Vallaverse: Twist, page 1
Vallaverse: Twist
Avanne Michaels
Black Dog Publishing LLC
Copyright © 2025 by Avanne Michaels
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
Introduction to the Vallaverse
Welcome to my second installment of The Vallaverse — an Omegaverse adjacent world with a few differences.
Allow me to introduce you to a new designation – Valla.
Valla is both singular and plural.
In this world, scent matches, or 'fated mates' don't always happen; they can happen naturally, but they aren't necessary. Forming a pack is based on an Omega enjoying a scent and a budding romance, not just a biological instinct that each designation adheres to.
Valla is a ruthless, almost animalistic designation, that sits above Alpha in the hierarchy. They typically work in the shadows, removed from the public eye, and tend to avoid public, societal functions. Essentially, Valla are the nightmares that parents tell their children about to keep them following the rules.
The truth is that Valla are only incredibly protective of their mates, especially if their mate is an Omega.
Valla will go into rut every six months if they aren't actively having relations with someone or are mated, be it to an Omega, a Beta, or an Alpha
Valla are fiercely protective of their mates, especially of their Omegas- even if there is little to no sexual relationship.
Omegas are cherished in the Vallaverse. They are the means by which the population may grow, and as such, they must follow many rules such as curfews, which professional occupations are appropriate for them, and places they're allowed to safely be without a chaperone. They are typically chaperoned and supervised by a family member with highest ranking designation.
Omegas must also work with the local Omega center to find a match or attend The Night of Scarlet, or the Scarlet Selection, a yearly gala meant to give Alphas and Valla an opportunity to charm Omegas over course of the night. During gala, each Alpha or Valla is given a rose that they may give to an Omega or Beta that they would like to mate with. At the end of the night, Omegas and Betas may choose from their collected roses, or they may choose none of them.
Only Omegas can become pregnant in the Vallaverse, which means that Mpreg is prevalent in this universe.
A physical bond is formed when the dominant designation of the pack (Valla or Alpha) bites the less dominant designation during sex.
As our stories unfold, more about the Valla designation will be revealed and molded.
The Vallaverse is set in a dark(ish) urban setting with many different characters and lots of moving parts. This is a shared world with the gorgeous and phenomenally talented N. Slater. Each of us is taking on the Vallaverse in our own unique way. You will be subjected to twists, turns, ruthless mates, and dark themes throughout.
A Note About This Specific Vallaverse
twist
(verb)
— to unite by winding
— slang: a woman – or in this case, an omega – with a possible connotation of girlfriend, or somebody seen on the side
Vallaverse: Twist is written in the same setting as Noir. It's dark and gritty. Everyone has baggage and an angle. I listened to enough nightmare jazz (yes, that's a thing) while I was writing this that it took root in my personality for a while. I drank a lot of black coffee. This story took a few turns that I didn't expect but they are so much better than what I had originally planned for these characters.
TW/CW include general dark themes, substance abuse, addiction, OD scenario, suicidal thoughts, dependence/ enabling, prostitution/ forced prostitution, detailed violence, detailed spice, and gore. If you read this story and feel like more should be added here, please email the author.
Contents
1. Chapter One
2. Chapter Two
3. Chapter Three
4. Chapter Four
5. Chapter Five
6. Chapter Six
7. Chapter Seven
8. Chapter Eight
9. Chapter Nine
10. Chapter Ten
11. Chapter Eleven
12. Chapter Twelve
13. Chapter Thirteen
14. Chapter Fourteen
15. Chapter Fifteen
16. Chapter Sixteen
17. Chapter Seventeen
18. Chapter Eighteen
19. Chapter Nineteen
20. Chapter Twenty
21. Chapter Twenty-One
22. Chapter Twenty-Two
23. Chapter Twenty-Three
24. Chapter Twenty-Four
25. Chapter Twenty-Five
26. Chapter Twenty-Six
27. Chapter Twenty-Seven
28. Epilogue
Chapter One
Brooks
The Omega beneath me is the embodiment of ripe perfection. She is everything any Valla could ever want or need. Beautiful. Soft. Warm. Giving in to every perceived or anticipated desire I might have. She is exquisite, and I should be grateful for her willingness to attend to my need, but slow-rolling rage is beginning to thread through the heavy disappointment churning inside me. Already, I can feel it, snapping my hips with discontent.
It isn't fair to her. She doesn't deserve this. She deserves more than I or this wretched den could ever give her. It isn't fair, but it is the way of things. This is the way it must be if I am to maintain my sanity and the structure I have fought so hard to maintain.
She whimpers, and through the thick fog of this godforsaken rut, I can't tell if it's pleasure or pain that pulls the sound from her. I don't want to open my eyes again. I don't want to see her. Selfish, I know, and foolish, but I squeeze my lids shut a little tighter for just another moment. I have a rule, that the Omegas face away from me when I fuck them. It feels safer that way for some reason, for both of us. I pushed her onto her stomach before I stretched my way inside her, and she has remained exactly the way I positioned her.
I don't want to open my eyes.
It isn't because of her. She's lovely, and I need to make sure I'm not hurting her before we continue.
I just don't want to see him.
I can’t see his face in my head again.
Regardless of my intentions when I have no choice but to check into one of these vile dwellings, I always end up gravitating toward and choosing an Omega who looks like him. In the early days of this toxic little cycle of mine, I would allow myself the temporary joy of taking a male Omega who resembled him. I did it on purpose. I missed him so much, and I was in such misery that I thought it would help ease some of the hurt. But while I never inflicted actual physical damage onto one of them, the mental and emotional toll on both me and the Omega was more than enough to merit my second requirement. I only allow myself to have female Omegas now. Every house in Santum is aware of my requirement at this point.
Maybe I need to make a new rule that requires any future potential Omega to have light hair and eyes and have no sharp angles.
Another soft whimper drags me back to the forefront, and I sigh as I slowly open my eyes.
I don't want to do this. I don't want to see. It still hurts too much.
The sheet is bunched in her tight fists, her knuckles stark white, but she's still on her stomach with her quivering legs spread alongside mine. I force my gaze to follow the path of her spine, taking in every feminine detail. The curve of the hip. The dip of the waist. The swell of breast against the mattress. Those things should make looking at her easier… safer, but I can already tell they won't by the way the pit of my stomach drops.
I lean down closer to her, letting my chest brush against the soft skin of her back and praying that the feel of her body will be enough to keep me in the present.
It's a mistake. It feels too similar. Too close to how it felt to have him writhing and arching underneath me. His skin was soft too. And warm. I slam my eyes shut again and drag myself out of her as I sit up on my knees. The startled gasp that rushes from her barely registers in the madness of my pulse and frantic thoughts.
Logically, I realize that seeing who she is—and isn't—with my own eyes is the best way to reset the situation. But the terror of it keeps my eyes firmly closed. I have gone into exactly one rage when I opened my eyes to find a different Omega than the one I yearn for. That was years ago, and I cannot allow that to happen again.
The other wretched, and possibly more disgusting, side of this is the silent fear that I will open my eyes one day and be glad it isn't his body splayed across the sheets. If that day ever comes... I don't know. I can't imagine it. But I'm terrified of it.
My throat constricts dryly at the thought.
The Omega shifts slightly, testing the situation. Trying to determine if it's safe for her to move. It isn't. My dysfunctional thought process isn't enough to suppress the urgent thrall of this rut. She's mine for the moment, whatever that means for the both of us.
Seeing her will help. Even if I'm afraid, it's worth the risk. I blindly reach down and roughly flip her over onto her back. I won't give myself any choice but to see her.
When I open my eyes, I force my eyes straight to the most obviously visible difference between her body and the memory of his. Her breasts rise and fall with her rapid breaths, and I try to lose myself in the rhythm of it.
“It isn't fair,” I murmur hoarsely, unsure if I'm saying it to her or to myself at this point.
Her lips part to say something, but I gently cover her mouth with my palm as her eyes blink up at me. I can't explain it, but hearing her voice right now would be too much. I'm already forcing my eyes to see her; that's enough. I don't need to hear the truth as well. Too much truth might tip me over the edge. Seeing it is enough to keep me tethered.
She blinks twice more, her brows scrunched together in what might be concern. Or confusion. Maybe fear. Probably all of those things.
“Shhh,” I rasp, moving my hand to smooth her hair away from her damp forehead. “It's alright now.”
She doesn't understand what that means or the lie swirling beneath the words. I doubt very seriously that it's alright, and I know it won't be alright when this is all over. I can't do this again. I can't put anyone else at risk, and I can't put myself through it again. I'll finish this, and then I’m done.
I tilt my hips and ease back inside her, sighing as her legs automatically wrap around me. I slowly thrust until I'm seated as deeply as her body will allow, watching her eyes roll back and close. Then I take one last breath before I let myself go.
*
I roar as anguish and ecstasy overcome me. Every feeling I've pushed aside for the past three days comes rushing back to me all at once. Anger twines with fulfillment. Guilt wars against satisfaction. Shame and pride fight, unsuccessfully, to overcome each other. My body is floating in a sea of peace and slick while my mind and heart howl with the horror of it.
It should be him. He should be the one sprawled across the ruined bed. He should be the one purring with the feeling of being utterly filled to the brim with my release. He should be—
A sharp gasp shoves its way into my perception.
I look down to find her wincing as my fingers dig ruthlessly into her hips. I release her immediately, pushing myself away from her and off the foot of the bed.
“Are you hurt?” I say, my voice barely above a thick growl.
She shakes her head, but that isn't enough of an answer. If she were alright, there would be words.
“Tell me,” I urge.
“I… it doesn't matter. It's alright.”
It does matter, she's just afraid to complain. I get it. Complaining in these types of places often gets you much worse treatment than what you were complaining about in the first place.
“Tell me,” I repeat, taking a step away from the bed.
She takes a timid, shaking breath. “You said you hated me. During.”
Oh. I probably did. And I probably said much worse than that. But it isn't because of her. It's because of him.
“I don't hate you,” I assure her, going to the small dresser where I left my clothes folded and neatly stacked.
“Then why—”
“Just bad memories, and I got carried away. I apologize. Are you hurt? Tell me the truth.”
She shakes her head. “No. Just a little scared.”
She's too soft to be here. I'll never understand what leads an Omega to register with these places, but some of them aren't suited for it. This one isn't.
And neither am I. Not anymore, anyway. I can't put another Omega or myself at risk again. If I can't chemically depress my ruts, I will physically restrain myself when I have them. I'm not putting myself through this ever again.
I pull on my clothes quickly, not looking at her the whole time. Shame has finally succeeded in making me feel like a monster; I don't deserve to look at her. My righteous pride has made a fool of me enough times that I have learned to just apologize, get out of the situation as quickly as possible, and tip well.
I'm not sure how much money I pile on the dresser, but it's surely enough to cover my house fee, any incidentals, and her rent for a month.
“I'm sorry,” I say, and turn for the door. I twist the knob and push it open a crack before I take a breath and turn back to her.
I don't meet her gaze, my eyes stay planted firmly on the corner of the bed. I register the unfocused shape of her body in my periphery, but I keep focusing on the way the sheet is barely clinging to the corner of the mattress. “You shouldn't be here,” I tell her. “I'm sorry for hurting you. And for scaring you.” I reach into my back pocket for my wallet and pull out a contact card. “Call my office. I'll help you get set up in your own place. But you shouldn't be here.”
Then I turn and stalk out of the room and down the halls and stairs until I'm out the front door.
The sunrise is blinding the city when I emerge onto the dirty sidewalk from the warm, moody lighting of the rut house. I turn my face up to the sky as I blink against the harsh glare of the sunlight. The sunlight won't wash away my disgust with myself, but it will burn away any lingering fog from my rut so I can properly damn myself without the distraction of any residual hormonal fugue.
Never again.
My feet start moving on their own toward the parking garage where I left my car.
I won't allow it. Nothing is worth the horrible feelings weighing me down right now.
I reach my car without seeing anything along the way and calmly get behind the wheel.
Never again.
I start the car and start the drive out of the city, again without really taking note of anything I pass as I weave through the streets and avenues until the traffic lights turn to signs that become fewer and farther apart. I drive this path so often that I could probably take the drive blindfolded.
Now, there's an idea. Wrapping this car around a good, sturdy tree would definitely end this dangerous cycle. The likelihood that long-term happiness will ever find me is slim enough that I don't feel like much would be lost if I didn't hit the brake pedal when I go around the next curve. It could all be over then. He could go on living his life however he pleases, and I wouldn't be around to torture myself with the knowledge of it.
I won't do that, though. It isn't pride or necessity that fuels my self-preservation. It’s fear. Not for myself, but for him. What if he decides that he's had enough of the chaos of his life and I'm gone when he comes looking for me? What if he needs me? What if he's waiting for me to come save him again? What if he's trying to get away from the people and things that have such a strong hold on him? What if he's not trying at all?
I can't abandon him if there's even a slight chance that he might try. A chance that one day I'll be enough for him.
Chapter Two
Brooks
In the three weeks since I left the rut house, I have buried myself deeper in my various projects than I ever have before. The financial investments and decisions I've made over the years more than cover the lifestyle that I have become accustomed to, and my little projects barely skim the surface.
It isn't much. I like to financially back things that I'll likely never see the benefits of. I enjoy sponsoring community ventures like libraries, parks, and playgrounds. Will I ever take a leisurely stroll through the parks I've helped pay for or push a child on a swing? Probably not, but I love the idea of providing those things for the people who will enjoy them enough to ensure I'll continue doing it.
I also sponsor people. Because of Laz. I couldn't save him—or rather, he didn’t want to be saved—so I throw money at programs that help people like him who are willing to work for a better life. I have put Omegas through school. I have paid for whole wardrobes for Alphas with massive potential but shallow pockets because you can't climb corporate ladders wearing stained jeans and faded shirts with missing buttons. I have filled more food banks than I can keep track of. And I'll continue doing it because it makes a difference. None of the things I ever tried to do for him made a difference. He was determined to destroy himself no matter what I did, but I've made a difference to the people in this city who need it, and that helps me sleep at night.
Most of the time, anyway.
I can manage my projects almost entirely from my office at home. Everything is digital nowadays, so there really isn't much to it, but being in the office makes me feel accomplished. I need that feeling to keep me from pulling my hair out or making phone calls that I shouldn't make.
Today's agenda is interesting. I don't follow the fighting circuits, legal or illegal, so I'm not sure how involved investors are expected to be. But I like this kid. He's nineteen and has two black eyes full of stars. His manager contacted me a couple of weeks ago, saying the potential is there for the kid to be a literal heavy hitter, but the money for training, proper nutrition, and a decent place to stay wasn't. The return on investment sounds far-fetched, but it always does. I've backed worse projects than a kid trying to make something big of himself, so I'm making the call today.
