My Alpha, Mr. Darcy: A Dark Pride and Prejudice Variation

By Caitlin Marie Carrington

Mr. Darcy is a liar because he says that he is an Alpha, I am an Omega…
And that I belong to him, body and soul.

Once upon a time, Elizabeth Bennet read a fairy tale that broke down the world into three kinds of people: the normal, everyday Betas; the proud and arrogant Alphas; and the meek, submissive Omegas, whose only goal in life was to please their growling Alpha mates.

Lizzy never forgot that tale—even though it wasn't real.
Or was it?

When terrible pains overcome Elizabeth while tending to her sister Jane, Lizzy knows she must escape Netherfield—and Mr. Darcy. Because he tells her that he is an Alpha, she is an Omega, and that her body will be his.

But she knows she will never submit to any man, especially one as proud, demanding—and tempting—as Mr. Darcy.

But what if Mr. Darcy is telling the truth? What if she is an Omega and—should she run from him—she risks letting any Alpha who finds her, conquer and take her?

Lizzy can't believe these stories are real. And she knows she can't stay one moment longer at Netherfield, because if Mr. Darcy takes her in his arms again, she will give him what he wants:

Her, body and soul.

Surely it's more dangerous to stay inside…than to run away?

Alphas and Omegas and Mr. Darcy, oh my! What is going on? It's Pride and Prejudice meets the Omegaverse in this very intimate variation. If you haven't heard of Alphas, Omegas, and all that the Omegaverse entails: prepare yourself. It's a wild ride, but a fun one. Please note this is NOT for Jane Austen purists! Expect a savage, sensual variation. Can you handle a Lizzy whose body will guide her? Can you deal with the most wrathful, wicked Wickham? And are you ready to meet Mr. Darcy, your Alpha?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Caitlin Marie Carrington
• Release date: Feb 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386952688

Caitlin Marie Carrington

By day, Caitlin Marie Carrington juggles motherhood, her editing job, one surly cat and all the adorable drama that life with small children (and one giant husband) entails.  By night, she imagines new adventures for our dear couple, Elizabeth and Darcy.  Visit her at caitlinmariecarrington.com.

Book preview

1

Elizabeth

Elizabeth Bennet strode angrily into the Netherfield library, barely stopping herself from slamming the wide doors shut. If she were at home and running to find refuge in her father’s smaller library, she probably would have done so, and if she had, her father would not have looked up from his book.

Instead, he would have hummed lightly, loosening whatever rage was in her chest and calming her, all while still slowly turning the pages of his book. She had always loved the gentle hum her father gifted her with, even if he never raised his eyes from his book.

Elizabeth groaned and hid her face in her hands. She wished she were at home, where she could find comfort and solace in her father’s library. Or where she might wander the wood, working out this strange, restless feeling that had overtaken her body. Or where she could at least hide in her bedroom, claiming a bad headache or nerves until this strange, burning pain passed.

She needed…

Something.

Quiet.

Refuge.

Something.

A sudden wave of cramping hit her, like a man’s burning hands had clamped on either side of her waist and refused to let go. But the pain wasn’t just on the surface of her skin—it spread deep inside. But it cannot be. Lizzy counted the weeks. She had bled just two weeks ago. She had never had regular menses, but this—this was impossible!

She had begun her courses late, at around age sixteen. Her mother had worried for her, thinking her abnormal and—as was always the case with Mama Bennet—that it might impede her chances for marriage. But once Elizabeth had begun her monthly courses, they had taken over her life. They were not regular, which terrified her mother should a potential husband discover this defect in her daughter.

But worse, when her courses finally did show up, they were overwhelmingly painful. Elizabeth was forced to take to her bed for a week or more, and not simply for modesty and privacy. She was truly in pain.

Thankfully, the horrible sessions only happened about four times a year. But it seemed like they were getting worse, the older she grew.

She groaned as a wave of pain spread across her lower abdomen. She fell into a chair by the fire, shifting uncomfortably. It shouldn’t be happening this quickly, this soon.

But she could not let anyone know at Netherfield. Not with Jane ill upstairs. Not with Caroline Bingley and Louisa Hearst—with their contemptuous comments and scornful stares— pacing the parlor down the hall.

And not with him.

Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, who had always looked upon Elizabeth and her family with such disdain. Because of Jane’s illness, Lizzy had been trapped at Netherfield for the past two days with him. And Mr. Darcy was just as she remembered: tall, imposing, rich and haughty.

He refused to participate in Caroline Bingley or Louisa Hurst’s idle gossip. He preferred his correspondence to the endless games of cards that Mr. Hurst seemed to enjoy. And he did not hesitate to let his opinions be known. It was true, he had not treated Elizabeth unkindly. He had, in fact, been the perfect gentleman…on the outside. But it was clear that Mr. Darcy considered himself to be above all others, and the leader of their little group.

He is such an arrogant alpha, Elizabeth mused.

And then all thoughts fled her mind as the cramping in her stomach and back became overwhelming. She bent in half, grinding her forehead against the embroidered fabric of the chair’s arm. She could almost feel each and every stitch of thread as it touched her skin. She could smell the ash and smoke of the barely flickering fire in the fireplace. And—she gasped, covering her nose—she could tell that he had sat in this very chair.

Elizabeth sat up, her hands over her stomach, her nostrils flaring. She could smell Mr. Darcy’s scent, here on this chair. It made her mind whirl. She had always known she was more sensitive to smell than her four sisters, or anyone else for that matter. She had once saved her family’s lives—and their home—when she’d bolted upright in the middle of the night, smelling smoke. Kitty or Lydia had forgotten to blow out their candle, and it had fallen and caught the edge of the curtains in their bedroom.

If Lizzy had not smelled it and run to them, shouting, they might all have perished.

She had been ten at the time. It was her first memory of her father paying special attention to her.

After that, he’d let her come into his library, and taught her to read more and more advanced books. History, philosophy, religion, Shakespeare, poetry—even fairy tales. But there was one book he’d not wanted her to read. Of course, she hadn’t known that, at first. She’d been bored, and found herself searching the shelves for a book she had not yet read. As if something might magically appear.

And then, something did.

She’d found a thick, leather-bound tome that had fallen from a high shelf. It had a musty, ancient smell. This book has been rained upon, she’d thought, and known she was right.

Inside, there were the typical fairytales: the fey and their victims, sleeping princesses, gnomes and trolls and wolves in forests. But there had also been a new story, a new villain to read about: alphas.

Oh, in the fairy tale the author had clearly intended to make the alpha male the hero. He was an alpha prince who had come upon a poor, weeping servant girl. She had not understood the pains in her body. He had kissed her and promised that he would save her—from poverty, from the famine spreading across the land, and from herself. She had agreed to his pledge, and he had claimed her. The story had been a bit unclear as to what, exactly, a claiming was, but after that, the poor servant girl became a princess, submitting to her alpha and bearing him many children for the rest of their long lives.

Elizabeth remembered that the servant girl had been called an omega.

The story had ended as if it were a happy tale, but Elizabeth had felt deeply disturbed. She read it again and again, until her father had discovered her and angrily ripped the book from her lap. But when she’d asked him why he was so upset, her father had simply said, This is not for you. Not yet.

Lizzy didn’t see why. She had been all of ten, more than old enough to ready silly fairy tales. And she also knew she would never submit to an alpha. She’d mentioned it, in fact, to their old cook, Miss Warren. The kindly old woman had laughed and said alphas and omegas and betas were nothing but fairy tales, but she certainly delighted in telling Lizzy more about them.

As Lizzy got older, and her female courses grew wild and unpredictable, she had remembered old Miss Warren’s words. She’d even gone as far as to look all over her father’s library for that old book, but it had disappeared. She knew she’d been desperate the day she’d found the words tumbling out of her mouth.

Have you ever heard of alphas and omegas? she’d asked Charlotte Lucas, of all people. Charlotte was one of Lizzy’s dearest friends. They had grown up together, though Charlotte was seven years older and Lizzy considered her quite wise.

And practical.

Charlotte had laughed. Alphas and omegas? Charlotte had said. Lizzy, those are old, old stories. From when people still believed fairies and imps walked among us. Perhaps there are still some alphas in existence, but I’d have to imagine their bloodlines are watered down. And omegas? Really, I think that was always a tale just to make women submit to men.

Elizabeth had frowned. Don’t we all submit, if we marry?

Charlotte’s smile had faded from her face. A good marriage should be a partnership, I would wager. But at my age, I would marry an alpha, a beta, or anyone with a good income.

Lizzy had put such stories from her mind, though she felt she had learned a lesson from them. Perhaps the idea of an omega—a woman who gave herself over to be nothing more than a broodmare, in thrall to an alpha—was what the ancient storytellers wanted their women to be. If you are lucky, you will grow up to be an omega, little girl! Have babies and let no other concerns mar your pretty little face.

Lizzy had grown up glad that such things did not truly exist, because she would never, ever submit to an alpha.

A fresh burst of

Reviews for My Alpha, Mr. Darcy

[Carol · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

The steam is still rising from my tablet! This is definitely not for the reader who is disturbed by scenes of sexual assault, so be warned before reading this variation. I did find the dark scenes to be rather difficult to read, but the relationship between Darcy and Elizabeth was very well done and VERY HOT!! A keeper for sure.