Soren's body sagged against the carriage seat, his tears long dried but leaving a raw ache in his chest. Only his quiet sniffles broke the suffocating silence, punctuated by the rhythmic rattling of the carriage wheels. Every jolt sent his body swaying, but he barely noticed anymore.
He curled his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. "Where are they taking me?" he whispered to himself, the question swallowed by the endless expanse of trees outside the small window.
The journey stretched endlessly, the sun began to set outside When the first sight of the camp came into view his nervousness grew.
Through the window, Soren saw bodies, limp and bloodied being carried on stretchers. Men in tattered uniforms barked hurried orders while others rushed around like ants, some holding bandages, others weapons. A shiver of unease crawled down his spine.
The carriage lurched to a stop, the sudden motion making him jolt forward.
The door swung open, and one of the soldiers grunted, "Out."
When he reached for Soren's arm, instinct took over. "Don't touch me!" Soren snapped, kicking out with all his might. His foot connected with the soldier's shin, and the man yelped, stumbling backwards.
"You little—!" the second soldier snarled, grabbing Soren and yanking his arms behind his back. He twisted sharply, making Soren cry out. Rough rope burned against his wrists as they tied him tightly, the restraint biting into his skin.
"Try that again, and you'll regret it," the soldier growled.
Dragged out of the carriage, Soren barely had time to register the chaos of the camp before he was shoved forward. His boots scraped against the uneven ground as he was led toward a large tent, the imposing structure standing stark against the dull orange glow of nearby campfires.
Inside the tent, the air was heavy with the scent of leather and ink. A single oil lamp illuminated a broad table strewn with maps and papers. A man stood hunched over it, his sharp features carved in shadows by the flickering light.
"Kieran," the old woman said, her voice firm but cautious as she addressed the figure.
The man didn't look up. "I told you," he said, his voice low and biting, "I don't want the stench of an omega anywhere near my space."
The cold disdain in his tone sent a chill racing down Soren's spine. He trembled, his mind screaming at him to run, but his feet wouldn't move.
"We want an heir, better make one." The old woman gestured for the soldiers to bring Soren forward.
"Move!" One of the soldiers barked, shoving Soren forward. The force sent him stumbling, his bound hands useless to steady himself. He crashed into the edge of the desk, the maps crinkling beneath him.
Pain flared in his side, but he managed to steady himself. Slowly, he lifted his head... and froze.
Kieran's piercing eyes bore into him. They weren't just cold; they were beautiful in a terrifying way. Soren felt his breath hitch, his own wide eyes reflecting his fear.
For a moment, neither of them moved. Kieran's gaze pinned Soren in place, his heart hammering painfully in his chest. Kieran's own chest tightened, his heart skipping a beat despite himself. The omega's trembling form, his tear-streaked face, and the faint scent that tickled Kieran's nose—it all made his blood stir in a way he didn't want to acknowledge. He felt a warmth in his chest.
But that unfamiliar warmth only made him angrier. Kieran's lips curled into a snarl, and he slammed a fist on the desk, making Soren flinch.
"Get him out of here," Kieran barked with a thunderous voice. "Take him to the rooms with the rest of the omegas. I don't care what you do, but don't bring him back here."
The soldiers didn't hesitate. They grabbed Soren roughly by the arms and dragged him out, ignoring his weak struggles.
Soren's chest tightened as the cold night air hit him again, the faint sounds of battle in the distance. His fear deepened.
As the soldiers exited his tent, Kieran's sharp gaze turned toward the old woman. His voice cut through the air like a blade. "Grandma, I told you, I have no interest in breeding omegas."
The old woman, unfazed by his harsh tone, placed her hands on her hips. Her silver hair glinted in the lamplight as she stared him down. "Kieran, did you even look at him?"
"That's irrelevant," Kieran snapped.
"No, it's not," she retorted with a firm tone. "That boy is beautiful, and I thought he'd be perfect for you. You need someone by your side, someone who—"
"Stop," Kieran interrupted, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "This isn't about what I need. I don't have time for distractions, let alone a weak omega."
The old woman's brows furrowed as she studied him. "Sending him to the tents with the other omegas will only make the other alphas think he's available. Is that what you want? For him to fall into their hands?"
Kieran's frown deepened, his jaw clenching. "It doesn't matter to me," he said coldly. "I have no business with the weak."
But even as the words left his mouth, the warmth he didn't want to acknowledge was still there in his chest. His thoughts drifted back to the omega's wide, fearful eyes and the way his scent had filled the tent—sweet, like fresh rain after a storm. It lingered in his mind, and no matter how much he tried to shake it, it refused to leave.
The old woman sighed, clearly frustrated. "You're as stubborn as your father was," she muttered before turning on her heel and walking out of the tent.
Left alone, Kieran exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. His wolf stirred restlessly inside him, its presence clawing at his chest. Stop it, he thought, shoving the feeling down with ease. He had no time for this—no time for pretty faces or sentimental thoughts.
Soren stumbled as he was shoved into a large tent by the soldiers. The heavy canvas flaps fell closed behind him, and the scent of damp fabric and sweat filled the air.
The tent was lined with rows of beds, each one covered in a thin, scratchy sheet. The other omegas sat or lay in silence, their faces sullen and their eyes distant. Some stared at the ground, others at the empty space in front of them, but none acknowledged Soren's presence.
He took a hesitant step forward, his hands trembling slightly. The weight of the room pressed down on him, and the quiet was suffocating. No one looked up as he passed, and he felt as though he'd vanished into a shadow.
He found an empty bed near the corner of the tent. The mattress was hard, and the blanket was barely thick enough to block out the chill. Soren lowered himself onto it, curling up tightly as if it could shield him from the world.
His chest ached, and his throat burned from the sobs he'd suppressed earlier. But now, alone in the dim light of the tent, the tears came freely. He buried his face in his arm, letting his silent cries soak into the thin sheets.