The Beta and Alpha

Chapter 5 :Under His Protection

Morning came with a weight to it.

Oriana noticed it before she left her room. The usual sounds were still there—dishes clattering from the kitchens, boots crossing stone. But underneath it all, something had shifted.

She stepped outside with Eva. Two warriors passed without stopping. Both carried weapons.

At the far end of the courtyard, three more were saddling horses.

"Is that normal?" Oriana asked.

Eva followed her gaze. "Not usually this early."

Across the village, children who had been running wild yesterday were being pulled inside. A little boy protested loudly from his doorstep.

His mother pulled him back anyway. Her face was pale. She kept one hand on his shoulder like she was afraid he'd disappear if she let go.

Oriana's chest clenched.

She'd barely slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the broken marker, the claw marks, the patrol captain's grim face. She'd told herself it was just the unfamiliar bed. She knew better.

"Lady Oriana."

A young servant stood near the packhouse entrance. "Alpha Cyrus is waiting for you."

---

The dining room was no longer a dining room.

Maps covered the table. Three captains stood around it, their voices low and urgent. Ezra was there too, standing at Cyrus's right. Unshaven. Jaw tight.

Oriana stopped in the doorway.

Ezra looked up. Straightened. "Lady Oriana."

"Good morning." She hesitated. "Good morning."

Cyrus finally noticed her. His face softened. He came around the table and kissed her hand. "I was beginning to think Helena had stolen you away again."

"She nearly did."

He looked toward the captains. "We'll continue after lunch."

They gathered the maps and filed out. Ezra started to follow.

Cyrus caught his arm. "Stay."

The door closed.

Cyrus returned to his chair and rubbed his face. "I wanted your first days here to be peaceful." He gestured at the maps. "Instead—"

"You can't control what happens at the borders."

"I know." A tired smile. "Doesn't mean I have to like it."

She reached across and placed her hand over his. His fingers closed around hers.

"That's actually why I wanted to speak with you." He hesitated. "Until we understand what's happening, I don't want you walking around alone."

Oriana glanced toward Ezra. He was watching the window, but she saw his reflection. His eyes weren't on the courtyard. They were on her.

"From now on," Cyrus continued, "whenever I'm occupied, Ezra stays with you."

Silence.

Ezra's face revealed nothing. His hand moved once to the silver ring on his finger. Then stopped.

Cyrus smiled, oblivious. "I couldn't ask for anyone better."

Oriana looked at Ezra. His expression hadn't changed.

"Besides," Cyrus added, "you'll probably make him talk more."

Ezra's gaze shifted. "I doubt that."

Cyrus laughed.

Oriana couldn't help smiling. "Neither do I."

---

Cyrus walked to the window. His shoulders rose and fell—a deep breath, deliberate, steadying.

"There's something else." He turned. "Ezra found something at the tree line."

She looked at the Beta.

Ezra reached into a small leather pouch at his belt and pulled out a torn strip of dark fabric.

"We found this. Folded between two branches at eye level." He held it out. "Someone wanted us to find it."

Oriana took it. The fabric was rough against her fingers. Near the torn edge, almost invisible against the dark dye, was a small embroidered mark.

A crescent moon. Waning. The curve pointed left instead of right.

"Whose crest is this?"

Ezra and Cyrus exchanged a look.

"We don't know," Cyrus said finally. "But we know it's not ours."

Ezra took the fabric back and tucked it away. "Stay close to the packhouse today."

Oriana looked between them. "Is there more you're not telling me?"

Ezra met her eyes. "There's a lot I don't know yet."

She waited for him to say more. He didn't.

"After we're done," Cyrus said, "I need you to do something for me."

"What?"

"Meet the families. Be seen. Let them know their future Luna isn't hiding." He squeezed her hand. "The pack needs to believe you're not afraid."

She nodded. That part she understood.

"I'll do it."

Cyrus kissed her forehead. "I'll be back by nightfall."

He left.

The door closed.

Ezra was still standing by the window. She turned to him.

"You found that fabric on the tree line?"

"Yes."

"And you think I'm in danger?"

He didn't answer immediately. His hand moved to the ring again.

"I think you're more important to Midnight Ridge than you realize." He moved toward the door. "Stay behind me. Don't wander."

---

Oriana stood near the courtyard entrance. Ezra waited several feet away, making the distance between them look entirely natural.

It wasn't.

She glanced at him. "Are we going somewhere?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"Wherever you want."

She frowned. "That's not helpful."

"You didn't ask a specific question."

She stared at him. "Do you always answer questions like that?"

"Usually."

She sighed. "Wonderful."

"Would you prefer I lie?"

"No."

"Then we're making progress."

She started walking. His footsteps followed. Behind her. Not beside.

She turned. "You're supposed to be protecting me."

"I am."

"You're six steps away."

"Five."

She looked down. He was right.

"You really don't enjoy conversation, do you?"

"I enjoy useful conversation."

"So I'm not useful?"

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to."

Something flickered at the corner of his mouth.

She narrowed her eyes. "Was that a smile?"

"No."

"It was."

"It wasn't."

"I saw it."

"You imagined it."

She laughed. "I think I know what a smile looks like."

He looked away. "Apparently not."

She stopped walking. He took two more steps before realizing. When he turned, she was staring at him.

"You are very difficult."

"I've been told."

"By Cyrus?"

"Several times."

That made her laugh again. This time, she caught it—the brief curve at the corner of his mouth. Quick. Involuntary. Like he'd forgotten to hide it.

She grinned. "There."

His face went serious. "There what?"

"You smiled."

"I didn't."

"You absolutely did."

"No."

She shook her head. "I'll remember that."

"Your choice."

They walked on. The silence shifted—less uncomfortable now.

She noticed other things. The way he always walked on the open side of the path, leaving her closer to the wall. The way his eyes moved over the trees without seeming to. The way he turned his head at a branch snapping somewhere beyond the trail—before she'd even heard it.

"You never stop watching, do you?"

"No."

"That sounds exhausting."

"It can be."

She looked at him. "Why do you do it?"

He didn't answer immediately. Then: "Because someone has to."

---

They hadn't gone far when a boy came racing around the corner.

He was small. Eight, maybe. Barefoot. Dirt smudged across one cheek. His foot caught a stone. He went down hard.

Oriana moved before she thought. "Are you hurt?"

The boy looked up, trying not to cry. "No."

His voice cracked.

She crouched. "That's a very brave answer."

Ezra was already beside them. He helped the boy up and brushed the dirt from his clothes. "You'll survive."

The boy sniffed. "I know."

"Good."

Then the boy looked at Oriana. "Are you the Luna?"

She smiled. "Not yet."

He seemed disappointed. "Why not?"

Ezra looked away.

Oriana laughed softly. "Because I haven't married the Alpha yet."

The boy considered this. "Then you should hurry."

Ezra coughed. Oriana glanced at him—he was hiding something that looked suspiciously like a smile.

The boy grabbed her hand. "Come on."

"Where?"

"My mother needs help."

She looked at Ezra. He nodded.

"Go."

"You'll wait?"

"I'll be here."

---

The boy pulled her toward the cottages.

His name was Rowan. He talked constantly—about the puppies in the barn, about the old woman who let him steal honey cakes, about the fish he'd caught in the river. He didn't mention his father.

When they reached his cottage, Oriana understood why.

A woman stood in the doorway. Her face was drawn. Her hands trembled as she tried to lift a basket of supplies. Three younger children huddled behind her skirts.

Rowan let go and ran to her. "I found the Luna!"

The woman looked at Oriana. Her eyes were red-rimmed.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to—"

"Please." Oriana stepped forward. "Let me help."

The woman lowered the basket. Her shoulders sagged.

"My husband," she whispered. "He was on the eastern patrol. The one that didn't come back."

Oriana's chest tightened.

She looked at Rowan. He was pretending not to hear, poking at the dirt with a stick. His small face set in a careful, determined blankness.

She recognized that expression. She'd worn it herself when her mother died.

She reached out and took the woman's hand. "What's your name?"

"Mira."

"Mira." She squeezed gently. "Tell me what you need."

---

Oriana carried the supplies to the shelf. She organized the grain, the dried meat, the root vegetables. She asked questions—small ones. About Rowan's love for the river. About the youngest girl's fear of the dark.

Mira answered. Her voice steadied.

When Oriana finally stepped back outside, Rowan was waiting.

He looked at her with those too-old eyes. "Do you think my father is dead?"

The question hit her like a fist.

She crouched to his level. "I don't know," she said honestly. "But people are looking for him. And I know he would want you to be brave while they do."

Rowan considered this. Then he nodded once.

"Okay."

He ran off to join his siblings.

Ezra stepped up beside her. She didn't look at him.

"His father was on the missing patrol."

"I know."

"Did you know Mira?"

"Not well. I've seen her at the fire."

She nodded slowly.

"Does this happen often? Patrols disappearing?"

He was silent for a moment. "Not like this."

She finally looked at him. "How is it different?"

He met her eyes. "Usually, there's a reason. A misunderstanding. A dispute that can be settled." A pause. "This isn't like that."

"Then what is it?"

His hand moved to the ring. Rolled it once. Twice.

"I don't know yet."

But his voice told her he had his suspicions.

---

By late afternoon, they started back toward the packhouse.

They reached the edge of the forest.

Ezra stopped.

She took another step before noticing. "What is it?"

He didn't answer. His posture had shifted. His head tilted toward the trees.

"Ezra—"

He lifted one hand. "Stay here."

She moved behind him. He stepped forward slowly, his gaze moving across the tree line.

Nothing moved. Evening wind stirred the branches. A bird flew from one tree to another.

Then silence.

She looked between the trunks. For a moment, she thought she saw something.

A figure. Dark against the fading light.

Watching.

Her breath caught. "Ezra."

He followed her gaze.

The figure was gone.

He moved—one step, then another—reaching the edge of the trees. He stopped.

Nothing. No sound. No movement.

She stayed where he'd told her. Her heart was beating too fast.

"Was someone there?"

He crouched and touched the earth. His fingers came away with a smear of damp soil.

He stood. "Yes."

The word made her stomach drop.

"Who?"

He looked at the trees again. "I don't know."

He stepped back toward her. "From now on, you don't leave the packhouse without me."

She swallowed. "And if I do?"

His eyes met hers. "Then I'll come after you."

Behind them, somewhere deep in the trees, a branch snapped.

Ezra turned instantly. His body moved between her and the forest. His hand went to his sword.

She pressed her back against the stone wall.

Neither of them moved.

The forest held its breath.

Somewhere in the trees, something was waiting.