solid while the afternoon sun beat down on the concrete. His red hair was already damp at his temples. He had learned in the last seven days that standing still was safer than moving, but standing out here alone was its own kind of trouble.

A group of alphas had been watching him since the doors opened for exercise hour. Three of them, broad-shouldered and mean, moved in slow circles like dogs that had already tasted blood. Kal kept his eyes on the ground. His father had beaten the instinct to meet a stare out of him years ago. Look down. Stay small. Do not give them a reason.

One of the alphas broke away from the others and came closer. He had a shaved head and a scar across his chin that pulled his smile into something ugly. "Look at this. The little redhead finally came out to play."

Kal swallowed. He could feel his own scent rising, sweet and sharp, the omega part of him that his father had tried to smother with fists and whiskey. The other inmates smelled it too. He heard the low rumble of interest move through the small crowd that had gathered near the weight piles.

"Heard you like pretty girls," the scarred alpha said, stepping closer. "That true, omega? You like to get on your knees for them?"

Kal did not answer. His throat had gone tight. The second alpha circled behind him while the third blocked the path back to the main yard. They were closing in now. One of them reached out and flicked the collar of Kal's jumpsuit.

"We could break him in right here," the one behind him muttered. "Guards won't stop us. Not for a piece of ass like this."

Kal's heart hammered. He felt the concrete beneath his sneakers, felt the way his legs wanted to run even though there was nowhere to go. The prison stretched in every direction, concrete and wire and eyes that watched without caring. He had already learned that screaming did nothing. The guards stayed in their towers.

The scarred alpha grabbed his arm. "Come on, sweetheart. Let's find somewhere quiet."

The blow came from nowhere. One second the scarred alpha was pulling Kal forward, and the next he was on the ground with blood pouring from his nose. Deamon stood over him, chest bare and gleaming with sweat, his dark hair pulled back in a tight knot. He did not speak. He simply drove his boot into the fallen man's ribs and left him gasping.

The other two alphas backed up fast. Deamon was known. Even the ones who talked big stayed out of his way. He had come in six months ago with a body count and a reputation that the guards respected because they were afraid to cross him. He looked at the two remaining alphas now, and they dropped their eyes.

"Walk," Deamon said. His voice was low, rough, the kind of voice that did not need to be loud to be obeyed.

Kal stood frozen. He watched the two alphas retreat, watched the crowd that had gathered start to drift away. Deamon turned his attention to him. The alpha was taller by half a foot, built like someone who had spent years lifting more than just weights. His eyes were a hard gray that caught the light and held it.

Deamon stepped in close. Kal tried to step back, but there was nowhere to go. A hand closed around the front of his jumpsuit and yanked him forward. Deamon lowered his head and scented the skin at Kal's throat, drawing in a long breath. His eyes flashed red for a second, the alpha rising hard and fast.

"You smell like trouble," Deamon said against his neck. "And you smell like mine."

Kal's pulse jumped. He had heard the rumors in the last week, the whispers that Deamon ran a small pack inside these walls. An alpha sister. A beta. An enforcer. They kept to themselves in a restricted block that the guards left alone. Now that block had a new target.

"I don't belong to anyone," Kal managed. His voice came out smaller than he wanted.

Deamon's mouth curved. It was not a kind expression. "You do now. Name's Deamon. You're Kal. You've been marked since the day you walked in here. Every alpha in this place can smell what you are. They'll come for you again. Next time I won't be watching."

Kal felt the truth of it settle in his gut. He had spent the last week dodging stares and keeping his head down. It had not been enough. His scent was too strong, too rare. Male omegas were almost unheard of. The prison had turned him into prey the moment the doors shut behind him.

From the shadows near the fence, a woman watched. Cassandra. Deamon's sister. She had the same dark hair, the same sharp features, though her eyes were a colder blue. She leaned against the concrete wall with her arms crossed, studying Kal like he was a puzzle she had not decided how to solve. Her gaze lingered on the line of his throat, the way his hands shook even though he tried to hide it. She nodded once to her brother and disappeared back into the crowd.

Deamon kept his grip on Kal's jumpsuit. "Come on. You're done out here for today."

Kal let himself be pulled. Fighting would only make it worse. He had seen what Deamon did to the scarred alpha. That kind of violence did not need an audience to be effective. They crossed the yard while the other inmates watched and whispered. No one tried to stop them. The guards in the towers looked the other way.

The restricted cell block sat behind two sets of reinforced doors. Deamon keyed in a code that Kal was not supposed to know and the lock clicked open. Inside, the air was cooler, the lighting dimmer. Two men waited in the common area that had been converted into something like a den. Luca, the beta, sat on a metal bench with a magazine open across his knees. Ryder, the enforcer, leaned against the far wall cleaning his nails with a small blade. Both looked up when Deamon entered with Kal in tow.

"This the one?" Luca asked. He was leaner than Deamon, all sharp angles and quick eyes. His smile was lazy, but there was nothing lazy about the way he sized Kal up.

"This is him," Deamon said. He released Kal's jumpsuit and the fabric stayed bunched where his fist had been. "Name's Kal. He's ours now."

Ryder pushed off the wall. He was broader than Luca, built for breaking things. He circled Kal once, close enough that his shoulder brushed the omega's arm. "He's shaking."

"He's smart enough to be afraid," Deamon said. "That'll change."

Kal stood in the center of the room and tried to keep his breathing even. The space was small, meant for four people at most. A set of bunks lined one wall. A table and chairs took up the middle. Someone had hung a blanket across part of the space to create a rough partition. It smelled like alpha here, like leather and smoke and something darker that made Kal's instincts want to curl in on themselves.

Deamon moved to the table and pulled out a chair. He pointed at it. "Sit."

Kal sat. The metal was cold through his jumpsuit. Luca and Ryder stayed standing, flanking him on either side. Deamon remained on his feet as well, arms crossed over his chest.

"Look at me," Deamon said.

Kal lifted his head. It took effort. His father had trained him to keep his eyes down, to make himself smaller than the rage that lived in their house. Meeting Deamon's stare felt like stepping off a ledge.

"Good," Deamon said. "Again. Eyes up. You don't drop them unless I tell you to."

Kal held the stare. His heart beat too fast. He could feel sweat gathering at the small of his back.

Luca reached out and tipped Kal's chin higher with two fingers. "He's got good bones. Pretty mouth. The general population would have eaten him alive."

"They still might if we don't claim him proper," Ryder said. He tapped the flat of his blade against his palm. "Word gets around fast in here."

Deamon nodded. "That's why he's here. We claim him. We protect him. He learns to stand on his own two feet instead of crawling for every alpha that walks by."

Kal's hands curled into fists on his thighs. "I didn't ask for this."

"You didn't have to," Deamon said. "Your scent did the asking for you. Every day you walk out there alone, you paint a target on your back. We fix that. In exchange, you fall in line."

"What does falling in line look like?" Kal asked. He hated how small his voice sounded, but he needed to know the rules before they broke him on them.

Deamon's smile returned, slow and sharp. "It looks like you eat when we tell you to eat. Sleep when we tell you to sleep. You keep your head up and your mouth shut unless one of us asks you a question. You don't run. You don't hide. You let us handle the rest."

Luca leaned against the table. "We won't hurt you. Not unless you make us. But we will not coddle you either. Your father did enough of that damage already."

Kal flinched at the mention of his father. The bruises on his ribs had faded to yellow, but the memory was still fresh. Deamon caught the reaction and filed it away. The alpha's eyes narrowed slightly.

"We heard about your case," Deamon said. "Framed for something you didn't do. That tracks with the way you move. Someone spent a long time teaching you to be small."

Kal did not answer. He kept his eyes on Deamon's face the way he had been told. The silence stretched until Ryder broke it with a low chuckle.

"He's got some fight in him after all," Ryder said. "Good. We'll need that."

Deamon reached out and hooked two fingers under the collar of Kal's jumpsuit again. He pulled the fabric aside just enough to expose the line of Kal's throat. The touch was clinical, assessing, but it still sent a shiver through the omega's frame.

"Your scent is strong," Deamon said. "Stronger than you know. That's why the others came after you today. That's why they'll come again. We keep you close. We keep you marked. In here, that means you stay in this block unless one of us is with you."

"And outside this block?" Kal asked.

"You don't go outside this block," Deamon said. "Not yet. Not until we say you're ready."

Luca pushed off the table and moved to one of the bunks. He pulled a blanket from the bottom mattress and tossed it to Kal. The fabric was worn but clean. It smelled like the three alphas who lived here.

"That's yours," Luca said. "You sleep in the bottom bunk. Deamon takes top. Ryder and I rotate the other two. You stay out of our way when we're working. You eat what we give you. You answer when we speak to you."

Kal clutched the blanket. It was the first thing anyone had given him in this place that was not meant to hurt. He did not know what to do with the feeling that rose in his chest.

Deamon watched him for a long moment. Then he nodded once, satisfied. "Welcome to the den, little omega. Try not to get yourself killed before we teach you how to survive."

Kal sat in the chair with the blanket in his lap and listened to the sounds of the prison beyond the reinforced doors. Somewhere out there, the yard was still running its violent games. In here, the rules were different. Harder in some ways. Safer in others. He had traded one kind of danger for another, and he was not sure yet which one would break him first.

Deamon moved to the far wall and leaned against it, arms still crossed. Cassandra appeared in the doorway a moment later, her blue eyes sweeping the room before settling on Kal. She did not smile. She simply studied him the way she had in the yard, measuring, calculating, deciding what he was worth.

"He'll do," she said finally. Her voice was lower than Deamon's, smoother. "For now."

Kal met her stare for the space of three heartbeats before he remembered the rule. Eyes up unless told otherwise. He forced his gaze back to Deamon instead. The alpha gave him a single approving nod.

The door to the block clicked shut behind Cassandra. The four of them were alone again. Kal sat with the blanket and waited for whatever came next. The weight of their attention pressed against his skin like hands. He had survived his first week by staying small. Now the rules had changed. He would have to learn how to stand tall, even if it killed him.