Dark City Omega (Beasts of Gatamora #1)

by Elizabeth Stephens

Different Alphas from different cities have different preferred methods of travel. Glass City Alphas use carriages, Dark City ride motorcycles, Gold City use camels, Shadowlands and Mirage City use horses, Ruby City are conniving enough not to bother with land travel at all and are content to steal Betas trying to cross the Sea of Zaoul by boat…

Everyone is born a Beta, though just over half of Betas ascend as Alphas, if you’re lucky. An even luckier few ascend as Berserkers. An even unluckier few ascend as Omegas.

I fucking ache for that vulnerability. Makes every instinct in my body come alive with a desire to tear the world down around her and lay it at her feet.

What the fuck was I thinking, letting the Fates guide me here when I should have gutted them? I force off thoughts of my childhood, the prophecy, the Fates I should have murdered, the shit fucking brewin’ in my gut telling me that something about those damn scavengers was off. They do me no fuckin’ good now.

“You taste like sin,” I lie, because she doesn’t. She tastes like redemption

I remember the Fates. I remember what they told me. That in Paradise Hole I’d find her. And that there’d be no mistakin’ who she was when I met her. I’d know I met my wife. I know.

I’ve never seen flowers before. Too good for me. Unworthy.

I do know. I do… Because everyone knows that the Berserker who has control over the Fates that live in Mirage City is the most monstrous of them.

The Fates are Omegas with extraordinary gifts. No one knows exactly what they can do, or where the limits of their powers end, but what is known is that the Berserker who runs Mirage City has figured out how to enslave the Fates to Mirage City forever, and I do mean forever. Because the other thing the Fates figured out how to do is defy death.

“You wanted to live good as a Beta, you always coulda gone for Shadowlands.” There, the ruling Berserkers have always kept to the old ways, letting Betas keep their children and work alongside Alphas.

This is my Omega and she’s a breathtaking and savage thing.

I can feel with acute clarity every place my scars shift against the fabric of my shirt and in each wound is a message in a bottle. They’re all the same. They all read: Failure.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere.” And I’ll put a damn chain around my neck and shackle myself to her wrist if I gotta make sure of it.