Page 39 of Generation Omega: Claimed (Originverse #3)

TILLIE

I’m warm and safe in Mackenzie’s garden, and then I’m not.

I’m sitting with my bare ass on the metal railing at the front of the yacht—doing a naughty, reverse Queen of the World —with Jameson’s knot crammed inside me.

The shock of this unexpected sexual adventure distracts from the pain in my heart, the tearing sensation of alpha abandonment— two alphas now.

Thatcher and Kazimir are miles away and appear to be in a race to see who can destroy me first.

“Tillie,” Jameson attempts to bark, like a puppy testing his yapping skills for the first time.

I ignore him and look to Ory, who’s lounging on the sunbathing spot a few feet away. “Send me back, please .”

“No, Tillie. We need you here.”

The breeze catches my hair, sending it dancing like Medusa’s snakes. “No, you don’t. My omega can handle all you guys and a double stabbing—she’s more than proved that.” I shudder as Jameson’s cock distraction wears off, and the ache inside me doubles. “It hurts … send me back.”

I aim my pleading gaze at Gideon and Ethan, unable to believe it when they both shake their heads, wearing matching blank expressions.

Gideon looks exactly like he did in one of his early films, where he was bodysnatched by leeches from another planet.

The effects were crap, but he was still convincing—then and now.

“What happened?” I ask Gideon, my voice wavering. “Why do you want me to be torn apart when there’s another way?”

The eyebrow of disappointment raises, and his head tilts toward Jameson, as though I’m breaking pack rules by not addressing the owner of the cock I’m riding.

What happened, Gideon? I think that, while sending him ripples of all that’s cutting me, wounding me, damaging me—which now includes his expressionless face.

Nothing changes. Not in him or Ethan. Not in the feral origin alpha. I want Mackenzie—he would never let me suffer when he had the power to protect me.

I don’t bother fighting my tears that rush into the world, but the one thing they will never smother is the defiance of a girl who always had to save herself.

Had I really forgotten? That I’m the person who took the torture others gave and never caved, even waging a war with the invisible legacy that stole my life.

Kazimir would understand—he’s like me. A hazy memory strikes, something he said about the devil while calling me an angel, but it’s gone as quickly as it surfaced.

I point my rage at the asshat whose knot fits me perfectly, but isn’t enough to defeat the rending of my heart by the alphas who left me.

But just as I think I’ve gained an edge on the agony, using my fury as a barrier, another swell obliterates me, my body coming apart in the worst way. “Please! Make it stop!”

“No.” That’s all Jameson says, in the most dismissive tone I’ve ever heard.

“Why?!” I shriek, my nails digging into his shoulders. If he’s not going to protect me, then he can, at least, hurt too.

Jameson doesn’t respond at first or react to the punishment I’m sharing, and I suddenly don’t know whether he’s himself or his alpha. There’s something wild and primal in the way he’s studying me. “Life is painful,” he finally declares, “and hiding is unacceptable.”

“Says you ?!” I blurt, unable and completely unwilling to accept anyone’s bullshit. “Are you serious right now? You’re the one who’s lived your life…”

“This isn’t about me, sugar.” It wasn’t a bark, at least not like any I’ve felt.

This was something else, not a sound coming from the outside but from within me.

“I’m not the one and only omega meant to save the world.

And before you start spouting that I didn’t choose this crap, remember how I deal with whiny omegas. ”

Jameson lets that hang there as my mind and body fill in the blanks. He spanked me. Hard. Over and over.

“Yeah, baby, and I’m ready to go again, but maybe I’ll wait for you to beg,” he purrs with pure viciousness that challenges my ability to swallow, breathe, function, or even recognize what’s been ripped from me by my absent alphas.

When I momentarily stop breathing, it’s another push from within that forces me to begin again, my heart compelled to beat with Jameson’s, my lungs working under his supervision. He’s now all I can see, as though everything else faded behind a dark veil that’s entirely controlled by him.

By Jamie —that’s what his mother called him.

Her Jamie. Her stunningly beautiful face is in my mind, gazing at me like she gazed at him, her son, her perfect son.

I feel it, like a huge, fluffy blanket surrounding us, the way her love felt to him, before his life became a wasteland where nothing would grow to replace what he lost.

With a stark jolt, my vision abruptly clears, and I’m no longer alone with Jameson. The flare of suspicion in his eyes quickly becomes contempt and then sparks with arousal. His hand moves, his fingers reaching between us to stroke my mound, electrifying me when he grazes his bondmark.

“You bit my cooch?!” But then I’m gasping, my head thrown back as pleasure and exquisite throbbing engulf me, spurring raw desire that has me clenching his cock like it’s been naughty in all the right ways.

In response, his knot vibrates, igniting a climax that briefly steals my awareness of anything but my connection to Jameson.

My head leans against his neck, our hearts thumping in unison, as my resistance crumbles like an ancient, abandoned fortress that’s no longer needed in a changed world.

This is it—what I’m meant to do. Create a future where no one needs their walls anymore, because they’re always held by biology, by instincts and bonds. Every preordained connection serving to elevate each person and pack and, from there, sending ripples around the globe.

I want that, but I don’t have the first clue how to make it happen.

That’s not true, darling.

Oh, god… Jameson’s sultry voice is inside me.

I don’t understand what’s happening, why everything Jameson does impacts me so differently.

It’s like he’s a freaking cowboy who lassoed me, and even when I don’t feel the rope, it’s still there, ready to be tightened for either his pleasure or because I need to be restrained. What does that even mean?

Dammit … I can’t suppress the fantasies I had about being his woman, even for one night, bound for his enjoyment like that woman in his sex tape. My own thoughts betray me again—my little, internal speech when the omegaverse forced me to play pack voyeur.

His attention on his partner is like he’s shackled to her and will never get free unless he creates the perfect climax, one that haunts her for the rest of her life because she’ll never be satisfied like that again.

He knows I called him a maestro , but it’s even worse than that.

My words replay for him. I’ll have him like no other woman ever has or ever will.

This bad boy is now in my stable, and I’ll never let him be ridden by anyone else for the rest of his life.

My blush tornado earns itself an F-5 rating, wiping out all the structures in my inner landscape. Without anywhere to hide, I realize I’m as open and vulnerable as I’ve ever been, but I can’t find any fear now.

I see it again, those pack puzzle pieces—the image we’ll create when we truly unite.

Gideon and me. Ory, Mackenzie, and me. Jameson and me.

But it’s much more complicated than that, because the pack is all of us, not individual alphas and their omega.

It’s intricate and beautiful, and with dread, I’m confronted by the harsh meaning behind my heart’s searing agony.

This pain isn’t being forced on me by the omega legacy’s micromanaging cruelty—not this time.

My heart is where our pack’s bond forms, and when the pack stumbles, it tears me apart.

I instantly rebel, wanting to cast blame anywhere but where it clearly belongs.

But I can’t evade the truth for even another second—I don’t want to hide from this anymore.

The prophecy lied, or it concealed the truth. No, the omegaverse didn’t conceal the truth—its enemies did.

Say it. The legacy is with me, anxious for me to acknowledge the secret that has destroyed packs for hundreds of years.

Every generation is promised an omega. Yes, that’s true, but it’s not the full story either—though it’s not what I’m meant to confront now.

Every omega is promised alphas who will claim, bond, and support their omega in all things. This is where something vital is missing. It puts the power in the alphas, as though giving completely of themselves will create the environment where an omega can thrive—where a pack can triumph.

In whispers from the biology that’s still struggling to make a home inside me, I hear the words that were suppressed.

A true pack shares one beating heart, the omega’s.

Only a fiercely courageous omega with a heart born of both darkness and light, welcoming and exacting in equal measure, unfailingly discerning and yet infinitely forgiving, will be able to sustain a pack.

Without a worthy and wise heart, the omega will spoil the pack for the protection of all.

Oh, no… it’s me . I’m why Thatcher left—my cold heart made him leave. I’ve wrecked my pack, maybe forever, because that image our pack is meant to create includes Thatcher. He’s as crucial to our survival as Gideon, Mackenzie, and Jameson. But why did they hide that part of the prophecy?

I know before I’m even finished asking, but it doesn’t even matter, not when my alphas are staring at me, fully present and waiting for me to join them.

I gentle my fingers that were still digging into Jameson’s shoulders. “Please, help me, alpha. I know where I need to go and what I need to be, but I don’t know how to get there. Can you show me? Teach me?”