Every pack needed an omega. Everyone knew this. While it was no official rule or anything, it was the general expectation.

So, Task Force 141, a small pack made up of four alphas, was supposed to be assigned an omega as well.

However, after witnessing the dynamics in the Task Force it had been decided that bringing an omega in the mix might end up being dangerous for everyone involved.

The alphas in the task force weren’t good at sharing, or being gentle. They had no malicious intent towards others for no reason, but it was too dangerous that an omega might end up hurt.

But everyone agreed that the task force needed someone of a lower rank to level them out. So they assigned a beta. You.

The task force was not happy. You were no omega after all.

You didn’t have that sweet scent, you didn’t go into heats, you didn’t naturally attract and capture their attention.

They were polite to you. Cordial. That was about it. You were a friend at most. You hadn’t even completed the mating bond with them, and more than once had they come home reeking off omega pheromones and light guilt.

One evening after a mission they all sat around, a little tense. All of them wanted to work off the remaining tension from the mission.

You showed them care in the way all betas did, by taking care of them. You served them food, massaged their aching muscles, and treated their injuries. Meanwhile they barely even acknowledged you.

Gaz shifted back and groaned. “Today was bloody exhausting.”

“Aye,” Soap agreed. “Wouldn’t mind burning off some frustration.”

“Wanna go a few rounds in the gym?” Price asked, instinctively wanting to provide for his packmate.

Ghost huffed. “Don’t think he meant that way of burning off frustration, mate.”

With an almost leery grin Soap nodded. “Yer right ‘bout that.”

Price rolled his eyes but didn’t disagree. “Pity we don’t have an omega to take care of that,” he grunted, not even registering how this might be hurtful for you to hear.

Grumbles of agreement echoed.