Chapter 1: The Dead City Voltech
ROWAN'S POINT OF VIEW
It was hot as fuck again, that's just how it is in the undercity, it's been fifty years since the pack system came to be.
Enigmas were the highest of the rank, even dominant enough to impregnate alphas, I was born unfortunate, still am.
I was an omega, typical of us to be at the lowest, known only as preys, breeding pets, or bonded off in auctions. But I was cool, my parents passed away in the hands of a violent enforcer. I became an orphan but no one took me in, so I grew up with loose screws.
I stole to earn money, to survive around this cursed place, while in the uppercity, Xeh'la, people lived peacefully, it annoyed me to no end. Today was just another day of selling the things I stole, scent suppressants, they were fake yes, however they got me the money I needed for food, and that was enough.
I was by the usual stand, a musty purple stand half broken, in an underground unused garage, a guy came in, he smelled beautifully of sun-warmed honey and just another bit of singed ozone, his hair was a dirty blonde, his eyes an emerald green, however his face was covered with a gas mask making it hard to fully take in his facial features.
It was natural to have gas masks around here, since the vents weren't purified, clean air was a luxury.
I looked at the man's clothing, he wore a casual black tank top, and some black trousers with a few charms, how he even stood the heat? Hell if I knew.
"Trace Kallin, here for the fake heat suppressants."
The man shrugged out, I scoffed, this guy must be one of those dudes who have a good life in the upper city but come underground for shits and giggles. I spit the gum I'd been chewing since the morning.
"You an enforcer or some shit?" I ask annoyed, I didn't need anymore bad luck, I had much as it is.
"Enforcer? No, but I am convinced this is illegal, you shouldn't be selling fail suppressants, that shit messes with a person's body." He raised a brow to gauge my expression.
"You see a halo on my head? No? Then piss off."
I huff, this guy is really annoying me. I watch as this man simply leans on a column near the stand he seems so calm and relaxed, but he's handsome too, he's slim yet muscular and it only infuriates me more.
"Phew your scent is so sour omega."
He says in slight amusement. My blood runs cold and the pocket knife I was spinning around my fingers comes to a halt. Scent? Omega? No, I always wore suppressants, always.
My hand immediately goes to my neck to feel the suppressant, dammit it's effects have worn off, how long? I waste no time, I don't even bother packing the suppressants back up I simply take my bag and dash out, I needed to hide, and if I find that guy? He needed to die.
TRACE'S POINT OF VIEW
He ran.
The second his fingers brushed his neck a flicker of panic twisted his face—I knew. Not just what he was, but what I’d just triggered. What I'd done.
I didn’t move right away.
The scent hit me the moment I saw him: burning sugar under heat almost like Carmel, but bitter around the edges, laced with something else, something wrong. Not simply panic, nor fear. It sunk into the back of my throat like smoke, curled behind my eyes, and all at once my instincts sharpened.
Omega. Unbonded. Unprotected. And his suppressant had just failed.
I pushed off the column, slow. The metal groaned as I stood tall, breath catching in my chest.
Fuck.
That wasn’t how this was supposed to go.
I was just scouting. Messing around. Cass had sent me to pick up a few fake suppressants to run tests on—hell, I only even used my real name 'cause I didn’t think it mattered. But now?
Now my instincts were awake and pissed.
Not heat, exactly. But that other thing—that Alpha thing. That urge to follow, to corner, to protect or destroy. And he’d looked at me like I was the enemy. Like I’d set him on fire.
I blew out a breath, tried to smother the coil tightening in my gut.
“Shit,” I muttered, dragging a hand through my hair.
He left everything—stand, even the credits he’d stashed under the crate. His scent bled behind him like a damn beacon, wild and unfiltered. And if I could smell him? So could every feral bastard in the lower rings.
My jaw clenched.
This wasn’t a choice anymore. I shifted my mask and started after him—quiet, quick, using the columns and dead machinery as cover.
I wasn’t chasing. Not really. I was tracking. It’s what I did best.
But still...
He was fast.
“Rowan,” I murmured under my breath.
Yeah, I knew his name. Cassian had files. Everyone in the undercity had files. Rowan: male Omega, no pack, sells black market trash. A ghost with bite. Dangerous if cornered. Lived like no one wanted him.
But something about that scent said otherwise.
Someone should’ve.
TRACE'S POINT OF VIEW
I followed the trail down through the vents and steel skeletons of the Fringe. His scent got stronger the further I went—warmer, sharper, threaded with panic sweat and fear.
It clung to rusted pipes and peeling metal like it belonged here.
Poor bastard probably did.
By the time I hit the busted stairwell near the old generator room, I already knew where he’d gone.
An old utility vault. Dark. Low. Trapped scent like a bottle.
A terrible place to hide.
I didn’t rush. Just ducked under the half-hinged door, boots crunching softly on broken glass, and let the heavy silence announce me.
“That’s a shitty hiding spot,” I said into the dark. My voice echoed once.
Silence.
Then, from somewhere behind a pipe:
“Fuck off.”
Ah. There he was.
“You always this polite to your customers?”
I stepped further inside.
“You weren’t a customer,” he snapped. “You were an accident.”
I huffed a small laugh through the mask. “Gotta admit—‘accident’ is a bit offensive.”
There was a scuffle, a quick shifting of movement—and then the glint of a blade. He lunged from behind a pillar with the pocket knife, teeth bared.
I caught his wrist mid-swing, body twisting just enough to shove him back against the cold wall. Not rough, not yet, but enough to make the knife clatter.
He froze.
His breath hitched.
His scent bloomed.
Up close, it hit me full force—his heat was starting. Yet he was fighting it like a damn soldier.
“Easy,” I said, lowering my voice. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”
His chest was rising too fast. His pupils were blown, jaw tight, defiant even now.
“Don’t touch me.”
I didn’t.
I just stepped back one inch. Then two. Showed him my empty hands.
“If I wanted to do something to you,” I said quietly, “I would’ve done it back at the stall.”
That landed.
His breathing slowed a little. Not by much.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said. “Neither should you,” I countered. “But I’m not leaving with your scent pouring through the vents like it’s a goddamn invitation.”
He went quiet again.
I saw the moment it hit him—the realization that I wasn’t trying to scare him, but that I wasn’t going anywhere either.
We both stood in the dark, unmoving.
Something unspoken hanging between us.
Something that felt like a fuse.
CASSIAN'S POINT OF VIEW
It was taking Trace an unbearable amount of time, I kept pacing around in anxiousness after all Trace, Vex, Ash, and Juno were my mates, we were a pack and I being an Enigma, was the leader, I was territorial, more so than a violent Alpha, strongest of my blood, yet I worked hard for these muscles.
"Will you calm the hell down? Your scent is driving me up a wall Cass." Vex angrily huffed.
"Vex I'm worried about our mate, it's normal, no?" I practically spit out, but it's only because I'm so worried, because I care, and I can't let it happen again, I can't let anyone die. "Vex sighs, almost like giving up.
"Fine, let's go out and check what he's up to, check his pulse, is he in danger?"
Vex carefully asked, I brighten up before focusing on the soft buzzing behind my ear, I sniff Trace before I open my eyes back up again.
"He's chasing, I think after the omega." Vex sighs.
My jaw tightens. "But that wasn't his task, we should see what's up, usually Trace never strays from his pack duties, go to Juno and Ash, tell them to shift and scent hunt him."
You as well Vex, but before we go let's all have a tiny pack meeting." I say, through the bond Ash and Juno come, they bow slightly. "You called a pack meeting?" He asked softly. I nod before moving towards Juno, I pull him in by the waist and kiss him, no heat, no lust, just raw protection, and care. I lick his bottom lip before pulling away relishing in the slight pink tint of Juno's cheeks and the sound of his heartbeat.
Then I move onto Ash, who mind you, is already leaning in, smitten jerk, if Trace was a golden retriever, Ash was the opposite, Trace was well built and muscled, meanwhile Ash was slimmer, yet formidable, it didn't mean that he didn’t want or need affection like he needed water, yet admitting it for him was like a knife to the chest, but we are working on it, I caress Ash's face lovingly, slowly, before leaning in to capture his lips, they taste so good, of Cherry pie and something foreign, perhaps those wild berries Juno always likes.
I pull away pleased when Ash chases after my lips, too flustered to maintain eye contact so he looks away. Cute. Then I turn to Vex, the hot head, he was defiant, and also an alpha, he's my right hand, but also drives me crazy with his sassy attitude sometimes. Vex liked affection, but he was on the low about it, PDA scared him for some reason, and that was fine, he said he wanted to take baby steps, and who was I to say no to my mate. His puppy eyes were all it took.
I slowly walk towards Vex, he's already blushing, hardly looking into my eyes.
"I...w-well.." Vex stammers, it's endearing and it's enough for me to kiss him too, hot and furious, just like he loves it. Before finally pulling away. "Stay safe, I beg Artemis to guide you. And find Trace. Meet at the HQ if you can't find him, but if you do mind link, I'll be there in seconds, got it?" I order. They all immediately nod, used to me taking the lead, we all spread out. That damn pup is in for a punishment for worrying me, I just hope nothing bad happened.
I love my pack, and those that dare touch what's mine, my mates? They'd be lucky to burn in the hands of Apollo.
ROWAN'S POINT OF VIEW
I sensed them, the minute they came I had sensed them. I didn't know who they were, they didn't seem to belong down in the undercity of Voltech, Trace hadn't touched me, I was in pre-heat yet he didn't touch me, I could tell he was holding back, and that...surprised me. I tense up as the five men approach, I'm outnumbered if I truly plan on escaping.
So I settle, I'll make a genius plan while trying to guage my surroundings. The minute they all get close, a scent hits me, hard and fast it's a strong lavender scent, it surrounds us all. I watch Trace, it seems he knows who they are because his shoulders aren't as tense anymore, and he walks closer to the man in front, hugging him tightly before scenting him, they must be mates, a pack, something I never had, and suddenly the feeling of attraction simply becomes bitter.
The man that smelled of lavender speaks up, his wavy blue hair in a mullet with streaks of white, his fangs are large and deadly, this was no Alpha, he seemed to be an Enigma only said to appear in the undercity, Wynsten due to rarity.
The rest of the males are Alphas however, some smell of metal and burned engine, the other smelling like a fresh bouquet of roses, however some scents were hard to distinguish. "You can't escape punishment Trace, I told you if anything comes up, mind link us." The man huffs, the force even causing the earring on his left ear to dangle. Trace looks at the man sheepishly, Sorry Cass, I was going to... but then you came..." Trace slightly pouts.
The air in the utility vault had gone from stale to suffocating. It wasn’t just the heat anymore; it was the sheer presence of them.
I’d spent my whole life dodging Enforcers and hiding from Alphas who looked at Omegas like we were nothing more than a paycheck or a toy. But this? This was different. The guy in the lead—Cassian—didn’t just occupy space; he owned it.
The scent of lavender was usually something meant to be soothing, but coming off him, it was sharp, royal, and heavy enough to make my knees want to buckle.
I backed up until my spine hit a rusted generator pipe, the cold metal a sharp contrast to the fire starting to lick at my insides.
“Stay back,” I snapped, though my voice didn't have the bite I wanted. It sounded thinned out, airy.
Trace, the golden-blonde one who had started this mess, looked at me with those emerald eyes. He looked guilty, which was a first for anyone from the Uppercity. “Rowan, just breathe. Nobody’s jumping you.”
“You tracked me,” I hissed, clutching my bag to my chest. The credits were still back at the stall—gone, probably stolen by some other bottom-feeder by now. “You called your pack to corner a ‘stray.’ Isn’t that what your files say? Rowan: The ghost?”
Cassian stepped forward. His movements were fluid, like a predator that didn't need to hurry because it already knew the exit was blocked. He looked at the pocket knife on the floor, then at me.
“The files don’t mention the eyes,” Cassian said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in my very marrow. He wasn’t looking at me with lust—not yet—but with a terrifying kind of curiosity. “Or the fact that you’re standing through a heat spike that would have most Omegas on the floor.”
“I’m built different,” I spat, wiping sweat from my forehead.
CASSIAN’S POINT OF VIEW
He was trembling, but his chin was up. I had to admire it.
Most Omegas in the Undercity were broken spirits by the time they hit twenty. But this one... Rowan. He smelled like scorched sugar and defiance. Even with his biology betraying him, he looked like he wanted to rip my throat out.
“Vex,” I said, not taking my eyes off the boy.
“Already on it,” Vex grunted. He was still flushed from our earlier encounter, his scent spicy and agitated. He pulled a medical-grade suppressant patch from his tactical belt. “But if he tries to stab me, Cass, I’m pinning him.”
“He won’t,” I said, though I wasn't entirely sure. I looked at Trace. “And you. You’re lucky he’s alive. If he’d run into a different pack while scenting like this...”
Trace looked down, his jaw tight. “I know. I messed up.”
I turned back to Rowan. I needed to bridge the gap, but I could see the way he looked at our bond—the way his eyes flickered between me, Vex, Trace, Ash, and Juno. It wasn't just fear. It was a deep, jagged bitterness. He’d never had a pack. He’d been a ghost in the machine for twenty years.
“Rowan,” I said, softening my tone just a fraction. “The Undercity is a grave. You’re currently a beacon for every desperate Alpha within five miles. You come with us to the HQ, we get your fever down, and you leave whenever you want. No auctions. No bonds.”
Rowan let out a jagged, breathless laugh. “And why would an Enigma from the Uppercity give a damn about a thief’s fever?”
“Because,” I said, stepping into his personal space, letting my lavender scent wrap around him like a heavy velvet cloak to dampen his panic. “I don’t like leaving things unfinished. And Trace seems to think you’re worth the trouble.”
Rowan’s eyes went wide as I reached out. He didn't flinch away this time; the pre-heat was finally winning, making his muscles heavy.
“I’m going to kill him,” Rowan whispered, nodding toward Trace, even as his head lollled back against the pipe.
“Get in line,” Vex muttered, stepping forward with the patch.
