Unhinged Omega: A Dark Reverse Harem Omegaverse Romance (Ghost Alpha Unit Book 4)

I stare out at the horizon, watching flames lick the sky where Reinmich’s borders once stood proud and unassailable. The acerbic stench of smoke and death carries on the wind, a familiar perfume I’ve grown accustomed to over the years.

This is just the beginning.

The real war, the one that will reshape the very foundations of our world, has only just begun. My hands are stained with rivers of blood already, and there will be an ocean more before all is said and done.

I’ve killed more men today than I can count, their faces blurring together in a crimson haze. Some begged. Some fought. In the end, it made no difference. All were a necessary sacrifice.

There is blood in every birth.

I turn away from the smoldering ruins of the old world, my boots crunching on broken glass as I make my way toward the commandeered church that now serves as our makeshift headquarters. The golden serpent coiling around the sun above the massive wooden doors stares down in disapproval as I yank the doors open and reveal the soldiers scurrying about like ants within.

A house of worship turned into a den of war and politics. Far from the first sacrilege this place has seen, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.

The soldiers inside the church all snap to rigid attention as soon as I cross the threshold. The sour stench of their fear rolls off them in waves.

Good. Fear keeps men in line. Keeps them from asking too many questions.

A young lieutenant approaches me with the nervous energy of prey that knows it’s being stalked. ‘Lieutenant General,’ he says, his voice cracking slightly. ‘Mr. Maybrecht is waiting for you in his office, sir.’

I whip off my blood-soaked gray cape and toss it into his arms.

‘I—I’ll have this cleaned right away,’ he stammers, but I don’t miss the way he grimaces at the blood that comes off on his hand. Probably another nepotism hire who’s yet to see the reality of battle.

“It’s just General.’

He freezes and looks up at me, his eyes tracking warily over my face. ‘I’m sorry, sir?’

‘General Hargrove is dead,’ I remind him. ‘As the highest ranking living member of the Reinmich Armed Forces, you will address me now as General Vesper.’

He gulps audibly and salutes, leaving a dab of blood on his forehead where his hand touched. ‘Yes, sir. General.’

I turn and continue down the long corridor, pausing in front of the massive door leading to the sanctuary that has been repurposed as our war room. My eyes catch my reflection in a nearby mirror, and for a moment, I study the man staring back at me.

Deep bronze skin marred by countless scars that tell the story of endless bloody battles. Black hair spilling over my broad shoulders that does nothing to soften the harsh planes of my face. Presentable, aside from the small splatter of blood I missed on the edge of my jaw. I wipe it off and rub it away between my fingers.

I may look different from the average Reinmichian soldier, but my mission here was never about blending in. It was infiltration. And yet, as I search the pale blue eyes staring back at me for any sign of the Surhiiran noble I once was, I find nothing.

Turning away, I rap the backs of my knuckles against the heavy oak door, the sound echoing in the cavernous hallway. A deep voice bellows from within. ‘Come in.’

I push open the door, stepping into what was once a place of reverence and peace. Now it’s a hive of activity. Maps and strategic plans cover every available surface, including the altar presently being used as a desk. The air is thick with tension and cigar smoke where incense once burned.

And there, looming over it all like some great beast of war, is Arthur Maybrecht.

Financier.

Oligarch.

Puppet master.

He cuts an imposing figure even in his finely tailored civilian suit. His salt-and-pepper hair is meticulously styled, not a strand out of place despite the chaos around him. His face is all hard angles and deep-set lines carved from years of cold ruthlessness.

He plays whichever role suits him best in the moment, slipping from one mask to another with practiced ease. But I know the truth of what lies beneath. A monster wearing human skin, driven by an insatiable hunger for power and control.

So what does that make me?

He doesn’t look up as I enter, his eyes fixed on the map before him. His meaty hands trace potential battle lines, entire cities reduced to nothing more than strategic points to be captured or sacrificed. With a single, agitated flourish of his hand, he sends the soldiers scattered around the room running. The last one pulls the door shut behind her with a heavy thud.

‘Report,’ he barks, still not deigning to acknowledge my presence directly.

I stand at parade rest, my voice steady and emotionless as I deliver the news he’s been waiting for. ‘The Council chambers have fallen. What remains of the old guard is in full retreat. They’re scrambling to regroup at the secondary location, but it’s only a matter of time before the Surhiiran invaders flush them out.’

Maybrecht grunts, finally looking up from his maps. His eyes, a muddy gray like stagnant water, fix on me with predatory intensity. ‘Casualties?’

‘Extensive,’ I reply. ‘The Council loyalists were all scrambled to the Capital the night before the attack, as you ordered. I’d estimate approximately ten percent survived the onslaught and are prisoners of Surhiira now. Anyone essential was guarding the Council chambers.’

‘Good,’ he says, only the barest hint of satisfaction in his tone as he leans back in his chair, studying me with the bored patronization of a god analyzing a devotee. With the wings of the stone angel positioned perfectly behind him, he looks the part. ‘And the girl?’

My jaw clenches at the apathy in his tone. As if Cosima is nothing more than another pawn on his chessboard. His own flesh and blood.

Her face flashes through my mind. Those violet eyes that seem to see right through me. The curve of her lips when she smiles, a rare and precious thing. The way her silver hair catches the light, making her look like some ethereal goddess too pure for this world of blood and shadows.

I school my expression to careful neutrality, though I know it’s futile. Still, old habits die hard.

‘I have her location,’ I say, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me. ‘The Ghosts kept their word. She’s in Surhiiran custody. And they would never harm an omega,’ I add, though the reassurance is more for myself than for Maybrecht.

A sneer twists his features. ‘How precious,’ he drawls. ‘Who knew, after all those years of isolation and brutal destruction of anyone who dared to get close, that the key to controlling the great Surhiiran empire would be one little omega?’

My muscles tense at his words, rage coiling in my gut like a venomous serpent. ‘I can fetch her as soon as you give me leave,’ I say, keeping my tone carefully neutral, forcing the bile down.noveldrama

Maybrecht leans back in his chair, regarding me with those cold, calculating eyes. I can see the gears turning in that twisted mind of his. For a moment, I think he might agree. But then he shakes his head.

‘Leave her for now,’ he says dismissively. ‘There are more pressing matters that require your attention.’

I clench my jaw so hard the bone creaks. Every instinct screams at me to argue, to demand that we extract Cosima immediately. But I know better than to push him too far.

Still, I can’t help myself. ‘Sir, with all due respect⁠—’

‘Silence.’ Maybrecht cuts me off, his voice sharp as a blade. It takes everything I have to stifle the growl building in my chest. ‘You should consider yourself fortunate I didn’t put a knife in your windpipe when I learned you were fucking my daughter.’

I feel my eyes narrow a fraction, but otherwise, I keep my face a mask of stone. Unreadable. For all the good it does me. It seems fitting that the one time I’ve ever heard genuine emotion in his voice in regard to his daughter, it would be indignation.

Like I’d touched his property.

It doesn’t last, though. His wrath fades as quickly as his occasional whims of mercy, and he’s a paper figure of a man once more.

‘In any case,’ he continues in a neutral tone, ‘now that Monty is out of the way, and you’ve risen to a position appropriate for the mate of an omega of her station, there’s no reason you can’t be together.’

Wait… what is he saying?

Is this a trap? Some sort of bizarre test?

‘We can both have what we want,’ Maybrecht says, leaning forward. His eyes glitter with predatory intensity. ‘But it requires cooperation. Unless… you’re having second thoughts after selling out your own people?’

His accusation hangs in the air between us, heavy and suffocating. I think of Surhiira, of the family I left behind. Of the brother I hadn’t seen in years, until recently. I think of the guilt I should feel. And the empty pit that occupies the place it would.

‘No,’ I say tersely. ‘No second thoughts.’

A slow smile spreads across Maybrecht’s face, and I’m reminded of a shark scenting blood in the water. ‘Good,’ he purrs. ‘Then you won’t mind a simple little test.’

Ah. There it is.

‘What kind of test?’ I ask, nearly as apathetic as I sound.

He claps his hands twice and the door behind him opens. Two guards immediately stride in, each hauling a prisoner with them.

Surhiirans.

They’re both wearing the uniforms Reinmichian soldiers—the one on the left a lieutenant’s dress grays, the one on the right a medic’s fatigues—but their sharp features and eyes those particular pale shades of blues and greens tend to stand out.

The one on the left struggles against his captor’s grip, fear radiating off him in waves. But it’s the one on the right that catches my attention, and not just because he’s as still and defiant as a stone statue, his sharp eyes fixed on me in silent judgment.

Arun.

His face is bruised, one eye swollen shut, but there’s no mistaking that defiant glare. We grew up together, trained together. He was there the day I took my oath to protect Surhiira at all costs. And now here he is, on his knees before me, wearing the uniform of our enemy.

Just like I am.

The irony isn’t lost on me.

Maybrecht’s eyes bore into me, searching for any flicker of recognition. ‘Well, General Vesper? Do you know these rats?’

‘I recognize the one on the right,’ I say. ‘We served together. Before.’

Maybrecht’s lips curve into a smile. ‘How interesting. It truly is a small world, isn’t it?’ Something in his tone makes me quite certain he already knew this was a reunion, not an introduction. He leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers. ‘I’m in a generous mood today, so I’ll give you a choice. You may spare one of these infiltrators and execute the other. Since you know one of them, it should be an easy decision. Consider it a test of your loyalty.’

This is his favorite game, and he has many. Forcing impossible choices, reveling in the pain and conflict they cause.

But I’ve danced this dance before.

I know the steps by heart.

I draw my gun with my left hand, my right still wrapped in bandages from when that Vrissian snake put a bullet through it. The weight of the weapon is still unfamiliar in my off-hand, but I’ve adapted quickly.

‘Remove their gags,’ Maybrecht says, his voice cold and detached. ‘It’s unsporting to refuse a man his last words.’

The guards comply, yanking the cloth from the prisoners’ mouths. The one I don’t recognize in the medic’s fatigues immediately starts pleading.

‘Please,’ he begs, his voice cracking. Snot bubbles from his broken nose. ‘I was just following orders. I’ll tell you everything I know, just please⁠—’

Arun cuts him off with a harsh laugh. ‘Pathetic,’ he spits, turning his one good eye to me. ‘Keep your mercy, traitor. I’d rather die than live owing my life to scum like you.’

I feel Maybrecht’s eyes on me, gauging my reaction. Waiting to see if I’ll flinch, if I’ll show even a flicker of hesitation. But I’ve had years to bury the part of me that might have once cared.

I step closer, my boots echoing in the suddenly silent room. The nameless infiltrator whimpers, shrinking back. But Arun meets my gaze without flinching. Hatred and disgust burn in his pale blue eyes.

I raise my gun, aiming at Arun’s head. My finger tightens on the trigger, but something stops me.

A flicker.

A hallucination.

For a split second, it’s not Arun kneeling there, but Hamsa. My brother. It’s his eyes that stare up at me now. Not with hatred, but with that same disappointment I’ve seen so many times before.

The vision lasts only a heartbeat, but it’s enough to make my hand tremble. I blink hard, the vision of Hamsa shattering as my finger squeezes the trigger. The crack of the shot grounds me. When the smoke clears, it’s Arun once more. Cordite fills my nostrils, mingling with the coppery scent of blood. It’s a smell that stopped turning my stomach years ago.

Maybrecht leans forward in his chair, eyebrows raised. ‘An interesting choice,’ he muses, a hint of surprise in his voice. ‘I would have thought⁠—’

Before he can finish, I swing the gun toward the second prisoner, who lets out a bubbling laugh of relief that doesn’t have time to turn to terror before I fire.

He joins Arun on the floor.

Silence descends on the room. So does the weight of their stares. Maybrecht, the guards, even the corpses at my feet.

I do a double take at the angel hanging above Maybrecht. For a moment, it’s transformed into the visage of a resplendent ibis gazing down at me in disappointed judgment. I will have to earn her forgiveness later. For now, I can only offer a few droplets of blood in penance.

I clench my right hand into a tight fist and squeeze until I feel the blessed avian bones hidden beneath the bandages digging into my healing flesh. Until the cilice draws forth the coppery scent of fresh blood. Until the statue is an angel once more.

Slowly, deliberately, I holster my weapon.

‘There’s no use for weakness in the world we’re trying to build,’ I say, my voice steady and cold. ‘Or nostalgia.’

Maybrecht recovers first, a low chuckle escaping him. ‘I couldn’t have said it better myself,’ he says, leaning back in his chair. His eyes glitter with something that might be approval. ‘Perhaps I made a mistake by giving Cosima to Monty after all. I see myself in you, Azarel.’

I think he means it as a compliment.

The thought makes bile rise in my throat, but I steel myself before my lip can curl at his words.

‘I’m ready to get on with my work, sir,’ I say, injecting as much calm into my voice as I can muster. The ‘sir’ feels bitter on my tongue, but I spit it out anyway.

The sooner I finish this busywork, the sooner I can get to Cosima. Her name echoes in my mind, a beacon of light in this blood-soaked darkness. The thought of her is my only anchor.

‘Very well.’ Maybrecht reaches into his desk drawer and pulls out a sealed envelope, placing it on the commandeered altar in front of him. ‘Inside the envelope, you’ll find a list of every remaining Council loyalist scraping around in the Outer Reaches.’

‘You want them dead?’ I ask.

‘Assuming the rats and pestilence haven’t gotten to them first,’ he says in a wry tone. ‘After that, you can bring my daughter home. Since you’ll be in the area anyway.’

‘Of course,’ I mutter, tucking the envelope into the interior pocket of my uniform jacket. ‘And about what we discussed…’

‘You play your role, General, and I’ll play mine,’ he says, a dangerous glint coming into his eyes. ‘Let’s just hope you don’t have any second thoughts when the time comes.’

‘I won’t,’ I say without a trace of doubt in my voice. And I feel none. ‘Reinmich has fallen, and soon, so will Surhiira.’

And I mean every last word. It doesn’t matter what I have to sacrifice.

My country.

My brother.

My very soul.

I snuffed out the lives of every fucking alpha Monty ever let touch her when I found out what was really happening at those parties, and I won’t hesitate to burn the entire world to ash before I allow anyone else near her again.

And if this war continues, it just may come to that.