When Alpha Created Omega

On the road-3

Iven – POV

Waking up to reality still feels like a nightmare. The occasional bump of the highway mimics the gentle roll of the river back home.

I’ve never heard my father hum along to the radio before—not until now. My mind fumbled through the fog of sleep, reaching for the last memory before I drifted off.

And there it is, sharp and unrelenting—he made me feel lower than I already do. Somehow, he always manages that. But the warm morning sun pouring through the windows of the truck briefly pulls me out of my dark thoughts.

The radio suddenly cuts off. The humming stops.

Great. Now he wants to talk.

Maybe he thinks I owe him an explanation—for running off for falling asleep in his truck. It’s not like I knew this was the exact one we were taking. I just needed to get away from all those eyes. The judging. The pressure.

I stay curled up, facing away from him. I don’t want to talk. I just want this whole trip to be over.

I squeeze my eyes shut and hold my breath until the pressure in my skull makes my mind let go. With a deep, shaky breath, I push my wild red curls out of my face and stare blankly at the inside of the truck door.

Then comes his voice.

“So I see you’re done throwing your little fit,” he says, his tone edged with smug certainty. “You’re lucky I planned for this. I know my daughter.”

If he could see my eyes right now—the same piercing blue as his—brimming with tears - would he just... stop?

But my throat is dry. All I can manage is a rough grunt.

The tension spikes. I hear his hands tighten around the wheel. His posture shifts—back straight against the leather, eyes focused like a blade on the road ahead.

“It’s because I know you that we have to do this,” he says. “You need a mate, Iven. Your instincts are ruling you. It’s time to face the facts.”

I fight the growl building in my chest, but it slips out anyway—low, defeated. I just want to be left alone.

Then, his hand slams the horn, a loud blaring pierce through the silence, and he yells, “Stop!”

It shuts me up instantly. He’s trying to cut me off before I say or do something I’ll regret.

Still, it hurts to hear him.

He switches into his Alpha voice, the one he uses in front of crowds. “The average mating age for our pack is sixteen. Everywhere else, it’s eighteen.”

My throat burns. I open my mouth to argue, but he keeps going.

“You’re turning twenty-two soon. I arranged this trip so we could talk. Alone. So I could explain what’s expected.”

Minutes pass. I still refuse to face him. My hair shields me like a curtain. I know he wants a response. He expects one.

Instead, like a brat, I shuffle my legs and lightly kick the dash twice before settling down again.

To my surprise, he doesn’t blow up. He lets out a patient sigh.

“I said we were going near the capital,” he says. “But the truth is, we’re going to a ski resort a few towns over. We already have rooms booked. Clothes packed.”

My stomach flips.

“It’s fall. The governor thought it’d be the perfect location—big fancy cabin, a formal dinner, a dance. Everyone attending will be unmated and tied to someone wealthy—lawyers, politicians... maybe even the governor himself.”

Just like that, the stress hits. My heart races. This feels worse than anything.

Am I supposed to fall for some polished wolf in a human’s clothing? Or worse—walk in and leave with anyone? The bitterness in me simmers.

But then, a wave of resolve rises. If I’m going, I’ll own it.

“…Okay,” I mutter. “I understand. And I’m… grateful you did all this for me.”

My voice is raw, uncertain. I hope that ends the conversation.

Of course, it doesn’t.

“This isn’t just for you,” he snaps. “Your pack needs you. You’re going to walk in there, find your mate—or leave with nothing. You hear me, Iven?”

The little confidence I had drained into my stomach. I groan.

“I mean it,” he barks. “You can’t just go in there and—”

“OKAY!” I shout, sitting up too quickly. My back cracks from lying so stiffly.

The seatbelt chokes me unexpectedly, and I flop back down, gasping.

My chest heaves. I look up to find my father’s eyes watching me—amused.

“…Okay,” I croak again.

It’s not the forced mating that scares me—it’s the idea that I might have to force something. I don’t want to pressure anyone, no matter how badly I want them.

Eventually, I slip back into the rhythm of the road and drift off again.

A few hours later, I wake up.

The truck’s still. I’m alone.

My back screams at me, but the cramping in my stomach makes me reach down to adjust the seat and sit up. Sunlight smacks me in the face. I hiss and shield my eyes with my arm. My curls fall like a curtain, helping just enough.

We’re at a gas station.

My father walks back toward the truck and taps on the window.

“They’ve got a restroom inside,” he says through the glass. “Go clean up. I got donuts. We’ve got five more hours.”

I hop out and head inside. I relieve myself, wash my hands, and then splash cold water on my face.

The mirror doesn’t lie. My eyes are tired—dark blue like the bottom of a deep pool. The stress clings to me like a shadow, waiting for the right moment to pull me under.

I throw my hair into a messy bun, let a few curls fall to frame my face, and smooth out the wrinkles in my black tank top.

His words replay in my head. But I refuse to let them haunt me.

I stare into the mirror and say it out loud:

“I’m rare. I’m strong.”

No way I’m walking out of that place mate-less—not because he says so, but because I choose to win.

Whoever ends up being my mate… they’ll come with me willingly.