The Beta and Alpha

Chapter 3:The Tour

Morning came soft.

Oriana woke to birdsong and sunlight. Yesterday she had arrived a stranger; today she was expected to call Midnight Ridge home. Her stomach tightened.

Eva knocked. Breakfast would be served soon.

In the dining hall, Cyrus rose when he saw her. “Good morning. I hope you slept well.”

“I did.”

He pulled out her chair. “Then my packhouse has done its job.”

She laughed. They ate while Oriana studied him. He greeted servants by name, thanked the cook, and picked up a fallen spoon before a child could apologize. No one flinched around him. They respected him—not feared him.

“You’ve been watching me,” Cyrus said.

“Was I obvious?”

“A little.”

“I’ve discovered you’re nothing like the stories.”

“Oh?”

“They said you were intimidating. Rarely smiled. Never carried your own luggage.”

He laughed. “My reputation is ruined.”

Hurried footsteps cut him off. A patrol captain appeared, breathing hard. “My Alpha. The northern patrol returned before dawn. They found something at the boundary.”

Cyrus’s smile vanished. “I’ll come.” He turned to Oriana with regret. “I’m sorry.”

“Duty comes first.”

He sighed, then brightened. “Ezra can show you the territory. He knows every trail. And whatever yesterday suggested—he’s kinder than he lets people believe.”

Ezra appeared in the doorway. His face was calm, unreadable. When his eyes met Oriana’s, something stirred again—not as fierce as before, but enough to quicken her pulse.

“Ezra,” Cyrus said. “I need a favor. Show Lady Oriana the territory.”

A heartbeat passed. Ezra’s jaw tightened, barely. “As you wish.”

Cyrus smiled, unaware. “I knew I could count on you.”

“You always can.”

Cyrus promised to make up the day and left with the captain. The doors closed.

Ezra waited. “If you’re ready, we should leave before the sun climbs too high.”

“I’m ready.”

They walked into the forest.

The pines broke the light into gold. The farther they went, the quieter it became—birdsong, leaves, soft boots on earth. For several minutes neither spoke. It wasn’t uncomfortable. Just silence.

Oriana stole a look at him. He carried himself like every step had purpose. One hand rested near his sword—not because he expected trouble, but because watching for it had stopped being a choice.

“You’re much quieter than Cyrus,” she said.

“I’ve been told.”

“Does that bother you?”

“No.”

She laughed. “I thought you might say that.”

He glanced back. “I usually do.”

“I’ve noticed.”

The corner of his mouth twitched—there and gone. Not cold, she thought. Just careful.

They followed the trail to a clearing where an old woman struggled with firewood. Ezra stepped off the path.

“Good afternoon, Mara.”

The old woman brightened. “Beta.”

Without a word, he lifted the heavier logs.

“You’ve done enough of that,” she scolded.

“So have you.”

“I can still carry wood.”

“I know.” He stacked the last log and brushed bark from his hands.

Mara sighed fondly. “You fixed my roof before winter.”

“It was only a few boards.”

“It was my whole winter.”

He looked uncomfortable under her gratitude. “I’m glad it held.”

She noticed Oriana. “You must be our future Luna.”

“I hope so.”

“Oh, child. You’ve chosen a good pack.”

Before Oriana could answer, Ezra was walking again, as if praise stayed in the air longer than he could stand. She caught up.

“You help everyone?”

“I help where I’m needed.”

“You don’t tell people.”

“There isn’t much to tell.”

She studied him. “You don’t like attention. Or compliments.”

“They’re unnecessary.”

She smiled. “Cyrus was right.”

“About what?”

“That you’re kinder than you let people believe.”

His gaze held hers for a heartbeat, then returned to the trail. “I think the Alpha gives me too much credit.”

“I don’t.”

A strange silence followed. Neither spoke until the trees thinned.

Water reached them first—a river running fast over rocks. They came out onto the bank. Sunlight scattered across the current.

“It’s beautiful,” Oriana breathed.

“The river marks part of our northern boundary.”

She stepped closer. “I could stay here for hours.”

Ezra’s shoulders dropped slightly. “Cyrus used to.”

“He did?”

“When we were younger.” A faint smile touched his mouth. “He was convinced he could cross by jumping stone to stone.”

“I’m guessing he couldn’t.”

“He nearly made it.”

“Nearly?”

“He slipped on the last rock.”

She laughed. “What happened?”

“I pulled him out.”

“Did he thank you?”

The smile grew enough to be real. “No. He claimed I distracted him.”

Oriana laughed again, and the sound carried across the water. For a moment, it almost felt easy.

Then something caught her eye. Near the water’s edge stood another boundary marker, taller than the first, the crescent of Midnight Ridge carved into its face. Across the center were four deep claw marks. Long. Straight. Deliberate.

She stepped toward it. “These are the same marks we saw earlier.”

Ezra’s smile vanished. “They are.”

“What made them?”

He didn’t answer. His eyes moved across the trees, listening, watching. Oriana stepped closer. The stone under her foot shifted.

She gasped. The loose rock rolled, and the river rushed up to meet her—

She never reached the water. Ezra caught her, one arm hard around her waist, his other hand closing over hers, hauling her back from the edge.

For one suspended heartbeat, neither moved.

The world narrowed. She felt the steady beat of his heart through the layers between them. His scent closed around her—cedar after rain, cold stone, smoke on a mountain wind. The same impossible scent that had haunted her since they met. Heat spread through her chest. Not just comfort. Something deeper. Familiar.

She looked up. Ezra was already looking at her, and for one raw second his face wasn’t unreadable at all. Then he shut it away.

His hand tightened around hers. Just once. Just enough for her to notice. Then, as if he’d remembered exactly who she was, he let go.

He stepped back fast, as if it hurt. “My apologies. You were slipping.”

“I know. Thank you.”

He inclined his head. “It was my duty.”

The word hung there. Nothing more. Nothing less.

He turned toward the trail. “We should return.”

She followed. Neither spoke again.

By the time the packhouse came into view, the afternoon sun had begun to slide behind the mountains. Cyrus waited on the front steps. When he saw them, his face lit with relief.

“There you are. I was beginning to think Ezra had shown you every tree in Midnight Ridge.”

“He nearly did,” Oriana said, smiling.

“I’ll save the rest for tomorrow,” Ezra said quietly.

Cyrus laughed. “I’ve actually got news.” His attention settled on Oriana. “The elders met this afternoon. They’ve chosen a date.”

Her smile faltered. “Oh?”

“The engagement ceremony will be held on the first full moon.”

Barely four weeks away.

“The council believes—given everything happening along the northern border—it’s wiser not to delay.”

The northern border. The claw marks. The hurried meeting before dawn. Pieces that didn’t yet fit.

“I’m sorry,” Cyrus said gently. “I know it isn’t much time.”

Oriana made herself smile. “No—it will be wonderful.”

He reached for her hand, and she let him take it. Because it was the right thing to do. Because he was a good man. Because she wanted this marriage to work.

But as they stood there, the evening breeze carried the fading scent of cedar after rain. And she could still feel Ezra’s hand wrapped around her own.