Your Omegas Are Mine 1| Euodia's Sun | Omegaverse Apocalyptic Reverse Harem

12: Beginning of Chapter 4

Two once loved her.

Before prejudice ruined her and biology settled in, Euodia had been a kind sweet child that knew no evil. She'd been a best friend to orphaned Solar; she was a shoulder to cry on, the only person in the world that cared for him, and the love of his life. Euodia was once an angel, a beautiful girl that found him in the streets, shivering and wet—dying.

She brought him back as a servant, but to Solar, she brought him back to life.

He would do absolutely anything for her. He'd lay the gossamer and moonshine of his silvery wings upon a platter just for her love, would give her his eyes just so she could see, his organs if she needed them to live, and his heart just as long as she asked politely.

He was her willing slave.

And he proved his worth; spent years training in the barracks with a master that whipped him bloody, and yet he held on to the sliver of cloth she'd given him, brushed it against his lips when the days got too hard. Her handkerchief to wipe his eyes had been his sole comfort for decades.

She was his everything.

He worked until his knuckles were bruised, and blood spilled free, until callouses formed and his body was riddled with scars. He crawled from muck and rose to the top, killed Lonely and protected her from all, eventually became responsible for her security.

The first Omega guard.

But Euodia had stolen his virginity, sunk her teeth into his neck in marked bliss just for the orgasm, just to see what he'd experience with a bite. She'd smiled when he'd tearfully sobbed questions of the authenticity of their 'marriage' when she'd refused his. Then spun and took another to her bed.

It was stone cold betrayal.

She left him in the streets to fend for himself, tossed him out with nothing but the cloth on his back and the bloody wound on his neck. A half-bonded Omega was destined to die. And in the cold winter storm, with the remains of their baby seeping from between his legs, he swore on the moon, vouched in sacred oath that he would kill her.

And he would relish in her pain.

*

Helios

He should be happy.

He purred; felt the featherlight touches of fingers over skin; felt thumbs dig into sore spots on his back that made him arch. He was curled in a bed made of down and silk, filled with pillows and soft things: mossy crochet, fuzzy baby toys, and wool knitted scarfs—a nest of plump innocence and childish joy.

And his pleasure dripped from him, wet and sticky, coating the sheets in his cream. For once, his wings were dry; they did not smell like fresh blood and ash, but instead the caramel of his deepest scent, and his body turned to press against another. A heated being that sang and crooned, cock nestled within him, hips grinding in lazy thrusts.

A mate. One of his six, and his touch sent a thrum of heat through his chest, the song of their souls, entwined and safe. He smiled when silvery wings, iridescent and glittering like stars brushed against his skin, ticklish as he giggled, and another kissed his throat—upon his neck was a bite etched in silver.

Happiness.

It should have been everything he ever wanted. To be bathed so lavishly in Omegan scents that he was drunk in the fumes, felt the crawl of sweetness coat his tongue and flood his head. The space, so lacking in the tart musky completion of an Alpha.