Fated to the Grumpy Beta

Chapter Five:

༺ DARREN ༻

"I'm actually concerned about Elara."

Luna Sigrun’s light, teasing voice carried through the quiet warmth of the royal nursery. She glanced up at me, and there was a bright, cheeky glint in her eyes.

I stood near the hearth, my hands clasped loosely behind my back. A curious feeling passed through my chest at the mention of Elara, but I didn't let a single muscle in my face move.

Did Elara tell her what had happened between us?

As soon as the thought came, I dismissed it. Because the Luna wouldn't be sitting there smiling at me if she knew what transpired between her friend and me last night.

"Lady Thompson?" I asked, keeping my tone flat and indifferent.

"Yes. She came up to my room last night to say goodnight," Luna Sigrun explained, watching me intently. "But she looked shaken up. She claimed she had a sensory migraine from the noise of the feast, but... well, I’m worried. Especially since I got word that she didn’t leave with a guard like I asked her to.”

Something like panic seized my chest, but I didn’t care to analyze it—or show it.

Luna Sigrun reached for a small wooden vial on the side table with a mischievous side glance that made my pulse spike.

"I was hoping," the Luna started, her voice dipping into that light, playful tone she always used when she thought she was being clever, "that you could send one of your guards down to check on her? Just to drop off this willow-bark tonic for her head and ensure she made it home safely last night?"

She held out the vial, her eyes practically dancing with hidden mischief. For months, the Luna had been dropping subtle hints and manufacturing excuses to push me toward her quiet scholar friend. She thought she was orchestrating a sweet lover’s errand.

If only she knew how wrong she was. Elara and I could never happen.

"Of course, Luna," I said, stepping forward to take the vial. "I will handle it."

"Thank you, Darren," she murmured, a gentle, satisfied grin touching her face. "I know how busy you are, and I appreciate you taking the time to send a guard."

The Luna couldn’t be less subtle if she tried.

I bowed crisply and walked out of the royal nursery.

I was supposed to hand the vial to a sentry in the barracks. I was supposed to maintain the boundary between myself and the woman who smelled and tasted like the demise of all my common sense.

But ten minutes later, I found myself swinging a leg over my horse’s saddle in the courtyard, pulling my badger-fur cloak around my shoulders, and kicking the stallion into a trot down the steep, snow-covered road toward the town market myself.

I needed to see her with my own eyes—just once—to ensure she was intact. To convince my wolf that she was safe, so the beast would stop snarling against my ribs.

Just one look. From a distance. Then I would turn my horse around and walk away for good.

༻༻༻

The winter morning air was sharp, biting into my face as I pulled my stallion to a halt at the cobblestone corner leading into the Market Square.

I cut through the lower market district, ignoring the lingering scent of roast meats and spilled ale from the morning clean-up crew. Thompson’s bookshop was a small, two-story stone building in the corner.

However, as I turned the corner, a prickle of unease ran down my spine. I slowed my horse to a stop in front of the bookshop and stared hard at the shuttered display windows. A large iron padlock hung over the door’s latch.

I dismounted the horse, dread poking into my chest as I stepped up to the door and knocked hard.

“Lady Thompson?" My voice sounded hollow, not like mine.

No answer.

I knocked again. There was a curious sensation roaring through my ears. It felt, suspiciously, like fear. And I was rarely one to scare easily.

“Elara, open the door."

Nothing.

I leaned closer, my wolf flaring behind my ribs, pressing my nose near the crack of the doorframe to catch a lingering scent of snow and honey. Nothing. Just stale air and dust.

"She ain't in there, sir."

My head snapped toward the sound. A skinny errand boy, no older than twelve, was standing at the corner of the alley, balancing a crate of salted fish against his hip.

The boy went rigid the moment my eyes locked onto his. His nervous gaze dropped to my leather armor, taking in the royal Beta crest pinned to my collar.

"Where is she?" My voice was rough and impatient.

The boy swallowed hard, his knees visibly trembling. He pulled the wooden crate tighter against his chest like a shield. "T-The Thompson lady? She left on the early carriage with her father before dawn, My Lord. The word out is that they’re on a journey to the West. I swear to the gods, t-that’s all I know, sire.”

My heart felt as if it had been ripped out of my ribs by a bare hand. It was impossible to pull enough air into my lungs.

I let out a growl of frustration.

The boy squeaked, dropping his crate. Salted fish spilled across the dirty cobblestones as he scrambled backward, terrified I was about to rip him apart.

Reason snapped back into place. Damn it. The boy hadn't done a f*****g thing wrong.

"Pick up your fish," I barked, forcing my voice into a flat, icy command to mask the chaos inside me. "And get out of my sight."

The boy didn't need to be told twice. He scooped up what he could, his hands shaking violently, and bolted down the street without looking back.

Slate lost his mind, throwing his weight against my ribs as he roared in fury.

“She left!” Slate roared, his feral voice deafening in my skull. “She’s gone! LET US HUNT HER DOWN, YOU i***t!”

No.

I turned back to my horse and mounted it, pulling tightly on the reins. This was good. This was right.

If she stayed in the North, I would have broken her eventually. My wolf would have hunted her down, marked her, and bound her to us. She was just that irresistible. And now that I’d tasted her, she would very easily become an addiction I couldn’t afford.

“ARE YOU MAD?!” Slate hissed at me, his red eyes narrowing at me in the recesses of my mind.

“She is gone, Slate. We are not going after her, so shut the f**k up!” I growled at the beast, shutting off his roars of protests with a mental wall.

It’s for the best, I told myself, every word burning like acid in my throat as I turned my horse around. It’s just as well.

༺༺༺

༺ ELARA ༻

One Month Later — Residential Quarters, Citadel of Knowledge, Oakhaven

I barely made it to the ceramic basin in the corner of my bedchamber before my stomach violently heaved.

I collapsed onto my knees on the cold tile floor, clutching the edge of the bowl as another intense wave of nausea wracked my body.

I felt a little relief only after what felt like hours. Sweat beaded on my forehead, my chest heaving as I dragged in shaky breaths of air.

Exhaustion from the voyage, I told myself, scrambling for logical explanations as I wiped my mouth with the back of a trembling hand. Or perhaps a localized digestive reaction to the foreign spices in the Western markets…?

I sat back on my heels, frantically listing possibilities to keep my rising panic at bay.

Fact One: Sea voyages caused lingering motion sickness for up to two weeks after docking. It had been four weeks since we arrived in Oakhaven.

Fact Two: Stress from relocating across the sea could disrupt a female’s natural cycles.

Fact Three: My cycle was three weeks late—

Dread filled my chest.

No. No, no, no.

It had been a single night. I had just been foolish—

"Pet?" My father’s gentle knock echoed against the door. "Are you alright in there? I heard some retching. The Head Archivist is waiting to tour the translation vaults. If you’re not feeling up to it, we could—“

"I... I'm fine, Father!" I squeaked, scrambling to my feet. I reached out immediately to use the basin table for support as my knees wobbled. "It’s just... a mild stomach bug. I'll be down in a moment."

“Alright then. If you say so, pet,” my father’s muffled response came after a brief pause.

I let out a sigh when I heard his footsteps retreating.

I looked down at my reflection in the small copper mirror hanging on the wall. Pale skin, dark shadows under my eyes, and a terrifying truth staring right back at me.

My hand moved instinctively, pressing flat against my lower abdomen.

I was carrying Beta Darren’s child.

I let out a shuddering breath.

The rational part of my brain analyzed the facts and reminded me of how disastrous this was. A fatherless baby in a foreign land. The child of a powerful Northern Beta who had dismissed our night together as a mistake.

My hands shook as I pressed them tighter over my belly.

I hated Darren. I hated him for making me feel small, for using me, and for walking away without a backward glance.

You could end it, a dark whisper in the back of my mind suggested. There are herbs in the Citadel apothecary. No one would ever know.

The thought hadn't even fully formed before my body revolted against it. My fingers curled protectively over my stomach, a fierce, primal surge of instinct rising in my chest.

"Never," I whispered aloud to the empty room as my eyes clouded with tears. "I won't abandon you. Ever."

I turned toward the window, looking out at the stretch of the reserved grounds of the Citadel.

This child was mine now. And I would protect them with everything I had.