Fated to the Grumpy Beta

Chapter Three:

༺ DARREN ༻

Fuck.

Fuck, f**k, f**k.

What in the blasted seven hells have I just done?

The heavy doors of the castle’s eastern wing swung shut behind me with a thud. The guards on duty bowed their heads in greeting as I walked past, but I ignored them. Down the long, vaulted corridor, the faint, thunderous sounds of celebration echoed from the Great Hall.

I knew I should return to my Alpha’s side. To my post. To my duty. But my boots felt as if they were bolted into the flagstones.

I couldn’t move.

I couldn’t f*****g breathe.

I found an empty alcove and leaned back hard against the stone wall, dragging a hand down my face.

I had known the rut was coming. It had been creeping through my veins all evening, threatening to breach my ironclad focus during the middle of the feast. That was why I’d slipped away and walked out into the lower courtyard. I would endure the fever in isolation, the way I always did. I was going to grit my teeth, and hold back my beast, well out of sight.

I was a commander. A Beta to the Alpha of Alphas. Discipline and control were what kept me alive, what kept my men alive, and what kept Pillak Towers running. I didn't lose my mind. I didn't break protocol. I was a weapon forged for the North, unbothered by temptation.

Until her.

Fucking hell.

I closed my eyes and threw my head back against the wall, my chest heaving beneath my leather tunic as if I’d just run ten miles through a mountain blizzard. Closing my eyes was a mistake because immediately I did, all I saw, heard, and felt was her.

Her soft, delicate skin. Her breathless, whimpering gasps. The way her tight, impossibly warm body had stretched around mine, yielding to the brutal pace I’d set until she was crying out my name, trembling, sobbing, and clinging to my shoulders. She’d taken the brunt of my runt for many minutes—proving to me that she wasn’t as fragile as she looked.

My Songbird.

The sweet, pure scent of her—winter snow mixed with honey—was practically painted onto my hands, my chest, and my clothes. It wrapped around my senses like iron chains, suffocating me, driving my wolf to flex its claws in possessive triumph.

“Mine,” Slate growled beneath my skin. “She belongs to us. Go back. Claim her properly.”

“Shut up,” I snarled under my breath, slamming my fist back against the stone wall. The bone-rattling impact vibrated up my arm, but it did nothing to dull the roaring blood in my ears.

No. I won't do that to her.

Gods, I had almost marked her.

My teeth had practically grazed the soft, sensitive skin of her neck, inches from sinking in—inches from tying her soul to mine forever. Terror pressed into my chest, far worse than any threat I’d ever experienced on a battlefield.

I knew what the mate bond did. I had watched my own mother wither away under its weight, her spirit slowly devoured year by year until she was a ghost of a woman trapped by an eternal connection. I had sworn on her grave I would never inflict that slow poison on anyone. Least of all a woman as bright and brilliant as Elara. Sinking my teeth into her neck would be signing her death warrant.

No, I hadn’t marked her. But I’d hurt her. She’d been an innocent for f**k sake, and I’d taken her like a beast.

"Bastard," I spat into the empty corridor, my voice dripping with pure self-loathing. "You f*****g bastard."

A sudden shift in the shadows down the far hallway made my head snap up, every sensory instinct going on immediate high alert. Soft, hurried footsteps were heading down the adjacent corridor.

My wolf perked up instantly, catching her scent.

Elara.

She was walking with uneven, hesitant gaits, clutching the front of her dress. Her head was bowed low, her thick red curls wild. But what killed me was the sound of the sobs she was fighting to suppress; they tore through my chest far deeper than any blade I’d ever felt.

I was hit with a sudden, fierce urge to cross the distance, sweep her up into my arms, tuck her into my chest, and comfort her. I actually took a step forward from the shadows.

“DO IT!” Slate barked.

Don't do it, my logical mind barked, freezing me in my tracks. You've done enough damage. Look at her. Look at what you did to her. She must regret coming anywhere near you.

I held my breath, clenching my fists so tight that my knuckles cracked. I watched her small form slip past the far end of the hallway until she disappeared around the dark corner.

I had spent months keeping my distance from Elara Thompson. I had intentionally built a wall around myself whenever she was near. I had told myself her endless, rambling, nerdy facts were annoying, just to keep myself from staring at those full, kissable lips and those bright, ridiculously smart eyes behind her spectacles.

I had forced myself to treat her like just another guest at the Towers because I knew what I was—and I knew what a bond would cost her.

I’d always suspected that she could easily become my very downfall. And in one single night of weakness, I had proven every single one of my fears right.

I turned toward the spiral stairs leading up to the Great Hall, every heavy step feeling as if I were dragging hundreds of pounds of iron chains.

I had called it a temporary lapse in judgment. I had looked her dead in the eye and told her that f*****g lie. I kept telling myself that I did it all to protect her.

So why did it feel like a jagged blade was twisting deeper into my chest? And why did my wolf keep snarling that by saving her from myself, I had just destroyed us both?