Contracted To The Alpha: The Last Breeder

Deviant Omega

Alpha Cyril’s POV

The sound of her voice still lingered even long after she was dragged away, it still feels sharp, rebellious, and utterly unlike what I expected from an Omega brought here to secure her own future.

I leaned back against the cold marble pillar in the hall with my arms crossed, replaying the exchange in my mind. She hadn’t lowered her gaze, once. Not when I dismissed her, not when I challenged her. Her chin had lifted higher, as if she’d rather burn than bow to me.

I had seen plenty of Omegas before. Beautiful, gentle, and submissive. Some faked their obedience better than others, but they all played the same game. Ella hadn’t even pretended. She came in swinging, even knowing she was on my ground.

It irritated me.

And it interested me more than I cared to admit. I told myself it didn’t matter. The reason she was here had nothing to do with me liking her. My family. . .my father. . . wanted an heir. And Omegas were the only ones who could give one.

For months, I had resisted the pressure. I didn’t need a wife, didn’t want a stranger in my bed for the sole purpose of producing a child. But the longer I resisted, the more relentless my father became, and that means he will never let me be.

And when he had set his mind on getting what he wanted, when my mother had spoken softly of “opportunity” and “duty,” I knew the fight was already slipping from my hands.

I turned from the hall, striding toward my study. The moment the heavy doors shut behind me, the air shifted.

My mother was waiting inside, seated gracefully on the velvet chaise near the fireplace, a cup of tea in her hands. She looked up when I entered, her smile warm in a way that could still disarm me even now.

“My son,” she said softly, as if the words themselves were an embrace. “I hear she has arrived.”

“She has.”

“And?”

I poured myself a drink before answering. “She’s. . . not what I expected.”

Her brows lifted slightly. “In a good way?”

I considered my words before answering. “She isn’t afraid to speak, she doesn’t cower. But she also doesn’t seem particularly. . .uh. . . eager to be here.”

My mother’s lips curved faintly. “You sound intrigued.”

I took a slow sip, refusing to confirm it.

The doors opened again, this time without a knock. My father strode in, tall, and imposing, with the same sharp jaw I had inherited but none of the warmth my mother carried. His gaze flicked over me before settling on the fire.

“So,” he said, voice deep and calculated, “you have seen her.”

“Yes.”

“And you will do what needs to be done?”

I set my glass down. “If by that you mean chain a woman to me for the rest of her life because you want a grandson, then no.”

His jaw tightened. “You’re thirty-two. No heir, no mate. You have had more than enough time to choose for yourself, and you haven’t. The pack needs security. . . a line of succession and that requires an Omega.”

“I am aware of the biology,” I said dryly.

“Then act on it.” His voice sharpened. “This isn’t about your pride, Cyril. It’s about the stability of the pack. You think your enemies won’t notice there’s no one to inherit if something happens to you?”

“I don’t intend on dying anytime soon.”

“No one intends it,” he shot back. The silence stretched, broken only by the crackle of the fire in the room.

My mother’s voice came softer, giving me a silent plea. “Your father is right, in his way. But perhaps. . . there’s a compromise. And you don't even have to love her” she said simply.

She bears you a child, she leaves if she chooses. If not, she stays until she does.”

My father turned to her, his brow furrowed, unsure of what he was thinking.

Of course, I don't want to love her. But that's not even the problem, I didn't even want her on my bed in the first place. But I know exactly what I need to do. A contract. . .

I leaned back in my chair, thinking. A contract meant boundaries. It meant I wasn’t shackled for life to someone I didn’t know. And if Ella wanted out badly enough, and from what I had seen, she did. . . she might even agree.

Ella came to my study the next afternoon, escorted by a guard. The moment she stepped in, the air around us changed, and I was very aware of it, because she carried herself as if she wasn’t the least bit impressed by the room or the man inside it.

I gestured to the chair opposite my desk. “Sit.”

She stayed standing. “Thank you, but I will stand.”

My mouth twitched in annoyance. “Suit yourself. I have a proposal for you.”

“I’m sure you do,” she said, crossing her arms.

“One-year contract marriage,” I said plainly. “You give me an heir, you leave. If you don’t, you stay until you do.”

Her brows arched towards me. “And what do I get, besides the privilege of being your breeder?” There is sarcasm in her voice and it pisses me off even more.

My jaw tightened, but I kept my voice even. “You get freedom afterward. And until then, you will have the best of everything. . . protection, status, and comfort.”

She shook her head. “No, that’s not enough.”

“Not enough?” She has to be kidding me,

“I want my own terms,” she said firmly. “No forced intimacy, no isolation, and I can leave the grounds when I choose, with an escort if you please. And I want written proof that if I have the child, I go free, no loopholes.”

I studied her, the way her eyes didn’t flinch under mine. She was negotiating with me as if we were equals. Most would have signed whatever I put in front of them just to breathe the same air as me. But here she is, acting like she owns the place.

“You drive a hard bargain for someone with no power here,” I said slowly.

“Of course, I have power,” she said, leaning forward slightly. “You need me more than I need you. That’s enough leverage.”

Before I could answer, her hand shot out. The glint of steel caught the light as she snatched the scissors from my desk and lifted them to her throat. A thin gasp of breath left her, but her hand was steady. . . steady enough to prick her skin until a crimson bead slid down her throat.

For a heartbeat, I froze because of her audacity. What the hell? Is she threatening me?

Her lips curved into a smile when she caught the faintest flicker in my expression. That little smirk. . . the kind that says I have cornered you.

And I’d be damned!