The Unwanted Omega: Rise Of The White Wolf

I was the brilliant mind behind the Thorne Pack's defenses, yet as an Omega, I was treated worse than a servant.

My "Chosen Mate," Alpha Marcus, used my blueprints to build his reputation while I scrubbed his floors.

Everything changed the day the elevator cable snapped.

It wasn't an accident; it was a silver-coated trap set by Isabelle, the woman Marcus was parading around as his new favorite.

As I lay in the hospital, silver poison scorching my veins, the doctor begged Marcus for the antidote authorization.

Without it, my wolf would die.

But Marcus didn't even look up from his phone.

"Not now," he dismissed, stroking Isabelle’s hand. "Isabelle scraped her knee when the building shook. She's terrified. Eleanor is tough; she'll survive."

He walked away, leaving me to endure surgery without anesthesia.

I screamed until my throat bled, feeling every cut, every stitch.

In that agony, the foolish girl who loved him finally died.

When he returned days later, expecting me to beg for his attention, I didn't bow.

I stood up, my eyes glowing with a power he had never seen.

"I, Eleanor Vance, reject you."

The bond snapped with a thunderous crack.

As Marcus fell to his knees in shock, the door opened.

Julian Croft, the Alpha King, stepped in.

He looked past my ex-mate writhing on the floor, locked his golden eyes on mine, and smiled.

"I believe," he rumbled, "the lady is finished with you."

Chapter 1

Eleanor POV

Morning light filtered through the high, arched windows of the Thorne Pack house, illuminating the dust motes suspended in the stale air.

Charcoal stained my fingertips, my hand cramping from hours of gripping the pencil, but I didn’t care. The blueprints before me were perfect. It was a design for a new community center—a sanctuary to keep the pups safe and warm during the brutal winters.

I was an Omega. In the hierarchy of the pack, that meant I was the last to eat and the first to bleed.

But my mind—my architectural designs—was the one thing the pack actually used. It was my only currency in a world that priced me at zero.

The heavy oak doors swung open.

A gust of wind carrying the scent of pine and rain—*his* scent—swept into the room.

Marcus.

My heart gave that traitorous, pathetic flutter it always did.

He was the Alpha. He was power personified, with shoulders broad enough to carry the weight of the world, and eyes like storm clouds.

"Marcus," I breathed, rolling up the parchment. I hurried over to him, the bone-deep fatigue in my limbs forgotten. "You're back early from patrol. Look, I finished the designs for the nursery expansion."

He didn't stop walking. He barely glanced at me, shrugging off his muddy cloak and tossing it onto a nearby velvet armchair—furniture I would inevitably have to scrub later.

"Not now, Ellie," he muttered, running a hand through his dark, wind-swept hair. "We have guests arriving. Important ones. Don't clutter the table with your drawings."

My smile faltered. "But... you said if I finished this by today, we could—"

"I said not now."

His voice dropped an octave. It wasn't quite an Alpha Command, but the sheer weight of his authority pressed against my sternum, making it difficult to inhale.

I stepped back, clutching the blueprints against my chest like a shield. "Yes, Alpha."

We were "Chosen Mates."

It wasn't the lightning-strike, soul-binding connection of Fated Mates determined by the Moon Goddess. We had chosen each other years ago. Or rather, I had worshipped him, and he had found me convenient.

There was no Marking on my neck. Just a promise. A promise that felt thinner than the paper in my hands.

Then, the doors opened again.

"Oh, Marcus, this place is positively rustic!"

The voice was like spun sugar—sweet, airy, and completely artificial.

A woman stepped in. She was petite, with cascading blonde hair and clothes that cost more than my entire existence.

Isabelle Hayes. The daughter of a neighboring Alpha.

Marcus turned to her, and the transformation was instant. The scowl vanished. His eyes softened. He looked at her the way a starving man looks at a feast.

"Isabelle," he said, his voice dripping with a warmth I hadn't heard in years. "Welcome to Thorne Pack."

He offered her his arm. She took it, her ice-blue eyes flickering over me with a mixture of pity and mild disgust.

"Is this the help?" she asked, gesturing vaguely in my direction.

Marcus didn't even look at me. "She's just an Omega. She handles the... housekeeping."

*Housekeeping.*

I was the lead architect of his territory's defenses. I was the woman who warmed his bed when he deigned to visit.

I watched them walk away, Isabelle giggling at something he whispered. I felt a hairline fracture form in the center of my chest.

The days that followed were a blur of humiliation. Marcus paraded Isabelle around as if she were already his Luna. He called it "diplomacy." He called it "strengthening alliances."

I called it what it was: erasure.

Then came the full moon.

The Heat hit me like a physical blow. It wasn't just a fever; it was a biological imperative, a fire igniting in my marrow that demanded to be quenched by my mate.

My skin felt too tight for my body. My inner wolf whined, scratching at the back of my mind, desperate for comfort.

I curled up on the cold stone floor of my small room, sweat drenching my shirt. The pain was blinding, a cramping agony that twisted my insides.

*Marcus,* I reached out through the Mind-Link. *Please. It’s the Heat. It hurts. I need you.*

The link was silent for a long moment. Usually, an Alpha can sense the distress of his pack members, especially his mate.

*Marcus?* I pleaded again.

Finally, his voice echoed in my head, cold and distant. *Not tonight, Eleanor. Isabelle is having a panic attack. The adjustment to the new environment is hard on her.*

I gasped, clutching my stomach. *A panic attack? Marcus, I’m in Heat. My body is burning. You are my Chosen Mate.*

*You’re an Omega,* he snapped. *You’re used to pain. Deal with it. Don’t contact me again tonight.*

The connection snapped shut. It was like a steel door slamming in my face.

I lay there, shivering violently despite the heat consuming me. The rejection wasn't just emotional; it was physical. My wolf howled in agony, a sound of pure, unadulterated heartbreak.

He chose to hold her hand while I writhed in agony on the floor.

Hours later, the fever broke, leaving me hollowed out.

I dragged myself up. My legs were shaking. I walked to the small fireplace in the corner of my room. On the mantelpiece sat a small box containing a silver wolf-tooth necklace—the first gift he ever gave me.

He had told me it symbolized eternity.

I took it out. The metal was cold against my feverish skin.

The door opened. Marcus stood there. He looked disheveled, tired, but there was a satisfied smirk playing on his lips that he quickly tried to suppress.

"You survived," he said, indifferent. "I told you it wasn't a big deal."

He didn't ask how I was. He didn't smell the distress pheromones that must have been choking the room.

"Yes," I whispered. "I survived."

I looked at him—really looked at him. I didn't see my Alpha anymore. I saw a stranger wearing his face.

I turned back to the fire.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

I didn't answer. I dropped the necklace into the flames.

"Ellie!" he barked.

I watched the metal darken, the chain twisting as if in pain.

"It’s Eleanor," I said, my voice devoid of emotion. "And I'm just cleaning up the clutter."

I turned my back on him.

The roots that had held me here for so long hadn't just been pulled up; they had been torn apart.