My Alpha Called Me Omega Until the Lycan Claimed Me

I woke to the smell of rust and stone.

My throat was on fire. Every breath scraped like broken glass. I tried to speak, to call for help, but nothing came out except a wet, rasping wheeze that made my eyes water.

The dungeon. I was in the pack dungeon.

I pushed myself upright, my body screaming in protest. Bandages wrapped tight around my neck, already stained rust-brown. My hand went to my stomach—still there, still rounded. The pup. My pup was still alive.

Footsteps echoed down the stone corridor. Heavy. Deliberate.

Xander appeared outside the iron bars, his face carved from granite. Behind him, Bella clung to his arm, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy. The perfect picture of a traumatized mate.

"You're awake." His voice was flat. Empty.

I tried to speak. Tried to tell him what really happened. But only that horrible rasping sound emerged, and pain exploded through my ruined throat.

"Don't bother." He gripped the bars, his knuckles white. "Bella told me everything. How you attacked her out of jealousy. How you tried to kill her because you couldn't accept that I chose my true mate over a replacement."

I shook my head frantically, pointing at Bella, then at my throat. She did this. She did this.

"My wolf sensed it," Xander continued, and something flickered in his eyes. Pain. Confusion. "The pup. You're carrying my pup."

Bella's grip on his arm tightened. "Xander, please. She's dangerous. She tried to kill me. Who knows what she'll do to—"

"The pup stays alive." His voice cracked like a whip. "That's my blood. My heir."

Hope flared in my chest. He would protect us. He had to.

"You'll remain here," he said, and that hope shattered. "For your safety and everyone else's. The dungeon is the only place I can guarantee you won't try something else."

I grabbed the bars, shaking them. Tried to scream. Only silence and agony.

"Once the pup is born," Xander continued, his gaze sliding away from mine, "Bella will raise it as her own. You'll be exiled. Sent to the Rogue lands where you belong."

Bella's smile was small. Victorious.

I sank to my knees, my hands still gripping the cold iron. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be real.

"It's mercy, Norah." Xander's voice softened, just slightly. "More than you deserve after what you did. Be grateful I'm letting you live long enough to birth my child."

He turned and walked away, Bella tucked against his side, leaving me alone in the dark.

Time became meaningless.

Days bled into weeks. Weeks into months. My belly grew, stretching the thin prison dress they'd given me. The pup moved inside me—small flutters at first, then stronger kicks that made my eyes sting with tears I refused to shed.

They brought me food twice a day. Thin gruel. Stale bread. Water that tasted faintly metallic. I ate because the pup needed me to eat. I drank because the alternative was death.

But I was getting weaker.

The guards who brought my meals wouldn't meet my eyes. Sometimes I heard whispers—about Cal, about how he'd taken a turn for the worse. How he was barely conscious anymore.

I pressed my hands to the stone wall separating the dungeon from the infirmary wing and tried to send him strength through sheer will. Hold on. Please hold on.

One morning, I noticed something in my water cup. A faint shimmer. An oily residue clinging to the sides.

Poison.

Not enough to kill quickly. Just enough to weaken. To sicken.

I thought of Cal's sudden decline. Of the infirmary's water supply, connected to the same pipes that fed the dungeon.

Bella.

She was killing us both. Slowly. Carefully. Making it look natural.

Rage burned through the fog of exhaustion. I couldn't let her win. Wouldn't let her take my brother and my pup.

I had to get out.

The lock on my cell was old. Rusty. The guards were lazy, confident that a pregnant Omega posed no threat. During meals, I palmed a spoon—bent and tarnished, but metal.

Every night, after the last guard check, I worked at the lock mechanism. Scraping. Prying. My fingers bled. My shoulders ached. The pup kicked against my ribs as if urging me on.

Weeks passed. The lock loosened, bit by bit.

Then one night, I heard it—the distant sound of howls. Alarms. Shouting.

A Rogue attack.

The guards ran past my cell, weapons drawn, leaving the dungeon corridor empty.

I grabbed the spoon and jammed it into the lock one final time.

Something clicked.

The door swung open.

I stood on shaking legs, one hand on my swollen belly, and stumbled toward the infirmary wing.

Toward Cal.

Toward freedom.