THE FALLEN

7 Days Ago

I wasn’t having the best day—hell, I wasn’t having a great week. Losing my job had been bad enough, but being an omega only made things worse. In my world, omegas were at the bottom of the chain, overlooked, disregarded, and rarely offered a helping hand. Not even the humans would give me a damn job. I had been to countless interviews, all ending in rejection. At one point, I swore I saw the manager of a café chuck my resume in the trash the second I turned away.

I wanted to rip their throats out. I wanted to tear through their flesh and bathe in their blood. But I couldn’t. Exposing my kind to humans would mean death—the council ensured that.

So, instead of giving in to my wolf’s violent urges, I did the next best thing.

I decided to get wasted.

Damn all the problems, all the stress, and the uphill battle that was my life—tonight, I was drinking until I couldn’t remember my own name.

Slipping into my sexiest black dress, one that hugged my curves and dipped scandalously low at the back, I pulled my long auburn hair into a sleek ponytail. A touch of mascara and red lipstick later, and I was ready to forget my troubles.

New Orleans was alive at night. The city never slept, the music never stopped, and the party never ended. It was one of the few reasons I loved this place. No one cared what you were, where you were from, or what your story was.

The moment I walked into the bar, the scent of whiskey, sweat, and desperation hit me. Neon lights flickered overhead, bathing the room in a hazy glow. The bass of whatever song was playing vibrated through the floor. The place was packed, bodies pressing together in a sweaty, chaotic mess.

“Ayla!” Arlene, the bartender, called out as I approached the counter. Arlene was a fiery redhead with a sharp tongue and an even sharper wit. She had been working at this bar for as long as I could remember. “Rough day?”

I scoffed, sliding onto a stool. “Try a rough week. I need six shots.”

Arlene arched a brow. “Starting strong, I see.”

“Just pour.”

One by one, the shots lined up in front of me, golden liquid glistening under the dim lights. I downed the first, relishing the burn. Then the second. Then the third. By the time I reached my fifth, I was feeling warm and loose.

That’s when I smelled it.

The scent hit me like a slap—musk, pine, and something dark, something dangerous. My wolf stirred immediately, clawing at my insides. It was a scent I recognized instantly—one of my own. A werewolf.

But something was… off.

We rarely came into bars like this, especially not in the middle of the city. I turned my head, searching for the source, and then I saw him.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Powerful. He moved through the crowd like he owned the place, every step confident and sure. His jet-black hair was tousled, some of it falling into his face in a way that made him look effortlessly good. His jawline was sharp enough to cut glass, his cheekbones sculpted to perfection. And those eyes—dark, intense, like they saw straight through me.

My thighs clenched involuntarily. I wasn’t the only one affected.

“Holy hell,” Arlene whispered, eyes locked on him. “Looks like a Greek god just walked in.”

He didn’t say a word as he reached the bar. Instead, he grabbed one of my remaining shots, downing it in one go before ordering more—along with a full bottle of bourbon whiskey.

The nerve.

I narrowed my eyes but said nothing. There was something about him, something in the way he carried himself, in the weight of his presence. Leader. That was the word that came to mind. But I couldn’t tell why.

We drank in silence, and yet, every glance he threw my way sent a shiver down my spine.

And then, without a single word, it happened.

One minute, I was still at the bar. The next, I was slammed against the walls of a hotel room, my dress in tatters on the floor.

The heat between us was unbearable, skin against skin, my wolf howling in pleasure. He was fast—one second I was pinned against the wall, the next I was beneath him, my body arching into his. Every touch ignited a fire within me, every movement driving me further into madness.

My wolf had never reacted this way before. Not with anyone.

Why him?

***

The next morning, I woke up alone.

Like any other one-night stand—not that I had many of those—he was gone.

Somehow, that disappointed me more than it should have.

I shrugged it off, shaking away the lingering frustration. It wasn’t like I expected anything more. But the week that followed? That was a different kind of hell.

I was sick. Crazy sick. Couldn’t keep anything down.

My cravings were out of control. Raw meat. The idea of anything else made my stomach churn. I had shifted almost six times in one day just to go hunting. I had devoured an entire platter of half-done steak in one sitting, much to the horror of my best friend, Emily.

Emily, the only human in my life who didn’t know what I really was, watched me with an arched brow. “You’re eating like a pig.”

I rolled my eyes, ordering a burger. “It’s just a phase.”

Emily leaned forward. “You’re acting like a crazy pregnant woman.”

I froze mid-bite. The burger slipped from my fingers.

My stomach dropped. My heart pounded.

No. No, that wasn’t possible.

I coughed, nearly choking, before grabbing my bag. “I’ll see you later!” I called over my shoulder, already running.

I raced to the nearest pharmacy, buying not one, not two, but twenty pregnancy tests. I barely made it to my apartment before ripping them open.

One after another, the results came in.

Positive.

Positive.

Positive.

My hands trembled as I stared at the tests.

Twenty tests later, I was still pregnant.

I was totally screwed.