My Fated Mate Can Have Her-Chapter 103: Another Omega

Violet

A bitter taste filled my mouth.

I didn’t know how to feel about it and it saddened me the momentary bliss I felt would fade away whenever I think of just how many things were under his control.

’Then again, tradition is not something one can easily break out of even if they had the power.’

I tried. I tried thinking in his place. Maybe I was this way because of my upbringing, or simply because of who I was. But the idea of treating death as something honourable, something to celebrate, in an event like this when a lot of it could have been prevented...

I shook my head, trying to dispel the troubling thoughts. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺

It wasn’t my place to judge. These traditions had existed long before I arrived and would continue long after I was gone. Who was I to question what had kept this nation strong for generations?

Still, the discomfort remained.

Some things could still change...

Especially if I was going to... be with him.

I turned down another street, my thoughts swirling as I made my way towards the direction of the increasing noise.

Even if I was going to stand at his sides, I wasn’t sure I found it appealing to have wolves with these mindsets under me. And it takes time for people to undo ideas like these.

Particularly their treatment of Omegas.

I drew closer to the market place in the distance, finally closer to the familiar scents of food cooking, different treats, various wares, and busy wolves.

Along with a faint, barely discernible scent.

One that reeked of fear.

I was so focused on my thoughts and on my surroundings that it took me a moment to register what I was sensing.

I stopped walking, my entire body going still as I focused on that scent. It was faint, distant, but unmistakable once I had identified it.

An omega.

There was another omega nearby.

My heart began to race. In all my time here, at the estate, at the settlement, in this capital, I hadn’t sensed another omega. Not once.

But there was one. Right now. Somewhere in this market place.

The realization shocked me so thoroughly that I remained standing for several long seconds, trying to process what this meant.

I wasn’t alone.

There was someone else like me in this place.

The thought sent a strange mix of emotions through me, relief, curiosity, hope, and an inexplicable fear I couldn’t quite name.

They were scared.

I needed to find them.

I turned around and looked, moved, my eyes scanning rows of stalls, shops, and buildings trying to find this person.

It took me a while before I finally spotted him.

A small young boy, likely a young teenager, was moving from stall to stall, clutching a small leather pouch that looked worn but well-kept. His clothes were decent enough, clean and whole, not like the threadbare rags I had worn in Shadowpine. He didn’t seem frail either.

But the way he moved told a different story.

His shoulders were hunched slightly inward, his steps quick and careful, as if trying to take up as little space as possible. I knew that posture. I had lived in it for years.

I watched as he approached a food vendor, pointing to something and reaching into his pouch. The vendor barely glanced at him before waving him off irritably, immediately turning to serve someone else who had arrived after him.

He waited patiently, still holding out his coins.

The vendor served the woman, then another customer, then finally, reluctantly, turned back to the boy with an expression of clear annoyance.

He moved to the next stall. The same thing happened. He was ignored while others were served first, treated as an afterthought, an inconvenience.

At the third stall, a baker selling fresh bread, the vendor actually shooed him away with a dismissive hand gesture, not even bothering to look at what he was pointing to.

The boy’s shoulders drooped further, but he just moved on to the next stall, frantic and with each dismissal he grew more fidgety.

I stood frozen, watching this sickening pattern play out over and over.

It wasn’t as brutal as what I had endured in the pack I grew up in. No one was hitting him, starving him, working him until he collapsed. But this... this casual dismissal, this treatment as if he were less than nothing, as if his coin was worth less than anyone else’s despite being the same silver.

This was devastating in its own way.

He had money. I could see him trying to pay, holding out coins that should have been enough to buy whatever he was asking for. But they still treated him like this. Like his presence alone was an insult they had to tolerate.

Horror and disbelief warred inside me, tangling with hurt and anger within me.

Why was I even standing here for so long just watching?

I should move. I needed to do something and help him.

I took a step forward, my mind racing when an older woman from a tall stall beckoned to the boy with a gentle gesture. He approached cautiously, as if expecting to be turned away again.

She smiled kindly at him and reached for something beneath her counter. A moment later, she held out a small white cloth pouch and handed it to him.

His eyes widened and his mouth moved, mouthing words of gratitude. He reached for his coin purse immediately, trying to pay her, but she shook her head and waved off his money with the same gentle smile.

He clutched the pouch to his chest like it was something precious, bowed his head in thanks, and turned to leave.

I followed him.

I kept a careful distance, not wanting to startle him if he noticed he was being followed, but close enough that I wouldn’t lose him in the crowded marketplace. My heart hammered against my ribs as I followed, uncertain what I was even planning to do.

Talk to him? Tell him I understood? Offer help?

What could I even offer? I was barely less of an outsider than he was.

He turned down a smaller road that branched off from the main market street, and I quickened my pace. Just as he slipped into what looked like a narrow alleyway between two buildings.

I stopped.

Something was wrong.