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CHAPTER 1

Luna

It’s cold down here. The thin mattress underneath me barely does anything to keep away the chill of the concrete beneath it.

But there’s always a part of me that really likes the cold. It’s the exact opposite of my heat.

No burning from the inside out. No sharp pains. No warm breaths as bigger bodies move on top of me.

Just cold. A bone-deep cold that tells me I’m blissfully, all alone down here. A cold that distracts me from the tugging between my thighs whenever I move.

If I focus on the cold, I can forget.

The sharp bangof the cellar door opening echoes through the room. I blink my eyes, still bleary from sleep. The light from above shines down, revealing the collection of dusty boxes of old junk, usually hidden in the shadows made by the single bare lightbulb hanging in the center of the room.

I clutch my one thin blanket around me, trying to make myself as small as possible. My body is still weak after my heat. I usuallyhave more time to recover before anyone comes down here to check on me.

I squint up at the figures outlined at the top of the stairs. My dad’s wet cardboard scent hits my sensitive nose first, mixing with the must of the room. A pit forms in my stomach and my saliva turns sour. A wave of nausea hits me. I guess I should be glad I have nothing in my system. Something is wrong with this.

He’s never interested in coming down anytime after I’ve had my heat.

“Wake up, girl,” Dad calls, stomping down the steps.

My mom’s softer footsteps and garlic scent follow behind him. She’s usually the first and only person to come down here after my heats. Having me starve wouldn’t be good for the family.

I’m pretty sure if she had a choice, though, she would never come down here. I don’t think either of my parents would. They find my heat disgusting. Sometimes, I think they find me disgusting.

By the looks on both of their faces, this is one of those times.

The third person coming down the steps turns my blood to ice. My mouth goes dry and my throat closes up so tight I have to fight to breathe. Even when I manage to get a breath into my lungs, they’re assaulted by the overwhelming scent of burning plastic. An all too familiar scent. A scent that haunts my nightmares.

“Hello, little omega,” Alpha Niall says when he reaches the bottom of the stairs. His voice slices through the air like a bullet, tearing through my body.

His dominance is obvious to everyone in the room, not just in the way he stands, but in the energy he gives off. Betas like my parents can still sense an alpha’s dominance, even though their senses aren’t as attuned to the pheromones alphas give off.

Omegas on the other hand?

I feel his dominance in my bones. It’s heavy and restrictive. It weaves itself through my lungs and into my body. It makes me curlmyself up into a ball and bare my throat to him as a show of submission.

“Here she is,” my dad says to Alpha Niall, waving a hand down at me, his nose wrinkled in disgust.

“Lovely as always,” Alpha Niall says. He steps closer to my mattress, so close I can see the details of the stitching in his leather shoes. “Did you miss me?”

As his scent wraps around me, flashes of the worst heat of my life come back to me in waves. My fear is obvious in the sharp, sour notes of my normally sweet, peppermint perfume. My eyes burn as I try to hold back my tears.

They gave me to Alpha Niall for my first heat. In total, I’ve spent three horrible, disgusting, humiliating heats with him. He’s the only alpha I’ve ever been given to.

You’d think with my biological designation, being with an alpha would be better than the torture of never finding relief from the unending, burning need when I’ve been given to betas for all my other heats.

You’d be wrong.

I’ll carry the terror, pain, and agony of those heats with the alpha standing in front of me for as long as I live.

“I asked you a question,” he growls, his impatience obvious.

“Y—yes, alpha,” I manage to choke out.

Maybe if I’m good he won’t want to hurt me as much.