Chapter 1 Syra

Nine years later…

Irace through the darkness, a shadow among shadows. My feet are as soft as whispers against the forest floor. My senses are as sharp as the point of the spear I hold in my hands.

Silvered shafts of moonlight penetrate through the branches above me. The warm air is laden with the rich smell of humus and bitter scent markings of the wolves who roam this territory. Somewhere nearby, a night owl sings a hooting song. He is a hunter, like me.

Other omegas would never dare to travel through the forest alone, especially not at night, but I'm not like other omegas. Almost as soon as I started to walk, my fathers took me with them on their hunting excursions. They taught me how to use a spear and how to follow the spoor of wild creatures—of wolf and deer, bear and boar.

When I got older, I started hunting on my own. My fathers didn't like that. They didn't like it at all. Syra, you could get hurt, they said. Syra, you could get lost. Syra, you could die.

They soon learned the futility of their warnings. I am stubborn. It is a trait I inherited from my mother, or so I've been told.

Well, I haven't died yet, and I've always managed to find my way back home. I may have gotten hurt once or twice along the way, but I wear my scars with pride, as an alpha would do.

But tonight I have not ventured into the wilderness to hunt.

I am here for another reason. A shameful one.

I am dressed in my usual garb. Two flaps of softened deerhide cover my loins and backside, but leave my legs bare and free for running. A similar piece of material encloses my chest, with laces running up the front. I've got the laces pulled tight, to keep my stupid breasts from bouncing all over the place while I run. My hair is tied back in a knot to keep it out of my eyes. My feet are bare, the soles tough as leather from years of running.

In my hands, I carry a spear that I fashioned with my own hands. A wooden haft as long as I am tall, tipped with a steel blade I scavenged from the ruins. Over my shoulder is slung a leather satchel. It is filled with other tools—tools which I did not fashion, and which I have never used before tonight.

Topping a rise in the terrain, I pause and look back the way I came. Through the gaps in between the trees, I can just make out the Central Ruins, many miles behind me.

My home.

Long ago, that city would have glowed the whole night through, so the elders say. Now it is dark, save for a few sentry fires that glimmer like fallen stars in the distance.

I often wonder what it would have been like to live back then. Back before everything changed. If I'd been born back then, I wouldn't be a stupid omega. I wouldn't have to worry about going into heat. I wouldn't have to endure the hungry stares of the alphas. Nobody would care if I made babies or not. Literally every single problem in my life would not exist.

But if I'd been born back then, my fathers are so fond of telling me, then I wouldn't be me.

Sometimes I wish I wasn't me.

Sometimes I wish I was an alpha, like my fathers. I wish I was tall and strong like them. If I was an alpha, my fathers wouldn't worry about me going off to hunt by myself. I could go wherever I want, whenever I want. If I was an alpha, I could—

A sharp twinge in my lower abdomen breaks me from these thoughts, and between my legs, wet arousal seeps out of me, reminding me that I am not an alpha. I am an omega.

An omega who's going into heat.

I turn and continue onward, deeper into the wilderness, my spear clutched tightly in my fists, my ears straining for even the faintest hint of danger.

And by danger, I mean alphas.

I hear nothing however, and soon the forest opens up before me, revealing a wide open clearing awash in moonlight. I pause at the treeline, scanning the clearing for any signs of life. There's an old farmhouse on the other side, but the windows are dark, and tall weeds signal that no one has stayed there for a long, long time. An ancient barn stands beside the house, warped and weathered and leaning.

The place looks safe, but I'm hesitant. I remain in the cover of the forest, watching. I watch until another, sharper twinge in my abdomen sets me moving again. I head for the barn.

I'm halfway across the clearing when a funny feeling prickles the back of my neck. A sense of being watched. I spin and face the trees.

"Who's there?" I growl, keeping my voice low. My heart is pounding like a drum. "Show yourself!"

Silence.

"I've got a spear," I say, raking the shadows with my eyes. "And I know how to use it. I've killed ten alphas with this thing, and I've left one wishing he was dead. He wasn't alpha anymore when I got done with him."

Lies. I've never killed or maimed anybody.

My words are once again met with silence. I flare my nostrils, drinking in the night air. I smell grass, sap, acorns, the droppings of a coyote who passed this way three days ago…

…but no alpha.

And if there was an alpha nearby, I would smell him. Right now, my nose is tuned to search for an alpha's scent above all else.

No one is here. No one but me. My heat is just making me paranoid, that's all.

Another twinge hits my belly, harder and sharper than the ones that came before. Slick leaks out of me, and goosebumps pucker my skin.

I need to get inside, now.

I cross the remaining distance to the barn. At the door, I pause and poke my head inside, giving the air another cautious sniff. Even after more than a hundred years, the odor of domesticated animals still lingers in this place.

I can smell alphas too, but their scent is faint, well over a month old. Even so, it's enough to lift the fine hairs on the back of my neck.

But I have to use this place. I have no choice. My heat is growing stronger by the minute. I need to get inside right now, otherwise any alpha within a radius of several miles will be able to smell my desperation.

I step inside and pull the door shut behind me.

The interior of the barn is dark. I lean my spear against the wall. Then I set my satchel on the ground, and start to rummage. In amongst its softer contents, I find a thick, beeswax candle and an old metal lighter from before the Change. Soon the inside of the barn is filled with a soft, wavering glow.

My skin is dripping with sweat. My breath comes in short, ragged gasps. The twinge in my lower abdomen is pretty much permanent at this point, and the throbbing between my legs is almost painful.

I hunch over my satchel and look at my tools.

I've been collecting them for several years now, ever since I first came up with this not-so-brilliant plan. I found most of them in abandoned houses scattered throughout the Zone. Some were stashed in wooden drawers. Others were tucked beneath moldering mattresses. I don't know what substance the ancestors made these things out of, but the stuff certainly is durable.

I lift out one of the smaller ones and hold it up to the light. It's shaped like an erect penis, and I must say, the artist's attention to detail is incredible. Plump veins line the long shaft, and the blunt, rounded head appears to be anatomically correct, at least to my admittedly limited experience in such matters.

I've never actually been with an alpha before, but one time I saw several of them naked and aroused.

Nine years ago, I saw a mating ritual, and I immediately made up my mind that I would never allow myself to be dominated in that manner. Maybe the other omegas like it, but not me. I may have an omega's body, but I have the heart of an alpha.

Unfortunately, I also have an omega's needs. Ever since I turned eighteen, I've been dreading the day when I would have to suffer my first estrus. Months passed, then years, but my heat never came. I was grateful, but I knew it wouldn't last forever. Finally, this morning, at the ripe old age of twenty-two, I felt that first ticklish twinge in my lower abdomen, and I immediately knew what was happening to me.

Luckily, I was prepared.

I lied and told my fathers I was going hunting. Then I grabbed my trusty spear and my satchel full of tools, and I lit out for the wild lands of the Zone. I found this barn a few months back during one of my excursions, and I figured it would be a pretty good place to do the deed.

I loosen the laces on my chest and take off my top. My breasts seem to breathe a sigh of relief at being freed from those tight confines. My nipples are hard and throbbing.

Next, I remove my loincloth. It is sticky with my arousal. I set my clothing next to my spear.

Then, with my tool in hand, I lie down on my back on the dirty floor of the barn, and I spread my legs.

My sex is dripping with slick, and the tool slides into me with ease.

It feels… strange.

Not bad, exactly, but not particularly good either. It certainly does nothing to extinguish the intense need that is now coursing through my body. If anything, it only makes it worse.

Because it's not real, says a voice inside my head.

It is a voice that has been growing louder and louder since my heat started this morning. I ignore it and begin to stroke the tool in and out of my dripping hole, but the voice is persistent.

We don't need lifeless tools, it says. We need an alpha, hard and hot and alive.

"Shut up," I whisper and continue thrusting the tool in and out between my legs.

I thrust…

And thrust…

And thrust…

But nothing happens. It's not working.

Stop deluding yourself, Syra, the little voice whispers. We can't do this on our own. We need an alpha to cure this heat. Need his knot. Need his seed. Need his domination.

"Shut UP!"

There are tears in my eyes as I sit up and fling the useless tool across the barn.

Trembling, I crawl back to the satchel and pull out a different tool, one closer in size to the true alpha's member. The girth of it makes my core clench in fear, but I know this is what I need.

Fool! It is NOT what you need. You need an alpha—an ALPHA!

I lie down again and bring the larger tool down between my legs, wondering how the hell I'm even going to fit the damn thing inside me. I work the tip of it against my folds, coating the surface with my slick. With tears rolling down my temples, I prepare to push.

Instead, I freeze—and listen.

For a moment, everything is silent, save for the soft hiss of the burning candle. Then I hear it. The faint sound of footsteps moving across the clearing outside.

I am not alone.