Fallen General's Omega (BL)
Chapter 102: Don’t belong

Chapter 102: Don’t belong

I limp through the halls of the palace, every step a reminder of the heat pulsing through my body, the pain wracking my bones, and the rage boiling beneath my skin. My mind fixates on one thing—Noelle. I have to get to Noelle.

My grip tightens around the cane, every inch of pressure on my injured leg sends white-hot pain shooting up, but I don’t care. Noelle is going to be furious when he sees the state I’m in. I had just started using my left as normal, the dull ache only a faint reminder of my battles. But now? Now I’ve probably undone everything. Still, if I can just make it to him, he’ll understand. He has to.

"Thorne."

The voice yanks me from my singular focus. Count Raymond. My eyes sharpen as I lift my gaze, and there they are. Raymond and the king, flanked by a small army of guards. As if their pathetic soldiers could stop me if I truly wanted them dead.

"The fucking audacity you have," I spit, my voice low and venomous.

With a mere thought, every sword in the room jerks from its scabbard, turning inward on its wielder, points now digging into the skin of their necks. The room fills with startled gasps, the guards trembling, unsure of what will come next.

"Thorne, relax," the king says, his voice trying to sound composed, but I can hear the tremor. I can smell the fear.

"Relax?" My laugh is hollow and wild.

"You want me to relax?" I take a step forward, the room trembling with my fury. "Look at me!" I shout, my voice cracking like thunder. The swords press harder against the guards, thin rivulets of blood trickling from their throats.

Raymond opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. "Don’t even start," I growl. "What was your brilliant plan, huh? Drug me, throw me into some goddamn rut haze, and then have me marry your little omegas? Is that it? How fucking genius."

My breath comes in ragged gasps now, my vision swimming with rage. The heat pounds through me, scorching my veins, and the only thing keeping me tethered is the thought of my beloved waiting for me.

"I’d rather you cut me into pieces than make me break my beloved star’s heart," I snarl, forcing myself forward. Every inch is agony, but I won’t stop. Not until I finish this.

Fear is etched into their faces, but if they’re so scared, then why did they have the nerve to do this in the first place? Why push me to this point?

"You see, thanks to you," I hiss, "my sanity is hanging by a thread. One more step, one more breath from you, and I’ll slit every throat in this room before any of you can lift a finger."

"General, I urge you to leave," a new voice speaks up. A large man—ah, the king’s personal guard. An alpha with ice powers, of course.

I glare at him, eyes narrowing as I size him up. "What’s going to happen if I decide to kill your precious king, little doggie?" I say, voice dripping with mockery.

"If you do," he replies, stepping forward, ice crystallizing along his arms, "then I will have to fight you."

I laugh, a dark, humorless sound. "Fight me?" My lips curl into a twisted smirk. "Oh no, I’m so scared."

I stumble backward, the heat rising inside me like a raging inferno. There’s no time for this—no time to play games with this fool. But before I leave, I flick my hand, sending a volley of swords hurtling toward him.

There’s a scream behind me, but I don’t even turn around to see. Guess I was faster than his ice. No surprise there.

**

The aftermath of Thorne’s departure was marked by a chilling silence, broken only by the sound of a sword clattering to the ground. Blood, thick and dark, trailed behind him, staining the ornate floors as he walked out of the royal chambers. The king’s personal guard lay slumped against the wall, a sword embedded deep in his shoulder, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The king, once so composed and regal, collapsed to his knees in sheer terror, his face pale and drenched in sweat. For the first time in his long reign, he had tasted the cold, raw fear of being so near death.

"What are you standing there for? Help him!" Count Raymond’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding, snapping the guards out of their frozen stupor. The men, who had just been standing as if in a daze, rushed into action. A few scrambled toward the fallen king, their hands shaking as they attempted to lift him back to his feet, while others hurried to tend to the personal guard, whose groans filled the room with an air of grim reality.

Amidst the chaos, Count Raymond stood still, his face tense with barely concealed regret. His mind raced as he watched the scene unfold. The weight of what had just happened, of what he had set in motion, bore down on him like a ton of bricks. He had thought himself clever, confident in his plans, but now... watching the devastation Thorne left behind, a creeping realization settled in his chest.

He had made a grave mistake.

**

I pull the bedsheet tightly around myself as I leave the room, my body trembling with the effects of the heat. I feel like a furnace, every nerve alight with need, but there’s no way I’m staying here to become some alpha’s prey. Not when I see Rolland sprawled on the floor, shamelessly pleasuring himself. The sight fills me with disgust, my lip curling in a sneer at his pitiful state.

I can’t stay here.

I dart through the hallways, my bare feet making soft slaps against the marble, my body burning hotter with each step. Nobody seems to notice me, too preoccupied with whatever chaos Thorne has unleashed. He’s always been a force of nature, and now, it seems, I’m the unintended beneficiary of the distraction.

But my heat is intensifying, my mind starting to cloud with the relentless desire to be claimed, and I push through it, my thoughts clinging to something sharper—something more painful. The way Thorne looked at me when I reached for him. How he recoiled at my touch, as though I was something vile. Even when I was naked and vulnerable before him, even when he was in a rut, he chose to hurt himself rather than touch me.

The shame burns hotter than the heat.

I hate the weakness in me—the jealousy that surges when I think of Noelle, his beloved omega. It’s unheard of, an alpha being so loyal, so faithful, that even in the throes of need, he would rather break himself than betray the one he loves. My chest aches at the thought. I feel... small. Insignificant. I’ve never known such devotion, such love. The fact that I stood there, bare and wanting, and he couldn’t even bring himself to look at me without recoiling—it stings. More than it should.

I push the thought aside, focusing on escaping, but the memory of him—of how much he loathes the very idea of me—clings to my skin like a second layer of shame. My vision blurs, tears welling up, but I refuse to let them fall. My father’s plan... this wretched plan... it was supposed to secure my future. Instead, it’s shattered the fragile illusions I had about my worth.

But perhaps it’s better this way. A cruel wake-up call, but necessary.

I find myself outside, the cool air doing little to ease the fire coursing through my veins. In the distance, I see Thorne stumbling into a carriage. His movements are jerky, his body clearly still under the influence of his rut, but there’s no mistaking where he’s headed. Home. Home to Noelle. The carriage speeds away, and the hollow ache in my chest deepens.

He’s going back to him. Of course he is.

I don’t belong in that world. His world.I never did.