Anarchy, p.1
Anarchy, page 1
ANARCHY
THE POISONVERSE
OLIVIA LEWIN
MARIE MACKAY
Copyright © 2026 by Marie Mackay and Olivia Lewin
Edition 0.0
All rights reserved.
Cover made by Marie Mackay
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Content
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Epilogue One
Epilogue Two
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CONTENT
HOLD UP! Is there anything I should be aware of as a reader?
Yes! Let me get you a list so you know what you’re getting into:
This is a why choose with on page spice, with sweet, protective love interests.
The FMC has a history of sexual abuse. That event occurs on page in memory; it is stated as happening but not described step-by-step or in explicit physical detail, Ch 10.
There is on-page physical violence toward the FMC and one MMC (not by the love interests) + threats and attempted sexual assault (not followed through).
There is an on-page depiction of an omega being forcibly bonded by a rival pack, Ch 32.
Anything else?
If you don’t like voyeurism or public spice, skip Ch 23 and 24. (Spice in cage, on display).
There is also forced drugging (to instigate heat). There are feral alphas, mental health instability, intimidation, blood + graphic violence, and power imbalance, including a dark bond (requested by the FMC). There is also religious trauma explored on page, and discussion of alpha-omega experimentation done on the characters.
This book has a double omega dynamic to it, but the male omega is not with the alphas in the main story (MFMMM).
And this book is written in Canadian English.
ANARCHY AND THE CIMMERIAN VAULTS
The Cimmerian Vaults is a massive prison located in a storm prone area on an oceanfront that houses dangerous, feral alphas.
Anarchy is a massive floor underneath. Any alpha in the Vaults can ask to go to Anarchy. Ask three times and they’re sent down without question, and if they make it three years they are granted an appeal for freedom—the only chance they’ll get.
All they have to do is survive.
But Anarchy has no guards, no staff, no cameras, and no laws.
1
CRESCENT
My cracked scream rolled like daggers up my parched throat, carving out a plea for mercy.
Booted feet marched unflinchingly against my tide of protest—the cries, the begging, the full weight of my body thrown futilely against the power of an alpha’s aura. My arms were held behind my back in a grip so tight that every thudding step shot pain through my shoulders.
The blinding white of the ancient lights above buzzed and flickered, as if in time to the march of the boots dragging me down the grungy hall. It was alien to me, my eyes more used to stone ceilings and warm Edison bulbs.
I felt small and so stupid. A cursed, touch starved omega who’d been foolish enough to dream she might deserve a pack one day.
One that might cherish her and cuddle her.
But there was nothing to cherish.
The spinning world slowed as we halted, and I looked up at the huge, thick metal doors before me.
“Kill me!” The breathless plea spilled out before I could stop it. I twisted my head to look at the guards, but their faces were concealed behind their helmets. “P-please!” They had guns—it would be so easy to save the alphas down there from me. “Just t-tell them I died in there.”
They wanted me to curse a thousand alphas—to make me more of a sinner than I already was.
Dying now was better.
There was a pause as one helmet turned slightly, as if he were taking me in fully, and a flutter of hope soared in my chest.
But then he elbowed a button on the wall and the thick metal split like a hungry mouth to reveal a small space.
He used his grip on my wrists to push me in.
“NO!”
I frantically yanked my arms free, turning to flee the vile metal box.
He shoved me back, and I hit the wall with such force that I crumpled. My breath caught, but I tried to stand, launching myself toward the doors as they closed.
Too slow.
Another desperate, broken scream tore from my chest as my fingers grappled with the thick metal, as if to somehow stop it from shutting.
It was the splattered red stains upon the metal’s surface that caused me to recoil at the last second before its resounding slam. A promise that the heavy doors held no mercy for flesh or bone. The last things I saw before it shut were the empty masks of the guards beyond.
I was left in silence.
I turned, clutching myself, my aching eyes grateful for the dim light in the tiny, bare room. The walls on either side of me were made of stone, but the one in front was made of the same thick metal slab that had just shut me in. I knew what it was—a special metal strong enough to withstand the strongest alpha.
I pressed myself against the doors at my back just as a red light flashed.
My eyes darted to the large digital timer on the wall above, and my heart sank.
Ten…
I stared in shock at the slim, glowing red lines, but even as I watched, it flickered down to nine.
A countdown to my death.
No—worse than death.
I clutched my temples, heart pounding.
Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
This was all my fault.
Above me, in the devil’s red, eight flicked to seven.
I had almost nothing on.
A hair tie holding up my long ponytail, a slip of a bandeau around my chest, and a pair of underwear—all of which amounted to no protection, not from attackers, nor appraising eyes.
And how many of those were there about to be?
Six…
I shivered, goosebumps rising on my bare skin. Drugs rushed through my veins—were they already doing what they’d promised?
“How fast, do you think?” the High Priest had asked as he pressed the needle into my arm. “Until you go into heat?”
Five…
A pathetic whine slipped from my chest as I tried to force my back straight. Cowering would get me nowhere.
An image popped into my mind—a news story from a short while back. It had been one of the few times I’d glimpsed a television in a clinic waiting room, since the Convent didn’t allow us anything like that. An omega had climbed into a rut-fighting cage when her alpha was in trouble. She’d shielded his body and turned on the other alphas in the cage, golden eyes glowing with a fierceness I hadn’t known we were capable of.
And they had paused.
They’d backed off.
Four…
That omega had changed everything for me. That news story had been quickly shut off, but it never left me—a truth they’d never wanted me to know. And it was the beginning of the end that led me here.
But even now, I didn’t know how to be that omega. I had no one I loved enough to be that strong for…
Three…
Instead, I was alone, with my skin and golden eyes on full display. Not that it mattered—golden eyes were about to become entirely irrelevant.
Because beyond that door was Anarchy—the place beneath the Cimmerian Vaults. It had no surveillance and no guards—only total, utter lawlessness.
Two…
Population: 1036.
1036 of the most notoriously violent, insane alphas—all of whom had chosen Anarchy over a cage.
And I was about to be locked in with them.
One…
With a jarring beep and a click, the heavy doors began to open, letting in the first sliver o
2
Ten days until appeal
PHANTOM
There were very few moments these days in which I could block out reality. So few, in fact, I could count them on one hand.
That hazy moment between sleep and wake.
Basking under the spray of water in the shower.
And the very first bite of each meal.
Rich, hearty flavour burst on my tongue. Tender beef melting between my teeth. Stew just like Mama used to make.
“Fuck!”
My shoulders slumped; it never took long for the fantasy to die, and I found myself sitting on a cold metal chair in the prison cafeteria, surrounded by a dozen rowdy, grouchy packs of half-feral alphas.
My eyes refocused on the bowl in front of me, full of watered-down broth and chewy beef chunks. The meal was bland as hell, and no decadent taste lingered in my mouth.
Reality? Yeah, it sucked.
I dropped my spoon into the stew with a splash and looked up at Karma. My packmate shoved his bowl across the table, and broth sloshed up over the side.
“Those kitchen pricks.” He flipped the bird at the alpha working behind the cafeteria counter a few tables away from us.
He grinned and shrugged back, throwing up his hands in the universal gesture for ‘I dunno man, it wasn’t me’.
“Salt again?” I asked.
Karma growled, glaring at the offending soup bowl. “When I find out who ordered this, I’m beating them to a pulp in the cages.”
Hopefully we never found out, because it was probably someone powerful. Anarchy politics were convoluted and in constant flux, but not everyone could tell the cafeteria packs what to do. Definitely no one that Karma would get away with beating up in one of the entertainment matches he so frequently took part in.
With any luck, this was the end of his punishment; he’d suffered a week of over-salted meals already.
Sin chuckled, taking a bite of the protein bar he’d grabbed from the pantry. “Maybe if you were better at not getting on everyone’s nerves.”
Karma’s eyes narrowed, and he almost rose to the bait.
I slammed my hand down on the table to grab his attention instead. The sound was lost in the chaos of feuding packs in the large, echoing room with stone walls, but it shuddered the metal table enough that he shot me a scowl.
Tilting my head toward Sin, I raised an eyebrow at Karma. “You going with him tonight?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Yeah. But I’ll get a fight in before his show.”
He likely needed it.
Vandle, our fourth packmate, had hit a full-blown rut. He was fully feral and had never spoken a word to any of us, but it was easy to block him out in the bond when he was closer to sanity. Now, his side of the bond battered all of us, demanding violence.
Karma didn’t have a hope of shutting Vandle out—not with his own instability. He was the closest of us to going feral too, and now was the worst possible time.
I tried really hard not to linger on that. Or the fact that we needed a miracle fairy to float down here and sprinkle us with magical ‘alpha-stabilizing dust’ if we were going to make it through our upcoming appeal.
Karma was stable six days out of seven, but he went through major feral cycles. Vandle on the other hand—well, we’d do our best, but anything we tried seemed like the equivalent of putting a tuxedo on a rabid raccoon. Sometimes packs got out with just one feral alpha—but two? That would be too much of a threat to society.
That was the point of this place. The Vaults were a massive prison for the most feral alphas. But those who asked to come down to Anarchy—the floor of utter lawlessness?
I think they hoped the more ‘natural’ environment might help us rebalance. It was the only chance we had of getting out.
I’d been lucky; I’d been stable since the pack bond was formed. Karma, on the other hand, we don’t know why he was unstable in the first place. He was fighting almost every day to try and balance out his hormones, and I was getting worried about his health. But between him and Vandle…
I rubbed my face aggressively as I failed at the task: don’t think about it too hard.
“I’ll keep an eye on Vandle tonight then,” I said. It shouldn’t be long until his rut was over.
It had the added bonus of meaning I didn’t have to stand there and watch Sin’s show.
“Justin tonight, right?” I asked, side-eyeing the cocky prick.
He nodded.
Justin was the Emerald pack’s slender, sandy-haired omega.
The Emerald pack were one of our allies, though it was mainly because they enjoyed shutting Sin and their omega in a cage for a show—one that Justin enjoyed just as much as his pack did.
My eyes flicked to Sin, who was peeling the rest of the wrapper off his protein bar in his fabric-wrapped fists. We’d just gotten back from the gym.
Sin was a specimen, with deathly pale skin, blood-red eyes, and lean muscles like a carved god. He might not want to be touched, but he liked an audience, and he could perform.
“How many favours do they owe us now?” I asked, clearing my throat and scowling at the smirk on his face.
“Half a dozen…? Give or take.” He shrugged.
“They should probably catch up on their side of the bargain before you take their omega into the cage again, then,” I muttered under my breath.
He snorted, but his response was cut off by the low buzz echoing across the cafeteria.
I paused, eyebrows shooting up as I glanced over at the countdown clock on the wall beside the door.
“Well. Shit.”
All of the main exits in Anarchy looked the same: two metal doors behind which was an elevator shaft. The guards never had to face us directly, and they very rarely did. I'd never seen one in my time here.
They might all look the same, but whoever ran the Vaults had an unspoken rule about which doors were used for what, and the set that was opening now, opened rarely.
Oh god.
It meant we were being sent an omega.
The peace of the dining room was about to devolve into chaos.
Of course, omegas weren’t supposed to be here, but that didn’t stop them from tossing us a bone every once in a while. They gave us omegas they never wanted to hear from again; omegas they wanted gone without a trace. More than anything, though—omegas they wanted to punish.
Funny, though, how one seemed to appear every time a pack graduated to permanence—dweller status. As if they were encouraging it.
We didn’t know for certain how they knew when packs became permanent dwellers. I’d never seen a camera, and pack allegiances were constantly shifting down here.
But without fail, every new dweller pack got a gift…
Sure enough, the Ronan pack had missed their last member’s appeal call just days ago.
We’d all sat tensely as the three calls over the intercom had named their last pack member who had an appeal.
There was never a call that wasn’t tense. We’d not risked dying over mine, but we’d seen packs panic and split up—slaughtered by enemies or allies seeking their only chance of revenge as they tried to get out. It was a moment that every alpha with dreams of the outside, dreaded.
Had nightmares about.
But the Ronan pack had ignored it—their last chance to leave this place.
They’d chosen to become dwellers—to spend a lifetime here.
This omega was their reward.
Some poor fucker on the other side of those doors, who had no idea what was coming.
Sin stared at the door. His eyes were darker than I’d ever seen them. He hated the Ronan pack, and the idea of them claiming rights to any gift—especially one that would give them more prestige…
But when I saw who trembled beyond the opening metal doors, my hair stood on end.
“What the fuck…?”
That was no male omega. And fuck me, she was the most beautiful thing I’d seen in my life.
Her hair was tied up in a high ponytail that tumbled down to her shoulder blades. It was thick and wavy, as white as an arctic fox. Her skin was pale and deathly with terror, eyes wide, revealing golden irises that glittered clearly even from this distance.
