The Alpha And His Omega

7

Tristan

The frost on the windows of the Alpha’s study was a jagged map of the coldness settling in my own chest. My father was speaking—something about the Southern border patrol and the increasing aggression from the Crescent Moon pack—but his voice was a dull drone against the frantic pacing of my wolf.

She was there again, Vane whispered, his voice a low, possessive rumble. By the west corridor. She smelled of rain and iron. Why did we walk past?

"Tristan! Are you even listening?"

I snapped my gaze to my father. Alpha Deza was a man built of granite and old scars, and his patience was famously thin. He stood by the hearth, the firelight casting long, flickering shadows across his stern face.

"I heard you, Father," I said, my voice tight. "The patrols are doubled. I'll oversee the shift change myself tonight."

"It’s not just the patrols I’m worried about," he said, stepping toward me. He placed a heavy hand on my shoulder, a gesture that was meant to be grounding but felt like a shackle. "Brian and Georgia’s bond is becoming a spectacle. The pack sees his stability, his future. They see you, the Heir, wandering the halls like a ghost with no mate in sight. The Council is restless."

"The Council is always restless," I snapped, shaking off his hand. "I won't be forced into a marking ceremony with a girl I don't feel a pull for just to satisfy a bunch of old wolves."

"Then find the pull!" Deza roared, his Alpha aura flaring for a brief, suffocating second. "Nora is a high-ranking Beta. Her blood is strong. She is waiting for you to lead, Tristan. Do not let your pride cost us the lineage."

I didn't answer. I couldn't. I turned and walked out of the study, the heavy oak doors slamming shut behind me.

I needed air. I needed to move. I headed toward the training grounds, but as I rounded the corner near the service entrance, I saw her.

Rena was on her knees, scrubbing the stone floor of the corridor. Her back was to me, her small frame bent over a bucket of soapy water. Her hair, a soft, dark halo, was escaping from her tie, a few damp strands sticking to the back of her neck.

I stopped. The world narrowed down to the sound of her brush against the stone and the rhythmic movement of her shoulders. The pull hit me like a physical blow to the solar plexus. It was a magnetic, agonizing tug that demanded I go to her, that I touch the skin of her neck, that I claim the space around her as mine.

Ours, Vane growled, his claws scratching at the back of my mind.

I should have walked past. I should have gone to the pits and hit a training dummy until my knuckles bled. Instead, I stood there, watching her work.

She paused, sitting back on her heels to wipe sweat from her brow with the back of a soap-slicked hand. She looked exhausted. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her fingers were red from the cold water.

A surge of protective rage flared in my chest. Why was she the one on the floor? Why was the most beautiful thing in this manor treated like the dirt she was cleaning?

"You missed a spot."

The words came out harsher than I intended—cold, biting, and filled with the authority I was supposed to embody.

Rena jumped, her brush clattering into the bucket. She spun around, her eyes wide and filled with a sudden, sharp fear as she looked up at me. She scrambled to her feet, keeping her head bowed low, her hands clutching her apron.

"Forgive me, Alpha," she whispered. Her voice was a soft, melodic tremor that made my wolf howl. "I'll go over it again."

"See that you do," I said, stepping closer. I was in her personal space now, close enough to see the pulse jumping in the hollow of her throat. Close enough to smell the soap and the faint, underlying sweetness that was uniquely hers.

She didn't move. She stayed perfectly still, a small, trembling bird in the path of a predator.

"Look at me," I commanded.

It was an Alpha’s order. She had no choice. Slowly, she lifted her chin. Her eyes met mine—those deep, soulful brown eyes that seemed to see right through the mask of the cold Heir I presented to the world. There was no defiance in them, only a quiet, enduring strength that unnerved me.

"Why do you flinch every time I enter a room?" I asked, my voice dropping to a low, dangerous register.

"I... I am an Omega, Alpha," she said, her breath hitching. "It is my place to be out of the way."

"You’re not very good at it," I breathed, taking another step.

I was inches from her. I could feel the heat radiating from her body. My hand lifted, my fingers twitching with the urge to brush that stray lock of hair away from her face, to feel the softness of her skin against my calloused palms.

She didn't pull away. She searched my eyes, her own filled with a confusing mix of terror and... something else.

Recognition? Longing?

The tension was a live wire between us, humming with a frequency that threatened to shatter the walls of the corridor. I wanted to roar. I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to throw her over my shoulder and run until the pack and its laws were a thousand miles behind us.

Mark her, Vane urged. Mark her now and let them try to take her.

I snapped back to reality. The weight of my father’s words, the image of Nora, and the pressure of the Council crashed back down on me.

"Finish the floor," I spat, my voice dripping with a cruelty that felt like a lie. "And stay out of the high corridors. You’re an eyesore."

I turned and walked away, my heart hammering a frantic, guilty rhythm against my ribs. I didn't look back. I couldn't. If I had seen the look of hurt on her face, I knew I wouldn't have been able to leave.

I was the Heir of Silver Creek. I was a wolf of high blood and higher expectations. And I was falling for a girl who had no place in my world.

The tension was building, a storm on the horizon that no amount of denial could push away. And as I reached the training grounds, I knew that the next time our paths crossed, the wall I had built between us wouldn't be enough to hold back the tide.