Only Perfect Omegas: A Reverse Harem Fantasy Romance Series (Rebel Werewolves Book 1)

by Rosemary A Johns

  The Omega’s smile was dazzling, as he ducked his head in thanks. My guts clenched, as I rode the thrill of having him look at me like that…of having anyone look at me with such genuine — surprised — respect.

  That could become addictive.

  “Trust me, we’re safe with the big bad Omega here.” I snatched the Alpha by the shoulder, tossing her out of the room.

  Stella’s gaze darted between us, before she sighed. “You were always one for dramatics.”

  “Big bad Omega?” The Omega pouted. “Are you mocking me?”

  I leaned next to him. “Well, duh.”

  The Omega’s eyes widened as he stared at me, then he spluttered with laughter. “You’re not like any witch I’ve ever met. I love this goth chick thing you’ve got going on. Is madam rebelling against ma and da?”

  I stiffened, biting my tongue hard enough to taste the tangy blood. “That’d be a nope. They’re dead.” This would be the point that guys at parties would rush to apologize and slip away as fast as they could. The death of my parents was both my trump card and social awkwardness bottled. Instead, the Omega only continued to study me with an intent golden gaze. Finally, I was the one who broke. “So, are you rebelling against your mom and dad?”

  The Omega shrugged one snowy shoulder, as his lips quirked into the ghost of a smile. I hated how the look made my stomach squirm. If he wasn’t a wolf — and I’d met him at one of those private parties on yachts or at the tennis club that my cousins loved so much — then he was just the sort that I’d have pinned to the sheets, until I’d dirtied up his sweet innocence. I had to stop thinking of a wolf as a sheep because that was how you ended up devoured.

  At last, the Omega leaned close to my ear. “That’d be a nope,” he whispered in a faux American accent. I bristled. “But I wish that they were.”

  I startled back from him, and Stella caught me.

  Stella’s laugh was harsh. “Oh, my naïve niece, did his sinful body or angelic eyes trick you?” I shrugged out of her hold, although my pulse pounded too loudly in my ears. How could I’ve been so trusting, just because his magic had called to mine? “He might look your age, but these shifters live for centuries. He was a kid in the time of your legendary great-grandmother.”

  Firstly, I had a legendary great-grandmother…? Secondly, I had to take home with me not simply a werewolf but one that was centuries old…? Maybe I could still persuade my aunt that I hadn’t been kidding about wanting that new set of oil paints for my birthday, instead.

  The Omega had stiffened, edging warily towards the corner of the cell.

  Stella gestured out at the ranks of perfect Omegas. “Why would you consider a reject, when there’s a platter of deliciousness out there?”

  I shrugged. The way that she’d frowned, when I’d suggested not following her orders about taking a Charm, made me hesitate to reveal the Omega’s magic. “Shops always have the best produce hidden at the back.”

  The Omega huffed. “I doff my hat to the queen of the backhanded compliment.”

  “Is it because he’s got that vulnerable but rebellious thing going on?” Stella looked the Omega up and down appraisingly. “Like he should be on his knees but he’d fight you all the way? I could definitely go for a taste of that. Plus, those curls would look delectable wrapped around my fingers…”

  “Stop talking,” I snarled, pressing my nails into the palm of my hand, until the crescents bit into the skin.

  Stella tossed her hair. “Possessive…yet you don’t even want him, Crimson Tide.”

  I flinched. “Don’t call me that.” I noticed that the Omega’s own nails were clawing into his arms as well and that they sparkled golden. Had they been painted or were they natural? “Are you holding out on me? Why’s this Omega candy in the reject pile?”

  “More like,” Stella smiled; her gray eyes glittered, “what happens to him if he’s not picked?”

  The Omega’s lips thinned, and for the first time, a tremor ran through him, even though he lifted his chin defiantly.

  “I’ll bite: What happens if I don’t choose him?” I tried to meet the Omega’s gaze, but he stared with attempted bravado over my shoulder.

  “He’ll be put down.” Stella twirled a strand of her hair around her finger. ‘Oh, don’t worry, it’ll be humane.”

  When I gasped, the Omega’s gaze shot to mine in surprise: it was open and raw. I saw the hurt beneath the sass. If his silver hadn’t reached out to my red, and if I hadn’t answered its call, he’d have been executed.

  Yet Stella had announced his death sentence like: Oh, it’ll be a soy latte.

  Just how much did witches hate werewolves? Or werewolves their own Omegas if they weren’t perfect? And what the holy hell did perfect even mean?

  The Omega had paled. He stroked his curls as if self-soothingly. Seriously, that’s what he thought of me? That I’d only wanted some entertainment but even after knowing that he’d be put down humanely, I’d still walk away and leave him here?

  I marched to the Omega, shoving his hand away from his curls and running my fingers through them instead; they were as soft as I’d hoped. He leaned into my touch, closing his eyes with a contented hum.

  Then he peeked at me. “Last stroke for a condemned wolf?”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m choosing you.”

  The Omega let out a hissed breath, before he carefully licked the palm of my hand. I jolted, as his tongue swiped at my skin a second time.

  Stella bustled to the door. “This one wasn’t left out with the others for a reason, but if you want to take the risk, then you’re all grownup now. Maybe a little hands-on learning is what you need. My brother spoiled you. Have you never heard of consequences? You’ll need to prove yourself worthy of your mum’s name, or you’ll learn how unpleasant those consequences can be. I’ll just order the cage for the wolf…”

  “Woah, I’m not into…you know, I’m not kink shaming here, but pet play’s not my thing.” I met the Omega’s amused gaze who was studying me with a raised eyebrow. “Unless you…?”

  “To lock the beast in at night,” Stella snapped. How much was she regretting her birthday gift now? “We’re talking wolf shifter, rather than Fido. The House of Silver has been fitted out with first rate facilities, just as I’ve warded and updated it with something special to protect you. But you’ll want a cage in your room.”

  “So said the serial killer.” I stroked my thumb along the Omega’s cheek, and he nuzzled closer like he hadn’t been touched gently in a long time…like he craved it. “I like my guys sassy and uncaged. Call me eccentric.”

  Stella tapped the bronze buckle on her belt thoughtfully. “You’re eccentric.” Then she sighed. “Don’t worry your pretty witchy head. We have time to train you as much as the wolf.”

  The Omega glanced between us, whilst his eyes narrowed.

  Yep, I wasn’t liking the sound of that either.

  Stella caught the Omega’s hand in hers, before pressing it into mine. “You only get to choose this one of the three Charms because the Wilds can’t be trusted with their Tribute. Now to the Claiming of the Charm.”

  “Wait…three…?” I spluttered.

  Then I screamed, and so did the wolf.

  My crimson power heated molten hot, until I was nothing but a tide of fire. Then the wave burst onto the Omega, where our hands met. His hand glowed crimson, pulsing and throbbing, as he fell to his knees and keened.

  At last, our palms cooled. I pulled mine back, whilst the Omega panted. Tears tumbled down his cheeks, and sweat matted his hair. I twisted his limp hand, which had been branded with WCH: Wolf Charmer.

  “I didn’t know,” I whispered, stroking his feverish forehead, “I’m sorry.”

  “Never apologize to a wolf.” Stella’s voice was stern. “They sacrifice to the Wolf Charmer to atone for their crimes before the Wolf War. You…the single Wolf Charmer born in each generation of witches…must control them and hold back their crimson tide.” Stella gras
ped my shoulder, twisting me around. “It’s your responsibility, duty, and why your mum named you Crimson.”

  The Omega staggered to his feet, holding his burned hand under his arm. “On the moon, why ever couldn’t you just have let them kill me?”

  My eyes widened at the Omega’s sudden terror and the way that he looked at me now he knew I was the Wolf Charmer like I was worse than a dragon…the monster that birthed all dragons.

  If that was even a thing.

  How was that fair when I was the one who had to take my worst enemy into my home like a stray dog from the pound?

  Then suddenly the Omega’s eyes glazed with a steely determination. “Sorry about this, single skin, but I don’t fancy being your duty, responsibility, or bitch. You’re getting me out of here: free. And I may be an Omega…” The Omega leapt across the cell, grabbing me by the shoulders and slamming me against the wall. I yelped, as his golden nails extended into claws, nicking the skin at my throat. “…but I’m also a rebel.”

  My heart thundered — thud, thud, thud — as I scrabbled against the wall. “Dick way to pay me back for saving your life.”

  The Omega licked my cheek, and I shivered. “You’re the monster that my da warned would come for me one day. Sorry, I’m all out of grateful.”

  I couldn’t help the pout. “Harsh.” Then I licked down his cheek, and he gaped at me. “And you’re mine now…my Charm.”

  Crimson burst from my chest like fireworks. I tipped back my head and howled at the ecstasy. Lost in the joy, it took me a moment to notice that the Omega’s eyes were hazy and that he was howling too, as the crimson bound him, joining us like our ululations. The red laved and nipped at his skin in intimate caresses, before searing into his glowing hand.

  I dragged him closer to me, as his claws retracted. Would he really have hurt me to escape? Killed me?

  What was one more dead witch to a wolf?

  Behind me, I heard Stella crow, “Now that’s my Wolf Charmer.”

  Yet that no longer mattered because nothing did apart from the crimson binding me to the first of my Charms who was a centuries-old rebel Omega. And I didn’t know if I desired to kiss him, and he hungered to kill me.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I sat on the top step of the sweeping mahogany staircase in the House of Silver and tried not to look like the type of witch who’d claim a werewolf, drag him home to my Elizabethan mansion, and then stuff him in a wardrobe.

  Except, apparently that’s what Wolf Charmers did. Who knew? Oh, apart from the stuffing in a wardrobe bit: that was just me.

  I’d brought the Omega to my bedroom (which used to be my parents’), and panicked. He’d growled that I’d better not think this meant that I’d won because he’d have no problem breaking a spoiled little witch… Hence, you know, the whole shoving him in a wardrobe.

  Maybe I should’ve bought the cage…?

  I sighed, running my hand through my hair. Our family’s motto glowed on the wall above me:

  Charm the wolves. Control the crimson tide.

  Every time that I’d walked down these stairs with my mom, she’d tap the motto and read it to me, until we’d shortened it to Crimson Tide, which had then jokingly become my nickname just between us.

  The sweet scent of honeysuckle drifted around me, making me shiver with the memory of summers in the garden with my mom. I squinted through the evening sun out of the wide windows over my estate: My inheritance. I’d known my uncle’s money in America but nothing like this echoing vastness and the formal symmetrical gardens, leading to ancient oak woodland with Oxford’s spires peeking above them. I’d been a kid when I’d left and I’d almost forgotten this world.

  And now I was alone here with a wolf.

  Well, almost alone.

  When I caressed my finger over my jeans, a silver nose poked out of the pocket, followed by two fluffy ears. “Okami,” I coaxed, “get your gorgeous ass out here. We’re home.”

  Why were my eyes burning? To be home after a decade away and the murder of my parents? Could this truly be my home again?

  I sniffed, wiping at my eyes and refusing to let the tears fall, even though I couldn’t help imagining what it would have been like to grow up here into a proper Wolf Charmer, rather than returning as a stranger who didn’t even know the rules of wolf care.

  Okami flew out of my pocket and dived in a wild circle. His silver silk glittered under the light of the wrought iron chandelier.

  As a kid, I’d often begged my mom for a wolf cub as a pet and never understood my mom’s secretive smile. After her death, when my powers started to build, I bought a length of silk and willed my magic into it, until it folded into a wolf that could change shape and fly. He became my magic Okami. After that, like a security blanket, I carried Okami everywhere.

  My uncle called it the witch equivalent of therapy.

  I loved Okami, however, because he was mine and the one thing that I’d been able to bring with me from my life in America.

  Okami sniffed at a stone bust of one of my ancestors, before sneezing on the dust and shooting backwards. I laughed, catching him and stroking his tail. He bumped his head against my cheek, nosing at the wet corners of my eyes, before suddenly growling, low in his throat.

  “Aw, wolfie doesn’t want to play?” I smirked. Then I stilled, carefully pushing myself up, as my guts roiled.

  Something wasn’t right…

  The air became cold, heavy, and moist, like I was caught inside a weeping ghost. Okami whined, sliding closer to me. His fur sparked, which was his magic warning mine of danger.

  Stella had promised that the house had protection wards on it. She’d begged me to come and stay with her, so that I wouldn’t be haunted by my past in this mansion. But I had to face it someday, and why not today? The House of Silver was mine, and I wasn’t a kid anymore; I wouldn’t act like one.

  It’d sounded brave in my Oscar winning speech, but standing hunched at the top of the creaking staircase in the sudden chill spot…? It was more like the kid who was slaughtered first in Friday the 13th.

  I winced, as Okami nibbled at my thumb anxiously. Even sharpened silk smarted, and Okami had a biting fetish.

  “It’s all gone Amityville,” I murmured, grasping onto the banister, only to stagger backwards, as loud music blasted from the walls. I cringed at the piercing strings and horns, along with the chilling whisperings, and Okama whined. “The Friday the 13th thing was a joke, Spooks, so stop reading my mind and cut out the horror movie theme tune.”

  Finally, the music cut off. I stared around the mansion.

  Silence…and no ghost.

  “This house is alive.” I snickered.

  Stella had told me that she’d set up something special in the mansion. Was this it? An ability to screw with me?

  I patted my pocket, and Okami flew back in, flattening to fit.

  “Honestly, this is my fault for not introducing myself.” I cautiously smacked the wood paneled wall. “I don’t know witch etiquette and I didn’t realize that I had to say hello to houses, otherwise they turned into prank pulling psychopaths. So, I’m the new Wolf Charmer and besides being the pain in my ass, you’re…?”

  When my feet sank into the rapidly softening floor, I staggered. Frowning, I stared down, confused.

  The step was melting to silver.

  I flailed, as a hole opened and the silver swallowed me. It dragged me down through sparking heat. I screamed, but the noise was lost, like me, in the metallic dark. At last, it spat me out into a different type of darkness, which was a deep gloom, lit only by the gleam of silver lined walls. I landed hard on my ass, groaning as I hit my hip and wrinkling my nose at the stench of mold. Then I stared around in shock.

  This was the tunnel of cellars beneath the mansion, which I’d always been forbidden from exploring as a kid. I guessed that I had the key now I was the Wolf Charmer, even if it was through being swallowed by a giant mouth.

  “I don’t remember asking to be dropped like
a chess piece in…” I flushed, dragging myself to my knees. “…something out of Christian Grey’s wet dream.”

  I glared like I could disintegrate the room with my angry vibes alone. It was filled with equipment that I didn’t even recognize but knew was for punishment: benches, paddles, and canes, not to mention muzzles and leashes. Plus, the two witch specialties that I’d already learned were for wolves: silver and cages. Even walking on the floor or touching the walls would burn a werewolf.

  DISCIPLINE CELLAR, read the neat sign. I had the feeling that it was more accurate — honest — than the Training Center’s sign about Omegas.

  Holy hell, the Omega was still in my wardrobe, whilst I was down here like I was getting the cellar ready for his use. Was that why the house had dropped me here? Seriously, then the house could go screw itself because I wouldn’t allow the Omega to even know that this room existed.

  Claim a wolf, bring it home to my Elizabethan mansion, stuff it in a wardrobe…and then discipline it in a cellar…? My friends would be so proud.

  I shook my head, clucking my tongue behind my teeth in disgust, as I staggered to my feet. Then I froze.

  Is this where my mom had kept her wolf? Is that why I’d never seen him?

  Paling, I leaned against a large cage. What would it feel like to be trapped inside?

  Then I remembered how on my family’s final Christmas together, a teenager had joined my parents and me for breakfast. He’d been cute with strawberry blond hair. I’d been cross that a stranger had stolen our special time together and had ignored him, but I’d still been curious about why he hadn’t received any presents and hadn’t spoken, only sitting cross-legged on the floor with his gaze cast down.

  Had he been my mom’s werewolf? Had he been trapped beneath me in this cellar for the rest of the year?

  My shadows vibrated in outrage. They ached for control but not this, which felt like both a betrayal and a perversion of true witchcraft. Just what was going on in these Oxford covens?