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

The desert stretches out before me like a rusted corpse, all jagged edges and wastes where nothing good grows. Kind of reminds me of myself. I take a long drag of my cigar, savoring the burn in my lungs as I exhale a cloud of smoke into the evening air. The pre-war vodka in my glass catches the light of the setting sun, glinting amber and gold like it holds some kind of promise.

It doesn’t. Nothing out here does.

I’ve spent too many years in this hellhole not to know better. The Outer Reaches—the asscrack of what’s left of civilization. But it’s my asscrack. My little empire carved out of radiation and desperation. Sometimes I wonder why I bother. Then I remember I’ve got nowhere else to go and nothing else to do.

The metal folding chair beneath me creaks as I shift my weight, leaning back to stare up at the bruised sky. Too many clouds, thick with radiation and dust. Not enough stars. I’ve never even seen a sky that didn’t look like shit, so I don’t know why it bothers me.

Maybe that’s why I have my little collection. It’s a window into a world I’ll never see. A world that will never exist again.

My hand drifts unconsciously to my eye patch, fingertips tracing the worn leather edge where it meets scarred flesh. Some days the phantom pain is worse than others. Today it’s just a dull throb, like a headache that’s settled in for the long haul. Kind of like Raven and his fucking obsession with the silver-haired omega.

The hatch behind me scrapes open, and I don’t need to turn around to know who it is. She doesn’t lumber like every alpha down here except for Raven, but the footsteps on the stairs are too soft to be his. That vaguely lavender scent hits my nostrils like a dream, just enough that I try to breathe deeper to get more of it and find myself regretting the fact that I finished the job on that particular sense.

Not for the first time lately.

‘Needed some fresh air,’ Cosima says, not bothering with a greeting as she steps out of the hatch.

I glance over my shoulder and nearly do a double-take. It’s the first time I’ve seen her wearing anything other than stolen or borrowed clothes. She’s wearing a dress, of all damn things. Not just any dress, either. It’s one of those frilly, floaty numbers in pale violet that matches her eyes. Definitely Raven’s doing. The kid always did have an eye for that sort of thing. He’s probably on cloud nine now, having a living doll he can dress up.

Not the kind of thing I usually go for, but I’d be lying if I said she doesn’t look good in it. The fabric clings where it counts, floating around her legs like she’s some kind of pre-war fairy tale princess. Makes her silver hair look even more otherworldly in the dying light.

‘Good luck finding fresh air anywhere this far west of Surhiira,’ I grunt, turning back to the wasteland. ‘Radiation index is in the yellow today. Better than red, I guess.’

She moves to stand beside me, looking out at the same bleak landscape I’ve been staring at for the last hour. The dress ripples in the breeze, incongruent with the dead world around us. Like a patch of spring in the middle of nuclear winter.

‘It would be fresher if you weren’t smoking that shit,’ she scoffs, wrinkling her nose at my cigar.

I can’t help the smirk that tugs at my lips. Most people are too afraid of me to talk like that. She’s either stupidly brave or has a death wish. Could be both, considering the company she keeps.

‘What are you, my mother?’ I take another deliberate drag, blowing the smoke in her general direction just to be a dick. Then I surprise myself by offering her the cigar. ‘Want a hit?’

She eyes it warily, but I can see the curiosity flickering across her face. For all her high-class upbringing, the girl’s a rule-breaker. Probably part of how she ended up out here in the wasteland instead of sipping tea in some Reinmichian estate.

After a moment’s hesitation, she plucks it from my fingers, holding it awkwardly like she’s not quite sure what to do with it. She studies the glowing ember, turning it over in her delicate hands.

‘I stole one of my father’s cigars out of an ashtray once,’ she admits, her voice distant. ‘He caught me before I could even take a drag. Locked me in the closet for an entire day.’

The casual way she says it—like it’s nothing, like every kid gets locked in closets—makes something hard twist in my gut. And I guess enough do, but omegas? I always figured they got special treatment, even in a fascist shithole like Reinmich.

‘Sounds like he would’ve gotten along with my old man,’ I grunt, swirling the vodka in my glass. ‘Fuck him.’

Her violet eyes flick to mine, a flash of surprise at the raw honesty. I didn’t mean to say it out loud, but there it is. Hanging between us.

She studies the cigar again, determination hardening her features. Then she brings it to her lips and takes a drag, clearly just to say ‘fuck you’ to daddy dearest.

Right on cue, she starts coughing, her face contorting as she tries not to hack up a lung.

‘Tastes even worse than it smells,’ she gasps, handing it back to me with watering eyes.

I chuckle, reaching into the cooler by my chair and offering her a bottle of water. ‘Takes practice.’

She eyes the water, then reaches past it for my glass of vodka instead. Before I can stop her, she tips it back and downs the rest without so much as a wince. The glass returns to my hand empty, and I find myself oddly impressed.

‘Quite a tolerance there for an omega,’ I observe, setting the glass aside.

‘I’m Vrissian,’ she says flatly, like that explains everything. ‘And after the cigar, I learned to get good at sneaking.’

I snort, appreciating the candor. Most people don’t talk to me unless they want something or they’re scared shitless. Sometimes both. She’s been around long enough to realize she doesn’t fall into either category.

‘Have a seat,’ I offer, gesturing to the empty chair beside me. ‘Where’s your escort? Taking the night off to go oil his hinges?’

She settles into the chair, smoothing the dress beneath her. It’s a strangely prim gesture for someone who just downed my vodka like it was water.

‘I told Knight to stay inside,’ she replies. ‘Just needed a minute to think.’

‘You taught him ‘stay,’ that’s cute.’ I tap ash from my cigar. ‘Maybe you can house-train Nikolai next.’

She rolls her eyes, but I catch the ghost of a smile tugging at those plump pink lips.

Her gaze drifts to my eye patch, curiosity evident. ‘Speaking of Nikolai—is it a coincidence you’re both missing the same eye?’

The question hits like a punch to the gut, but I keep my expression neutral. Trust her to go straight for the fucking jugular. Subtle as a sledgehammer, this one.

‘You’re a smart girl, Cosima,’ I say, my voice rougher than I intended. ‘Too smart to believe in coincidences.’

She doesn’t flinch, just meets my stare with those unnerving violet eyes. ‘Why do you hate each other? Is it because of Raven?’

‘What else?’ I pour another two fingers of vodka into my glass, not offering her any this time. Raven’ll bitch if I send her back tipsy. The liquor burns down my throat, but it’s a familiar pain, almost comforting.

She’s quiet for a moment, taking that in. I can practically see her filing away the information, piecing together the sordid little drama that’s been playing out for years.

Good fucking luck. I’m knee deep in the shit and I still don’t know half of it.

‘You’re coming up on forty-eight hours,’ I say, changing the subject. ‘Still chomping at the bit to get out of here if Raven doesn’t have your intel in time?’

God knows he’s working hard enough. Heard him traipsing back and forth last night, barking orders at the little minions he’s dispatched across the Outer Reaches. If he can’t find this bastard, he doesn’t want to be found.

The question is, what kind of a useless alpha ditches an omega he claims to give a shit about? Could just be a case of wide-eyed naiveté, and a spoiled little rich girl thinking she’s in love with a guy who doesn’t give a damn about her, but I doubt it. She’s not the type.

Her fingers toy with the hem of her dress, a nervous tell she probably isn’t aware of. ‘That depends. Are you still chomping at the bit for us to leave?’

I smirk, leaning back in my chair. ‘Doesn’t matter one way or another to me.’

It’s a lie, and we both know it. I should want her gone. Want my life back to normal. Want Raven to stop falling ever deeper into a pit that’s going to swallow him whole all over again, just like it did with Nikolai. But I don’t say any of that.

‘Besides,’ I add, ‘I’ll save on incense with an omega in the tunnels. Good for business.’

She makes a derisive sound, but her posture relaxes slightly.

‘If I were you, though,’ I continue, choosing my words carefully, ‘I wouldn’t be in any hurry to get out there.’ I gesture toward the wasteland with my cigar. ‘And if this Azzhole is worth a damn as an alpha and a man, he’d want you to stay put until he finds you.’

Her back straightens, eyes flashing. “He is. You have no clue what he’s done to protect me, so don’t talk about shit you don’t understand. And it’s Azarel.’

“That’s what I said.” I shrug, taking another drag.

For a moment, she looks like she might argue, but instead she just shakes her head and stands up, smoothing down her dress again.

‘Thanks for the drink,’ she says in that soft accent with a sharp edge. Like a knife covered in filigree.

As she turns to leave, something tugs at me. Maybe it’s the vodka. Or maybe I’m just getting soft.

‘Wait,’ I hear myself say. She pauses, glancing back at me warily. ‘I want to ask you for a favor.’

Immediately, her posture shifts. Shoulders tense, chin lifting, eyes hardening. It’s the look of someone who’s heard that line before from too many alphas and learned to expect the worst. I hate that I recognize it so easily. Mainly, I hate that she’s right—most of us are assholes.

Me included.

‘What kind of favor?’ she asks, wariness evident in every syllable.

I set aside my cigar, suddenly needing both hands empty. Vulnerable. It’s not a feeling I’m comfortable with.

‘I know you hate alphas,’ I say, the words coming out rougher than intended. ‘And I’m sure we’ve given you damn good reason. But Raven… he’s different.’

She keeps watching me.

I look away, unable to meet her gaze as I continue. ‘You could destroy him if you wanted to, and he’d probably thank you for the privilege. But I’m asking you not to, all the same.’ My throat feels tight, the words alien in my mouth as I add, ‘Please.’

I can’t remember the last time I said ‘please’ to anyone. The word sits between us, awkward and exposed, like a raw nerve.

Cosima doesn’t respond immediately. When I finally look up, her expression is unreadable. She studies me, seeing too much. After what feels like an eternity, she moves toward the hatch leading back into the black market.

With one hand on the metal door, she pauses. ‘You’re right,’ she murmurs, not looking back at me. ‘I do hate alphas. Mostly because you have your heads shoved too far up your asses to see what’s right in front of you.’

A bitter laugh escapes me. Can’t argue with that assessment.

‘You’re right about before, too,’ she adds, her voice softer. ‘It’s dangerous out here. Nothing is certain.’ She glances over her shoulder, meeting my gaze. ‘You should tell Raven how you feel while you still have the chance.’

Fuck. Going right for the jugular again.

The worst part is it hits too hard to dismiss it outright as bullshit.

Instead, I grunt an acknowledgment, unable to form actual words. She disappears down the hatch, the heavy metal door clanging shut behind her with finality.

For a long time after she’s gone, I sit there staring out at the wasteland, thinking about all the things I’ve never said. All the chances I’ve never taken. All the ways I’ve fucked up what might have been good in my life.

The cigar burns down to the nub between my fingers, forgotten. The vodka sits warm and useless in my glass.

Tell him how I feel.

The fuck does that even mean? What the hell do I even feel? What would I say?

‘You’re a giant, blond thorn in my ass and I’ve got an ulcer and a few dozen gray hairs from worrying about all the ways your dumb ass is gonna get yourself killed?’

For now, I just sit in the dying light, watching the darkness creep across the desert like ink spilling across the sky, wondering how much time any of us really have left. My money was that I wouldn’t get to thirty, so everything since then has mostly been one long, uninterrupted string of gray days, each one blurring into the next.noveldrama

Except for a handful of golden ones. Those are the only ones that really stand out.

Maybe I could tell him that.