The Blessed Omega

Isabella

My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach. His delicate, charming face twisted into something darker, something I feared yet expected to see. The moment my name escaped my lips, I saw it—hatred. Pure, unfiltered hatred.

He took a sharp step back, pulling away as though my presence burned him, leaving me cold and trembling. His face contorted into a snarl, his flared nostrils and furrowed brows painting a portrait of disgust. But it was his eyes that pinned me to the tree. They were full of something vicious, menacing—a loathing so sharp it sliced through me, cutting into my soul.

"So you're his daughter?" he asked, his voice no longer gentle but icy and edged with contempt.

I couldn't speak. My throat tightened, and I looked down, unable to meet his gaze.

"Answer me!" he roared, the force of his voice shaking the woods. A growl rumbled deep in his chest, sending shivers racing down my spine.

Why? Why was he like this? His kindness, his warmth—all of it gone in an instant. And all because of my name. Isabella Morgan.

My heart stung as the weight of his disgust settled over me. If only he knew. If only he understood how much I despised my own father—how painful it was to bear his name. A name that cursed me, marked me. My father's hatred for me had carved scars deep into my soul, and now, once again, his sins were being thrown at my feet.

"I won't ask again." His growl reverberated through the air, heavy and suffocating.

Thud!

He punched the tree beside me, the force splintering the bark. I jumped, the sound jolting through my body like a thunderclap.

"Y-yes," I stammered, barely audible.

The next moment, his hand was on my throat, pinning me against the tree. The gentleness with which he had touched me earlier was gone, replaced by raw, unforgiving strength.

I gasped, clawing at his hand, but my efforts were futile. His grip tightened, cutting off my air. My vision blurred as my body betrayed me, weak and helpless.

He leaned in close, his voice dripping venom. "He sent you here, didn't he? To mess with my head. Is this his sick game? What mate?" His laughter was cold, bitter. "You're nothing but an omega. A cursed omega. And I loathe omegas."

Each word hit me like a dagger, shredding what little hope I had left.

"Go tell him this: whatever dark magic he's used to put you in my path, it won't save him. When I'm done with you, I'll kill him with these very hands."

Tears blurred my vision as his words sank in. He hated me. He wanted to kill me.

Just as the last thread of strength left my body, he released me, letting me fall to the ground like discarded trash. I collapsed in a heap, my body trembling, my mind spinning.

Natalie howled in my head, a sharp, piercing cry that echoed my pain. Her anguish was palpable, but I couldn't comfort her.

Natalie, it's okay, I whispered weakly in my mind. We're alive. We'll be fine. Please, calm down.

But she didn't stop. Her howls grew louder, more feral, sending alarm bells ringing in my mind.

Natalie? My voice wavered, panic creeping in. What's happening?

Suddenly, pain exploded through my body. A sharp, searing agony that tore through every inch of me. My bones cracked, my muscles stretched and coiled, and my insides felt as though they were being ripped apart.

I screamed, clutching at the ground as wave after wave of torment consumed me.

"It hurts," I whimpered, tears streaming down my face. My hand instinctively moved under my shirt, desperate to stop the pain. That's when I felt it—fur brushing against my skin.

I froze. Slowly, I pulled my hand into view.

Paws.

Horror surged through me as I stared at the furry limbs that had replaced my hands. I turned my gaze to the rest of my body, but nothing else had changed. Only my hands.

This was a failed shift.

The term I'd only ever read about in stolen books—a myth, a curse. And now, it was me. A freak.

I tried to move to seek help, but my body gave out. My vision blurred as the world around me dimmed.

Natalie's howls were the last thing I heard before darkness claimed me.