Marked In The Dark

I’m Nico Alvarez. Short, sarcastic, slightly goth, and apparently irresistible to trouble. Or maybe just cursed with bad luck.

My curse started at fourteen when I manifested as an omega. My parents come from a strong bloodline of alphas, and they'd bet the farm I'd be one, too. I wasn't. That single fact made my already hard life a living hell. The abuse—sexual and physical—became routine. My family decided my only purpose was to be a personal servant, too weak for anything else. I have two brothers, Ezra and Gabe, and a sister, Emily. As the youngest, I should have been the baby. Instead, I was a ghost. It didn't matter if it was my second gender or my grades; to them, I simply didn't exist.

So at seventeen, I ran away. I never looked back, not even at my clan, the Nighthowlers. I just wanted to be a little happier. I finished high school on the honor roll, and now, here I am. College. First day. I'm hoping I can actually make some friends.

The gates of Dreamers College of the Arts loomed ahead. Inside, the halls pulsed with life. Lockers were plastered with vibrant graffiti and musical notes, and the air hummed with the sound of people singing, their voices raw and beautiful. I finally made it to the dean's office to get my schedule and dorm assignment.

Room 335. I navigated the dorm halls, my footsteps echoing on the linoleum. "335, here it is." I unlocked the door to find an empty room. "Looks like I'm rooming by myself," I murmured, a small bubble of hope rising in my chest.

Just as I said it, the door swung open again. I looked up to see a guy who was unfairly attractive, but his face was twisted in disgust.

"Hi, I'm Nico. I'm assuming you're my roommate."

He dropped his bag with a heavy thud. "Look, kid, I don't give a f*ck who you are. Stay out of my way, don't look at me, don't talk to me. Got it?"

I tilted my head. "Well, can you at least tell me your name? Maybe then I'll consider where my eyes should look."

Riven's eyes, a cold, startling shade of grey, narrowed. He took a deliberate step forward, and the scent of ozone and pine—unmistakably Alpha—crushed the air in the small room. "The name is Riven," he said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble. "And the only thing you need to consider is how fast you can stay out of my f*ck*ng way. This is the last time I'm saying it." He shouldered past me, not quite knocking me down but making it clear he could have, then ripped open an empty dresser drawer with enough force to make the wood groan.

I didn't flinch. I stood my ground, a small smirk playing on my lips. It was a familiar dance, this posturing. I'd seen it from my brothers, from other Alphas in my old clan. It was all noise and fury, a desperate attempt to feel big by making others feel small.

"Riven," I repeated, testing the name on my tongue. "Sounds dramatic. Does it come with a tragic backstory, or are you just always this pleasant?"

Riven froze, his back to me. The tension in his shoulders was so sharp I could almost feel it from across the room. For a moment, I thought I'd pushed too far, that he might actually turn around and hit me. Instead, he slammed the drawer shut and began yanking clothes from his bag, shoving them inside with jerky, angry movements. "Don't test me, kid."

"I'm not a kid," I said, my voice losing its sarcastic edge and becoming quiet and firm. "And I'm not scared of you. You want to be an *ssh*l*? Fine. Be an *ssh*l*. But this is my room, too. So you're going to have to deal with me looking at you and talking to you. Get used to it."

I turned my back on him, finally claiming my own space. I tossed my worn backpack onto the bare mattress and began to unpack my meager belongings: a stack of secondhand books on art theory, a sketchbook filled with dark, intricate drawings, and a single framed photo of myself at my high school graduation, a diploma in my hand and a hard-won smile on my face. This was my life now. I wasn't going to let a broody Alpha with a god complex ruin my first day.

The silence that followed was thick and suffocating, a battle of wills fought in the cramped space between our beds. I could feel Riven's glare burning into my back, but I refused to turn around. I meticulously arranged my books on the small desk, the spine of each one perfectly aligned. It was a small act of control, but it felt like a victory.

Finally, the sound of a zipper being violently pulled broke the tension. "You've got a smart mouth for someone who smells like fear," Riven bit out, his voice laced with contempt.

I paused, my hand hovering over my sketchbook. I turned slowly, a cold fire in my eyes. "That's not fear you're smelling. It's the lingering stench of a place I escaped. You'd know all about that, wouldn't you? Trapped in a room with someone you can't stand." I let the implication hang in the air. "Or are you just always this miserable?"

A muscle feathered in Riven's jaw. He looked like he wanted to say something, to throw another insult, but instead he just grabbed a keycard from his desk and stormed toward the door. "Stay out of my sh*t," he growled, yanking the door open.

"Wouldn't dream of touching it," I called after him, my voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. "Have fun brooding!"

The door slammed shut, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the sudden quiet.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding, my shoulders slumping. The bravado drained out of me, leaving a familiar ache behind. I sank onto my bed, the mattress groaning under my weight. So much for a fresh start, I thought, staring at the empty, sterile side of the room that belonged to Riven. It was already tainted with hostility.

But then my gaze fell on my own desk, on my sketchbook and my books. This was mine. I had earned this place. I wasn't the weak, abused servant boy anymore. I was Nico Alvarez, an honor student with a full scholarship to the most prestigious arts college in the state. I wouldn't let one Neanderthal in a bad mood ruin that.

Shaking off the lingering dread, I stood up and grabbed my schedule. "Alright, Nico," I muttered to myself. "First class: Introduction to Modern Sculpture. Let's go make some trouble." I grabbed my bag, gave Riven's perfectly made, empty bed a final, defiant look, and walked out the door, ready to find something in this new world that was just for me.

The slam of the door was a pathetic, final punctuation mark to a conversation that never should have happened. Riven stood in the center of the room, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. The silence that Nico left in his wake was worse than the kid’s smart mouth. It was heavy, thick with a scent that made Riven’s stomach clench and his instincts howl.

It wasn’t just the scent of an omega. He’d been around plenty of those, indifferent to their cloying, sweet fragrances. This was different. Underneath the clean, herbal smell of soap and something uniquely Nico, was the acrid stench of terror. Old terror. It clung to him like a shroud, a phantom pain that Riven’s own Alpha senses picked up like a distress signal. It was the smell of a cornered animal that had long since forgotten how not to be afraid.

And Riven had just added to it. He’d seen the flicker of genuine fear in those dark, defiant eyes right before the kid had masked it with sar