The Alpha's Omega Mistress

Sixty

Kira

Haunted by horror, all I could do was watch helplessly as D'Angelo rushed out. He rushed out to war with a fucking boner.

I would have laughed until I cried or soiled myself at how absurd the situation appeared if the circumstances behind this were not serious.

The underground shelter was dark, but the tiny light bulbs that hung on the walls were not bright enough to illuminate anything.

My mom grabbed my hand and held a bedsheet as we kept running. D'angelo going to war had left me trembling with worry. My hands shook uncontrollably as I desperately tried to calm my racing thoughts.

Around me, people were in various states of distress. Some were crying, some were afraid, and some pacing back and forth.

And it dawned on me. Here, there was no discrimination. The rich and poor, betas and omegas, all of us were equals, not a single difference. No one was better than anyone else, no one was more superior.

The shelter expanded to another hallway, and my senses were overwhelmed by the unfamiliar surroundings. A hinged door creaked open to reveal a narrow passageway leading underground. The reinforced fiberglass stairs leading downhill and the cement walls were hardly visible in the low light.

With each step down the narrow staircase, my heart clenched with fear. I tightened my grip on the railing and tried to steady my shaky legs.

We settled into the cramped space, I couldn't shake the terror that washed over me.

Several benches lined the underground shelter, offering limited seating for the hundreds of people rushing to find a place to sit. Despite the fan whirring overhead for ventilation, the air felt heavy and stifling. Anxious murmurs and choked sobs soon filled the small room.

Moms clung close to their babies. A few women wept quietly and prayed in hushed tones for the safety of their partners and other loved ones who had departed for battle.

I found a spot on one of the benches and sweat prickled on my skin. Amari was shaking next to me, her cheeks full of tears.

“Please don't cry,” I said and wrapped my arms around her in a comforting embrace, “Zion is an Omega, they won't put him in the forefront of the battle. He will likely be tasked with small jobs like doing the dishes or cleaning. He'll be safe."

There was a flash of wild grief in her eyes. “But what if something happens to him? What if he gets hurt or worse?"

“Let's stay strong. We have to believe that our loved ones will come back to us safely."

“You should be worried for D'angelo,” she whispered and I nodded.

“I trust that he'll return to me unharmed."

The scene was scary.  Babies slept fitfully in their mothers' arms, while others cried out for comfort. Glow sticks and candles provided dim lighting. Portable toilets stood in one corner and the women in charge of welfare unpacked emergency supplies—food, plastic ware, and paper towels.

Zina burst into the room, blowing a whistle to get everyone's attention.

“Please make sure to gather any important documents or papers that belong to you or your loved ones at the war front. “

Without hesitation, some of the higher-ranked women who lived nearby rushed out to retrieve these belongings. Omegas had nothing so we stayed put.

My admiration for Zina grew by the second. She was a true leader, calm and composed even in the face of problems. I wished I could be more like her.

Once everyone had returned the door was securely shut with a loud thud. The atmosphere grew even more tense as people spoke in hushed voices. Someone turned on a radio, and the sound of the announcer's voice filled the room.

There was a live broadcast media from the war. We remained quiet, listening to the radio host.

"Good evening, everyone. This is your host, bringing you a live broadcast from our station and here to provide you with the latest updates from the war front. Reports have come in of enemy forces infiltrating from the northern parts. Our alphas are aware of the situation and are taking necessary measures to protect our tribe. Don't forget to trust in their leadership and remain united as a community."

I sighed, trembling and hoping this nightmare would pass. Beside me, a mother hushed her frightened child. Mom nudged me to stretch my body on the floor.

"Don't worry, honey,” she whispered. “Your mate will come back. You'll see."

I woke up to the muted glow of dawn and I felt the ache in my body from sleeping on the hard floor. The air was heavy with the smell of urine from the nearby mobile toilets, and also the scent of unwashed bodies, and the faint aroma of burning candles.

Squinting against the darkness, I noticed Zina nearby, handling antiseptic as she attempted to empty the toilet through a pipe.

I rose from my makeshift bed and made my way over to her. She turned around and gave me a small smile.

“Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?”

I shook my head. “Why are you so brave? Aren't you afraid that something might happen?"

She opened the antiseptic   "This is what our mates and the other men signed up for—to protect us all. I believe they'll come back safely, every single one of them.”

Each of us received an apple, a handful of dried nuts, and a meager portion of water for breakfast. The heat was suffocating, intensified by the press of bodies crammed together in the shelter.

By afternoon, my mouth felt parched from emptying my water supply. I was hungry, bored, and tired of sitting for hours on end. A child nestled into my lap and I smiled softly, glad for the distraction. At least the baby smelled nice.

Zina fiddled with the radio knob, hoping to catch a broadcast for news or updates, but the static filled the air.

Evening descended, our water supply dwindled, and tensions rose in the overcrowded shelter. Some became irritable and hostile, yelling at one another.

Zina and a group of women summoned the courage to head outside and I prayed she'd return in one piece. They didn't return until after what felt like hours.

When they returned, they brought cartons of child cereal for the kids and over a hundred loaves of bread. But an argument began over the sharing of the bread. I managed to secure a loaf and shared it with my mom and hoped for good news tonight.

I couldn't wait to leave. Most importantly, I hoped D'Angelo was alive.