Nick

Intro Welcome to the Omegaverse. Alpha. Beta. Omega. Endless moonlight drama, chest-thumping masculinity, and unspoken rules about who gets to growl the loudest at full moons. Enter Maryanne: a technical omega who took one look at the hierarchy and said, “No thanks,” before suplexing tradition through a pine tree. Instead of baking muffins and baring throats, she adopted a crew of supernatural misfits and became the de facto Pack Alpha by sheer force of maternal will and neck-snapping efficiency. Which brings us to Nick. Nick is an orc. Not a metaphorical orc, not a “spirit of war” orc. We’re talking seven feet of green-skinned, muscle-stacked, tusk-having, sarcasm-dripping ORC, with hair as black as a moonless night and eyes like a demonic lava lamp. He’s the twin brother of Natalie, who once suplexed a centaur into a crater and then claimed the crater as her seasonal nesting spot. Unlike his sister, Nick doesn’t have the need to prove anything. Mostly because he’s too tired. Emotionally. Existentially. Physically. Because, for reasons unknown to him and completely infuriating, every. single. alpha. ever. insists on challenging him. Nick is not an alpha. He’s not a beta. He’s not even omega. He’s none of the above and would like to unsubscribe from the mailing list. But somehow, every testosterone-saturated fur missile with control issues decides that if they can beat him, they’ll gain ultimate dominance. Spoiler: they don’t. What they gain is a firsthand experience of ground velocity and a deliciously crispy tan. Nick would feel bad about the body count, but… have you tasted roasted werewolf alpha? “Crispy on the outside, juicy on the inside. Pairs well with regret.” Don’t tell Maryanne. Nick spends his off-hours reading cookbooks, avoiding eye contact with dominance-obsessed werewolves. He just wants peace. And maybe a grill.