Sons of an Omega

Bjorn's POV

Sons of an Omega

A heavy confusion weighed on my heart, and I felt lost in the midst of it all, unsure how to feel or what to do. Our mother had fled. We always knew she hated being an Omega, but I never imagined that the hatred would drive her to abandon her marriage.

But why did she despise her nature so much? She was an Omega—that was simply what she was, something no one could change. If she had grievances, she could take them up with the Moon Goddess who made her so. But too bad for her, the Moon Goddess wasn't one to be questioned.

Part of me couldn't help but think of her as selfish, someone who only cared about herself. I felt as if she never really cared about us. First, she made us illegitimate by having us with a man she was never married to, and now she has fled, not considering how we would feel or how it would affect us.

With her escape from the pack, the possibility of marrying the loves of our lives, Solveig and Thyra, seemed nearly impossible now. The future Alpha King would never allow us to get close to his daughters, let alone touch them. Even though we had gained his trust despite being bastards, now, as the sons of a traitor, he would never permit us to marry his daughters.

Yet, despite all this, I couldn't bring myself to hate my mother. I worried about her. Though frustrated by her unwillingness to accept her place in the pack, I still wished her well in her escape.

We had options, of course. My brothers and I could choose to exile her from the pack, mark her as a traitor or rogue so that no other pack would accept her, hunt her down, capture her, lock her in the dungeons, or even kill her for her betrayal. But we wouldn't do any of that—she was our mother, and we didn't want her to suffer.

I hoped she would hide well and, perhaps one day, reconsider her actions and return of her own accord, admitting her mistakes. I couldn't judge her so harshly; though I might not be an Omega, I still understood what it meant to be one.

"Brother," Styrbjorn, our youngest brother, asked as he tried to knock down a practice target with his claws, "are they going to kill Mom?"

Concern was etched across his young face. Even at his age, he knew the gravity of our mother's actions. Leif, my immediate younger brother, remained silent, but I shook my head to reassure Styrbjorn. "No, no one will kill Mom. Grandfather won't allow it," I said firmly.

Leif frowned. "Grandfather can't overpower the Alpha Prince Ragnar. Everyone knows that, and we all know he has very few days left as Alpha," Leif said, and we fell silent once more.

As we stood in thought, trying to make sense of everything, we were distracted by some voices. "Doesn't the princess love our father?" We turned around to see Thyra and her sister Solveig approaching us. The moment we saw them, we grew tense.

"Why would you say that? Everyone knows she loves him," I replied quickly.

"She's just nervous about her sudden marriage; anyone would be," Leif added, backing me up.

Solveig smiled as she walked with regal grace and said, "The princess is strange. Sorry, I don't mean it in a bad way," she clarified, looking at the three of us. "I mean... why would she deny her Omega inheritance? It's not like there's anything anyone can do about it."

"Believe me, I've been trying to understand it for a long time," I said, still struggling with why my mother refused to accept being an Omega. It wasn't like she had a choice.

My thoughts circled endlessly, trying to piece together a coherent picture, trying to find a reason that made sense.

I remembered overhearing a conversation between my mother, Astrid, and Queen Freydis, where she said she would only accept being an Omega when she found an Alpha who could protect her, not just see her as something he owned.

I knew my mother believed in those superstitions about the soul mark, but so far, it had only brought her trouble.

I also remembered overhearing a conversation between Grandpa, Harald, and Queen Freydis the night Mom fled. The king was being tended to by Queen Freydis, and their words were still clear in my mind as if I had heard them just this morning. "Harald, she will be fine. You know that Prince Ragnar loves her," Freydis said, trying to reassure her desperate husband, my grandfather, who was pacing anxiously.

"How many times has Astrid failed this pack?" my grandfather lamented. If he had been in his wolf form, it would have been a pitiful howl. Sadness was etched on his face. "Why can't she simply accept her inheritance? She is not the first Omega in the history of wolves. In fact, there are more Omegas than any other class of wolf," he said, and Freydis met his gaze steadily.

"She loves Ragnar, but he hasn't been the friendliest with her—you, of all people, know this truth," Freydis defended, and Grandpa fell silent.

He knew Ragnar was still grieving the death of Ingrid Eiriksdottir, his wife, but Ragnar had once loved my mother deeply. It was said that Grandpa had fought against Ragnar for her, preventing their union of pure love. Years later, Ragnar married Freydis Bloodaxe, and now Grandpa believed Ragnar had simply moved past his love for Mom.

Now it's clear that he wishes he hadn't done what he did back then. He probably wishes Ragnar could still remember the love he felt for her and not let his bitterness over the death of his wife and son turn against her. He should have allowed them to marry before. Then Mom wouldn't have had us as bastard children, and Ragnar wouldn't have suffered for the loss of Ingrid. But the past can't be undone.