The Beta's Blood: Rewritten

Chapter Eleven

Moonlight poured through the bedroom window in a thin, silvery sheet, softening the edges of everything it touched. It stretched across the hand-stitched quilt, climbed the cedar-paneled wall, and brushed over the old dresser like a memory.

Outside, the mountain night was still. No cars, no distant pack house commotion, no angry Alphas. Just wind moving through pine, the faint hoot of an owl, and the low crackle of the fire still burning in Jean’s living room.

Inside the small room, everything smelled of lavender, woodsmoke, and the faintest trace of Felix’s cologne. He stood at the edge of the bed, tugging a simple gray shirt over his head, the fabric falling over muscle and healed wounds. His hair was damp from washing up, curling slightly at the ends. The light caught along his jawline, along the fading yellowish mark at his throat where Jameson had slammed him.

His voice broke the soft quiet. “Goddess, Ace… you scared me today.” Ace turned from the window. She crossed her arms over her camisole, shoulders hunching in a defense she didn’t really feel.

“I didn’t mean to,” she said quietly. “I just got… distracted.” Felix moved before she could finish, crossing the small space in two strides. He slid his arms around her from behind, strong and protective, his heat wrapping around her like a blanket and she froze at the unexpected touch.

“I didn’t like you being alone with the Alpha,” he muttered, voice low, more growl than accusation. Ace huffed out a soft, incredulous laugh. “Felix… he has a mate, remember?” He turned her gently to face him. His eyes were darker now, storm-tossed and intense. “He might have a mate,” Felix said slowly, thumb brushing along her jawline, “but I noticed something.”

She blinked, nervous. “What?” “When we met him in his office…” He hesitated, watching her closely. “He didn’t have a mark.” Ace stilled.

She replayed the memory, the way Alpha Kai had risen from his desk, the way Amelia had swept through the lobby like a queen without a crown. She hadn’t been looking for a mark, hadn’t thought anything of it... until now.

“I didn’t notice,” she whispered. Felix’s jaw flexed. “I did.” Silence settled over them, not heavy, but fragile. A silence full of things they’d both been avoiding.

“I heard you tell my grandmother you’re leaving tomorrow…” Ace said finally, her voice almost breaking on the last word. “You’re really going?”

Felix’s features softened but the intensity in his eyes didn’t fade. He took a slow step closer, his hand brushing against hers where it still rested over her heart. “I am,” he murmured.

The air shifted. It was like something in the room tightened, pulling the truth to the surface whether either of them was ready or not. “Ace…” He paused, swallowing, gathering words like someone picking through glass. “I can’t be with you.”

The sentence split through her like a blade. Her breath hitched, her heart squeezing painfully in her chest. For days, they had been orbiting this truth. Dancing around it. Pretending that the road north and long drives and shared laughter could erase the hurt between them. It couldn’t.

“Felix…” she started, but nothing coherent followed. Just the ache. He dropped his gaze, lashes casting shadows over his cheekbones. “It’s not that I don’t care about you,” he said, and his voice cracked just a bit.

“Goddess, you know I do. It’s that I can’t...” He exhaled shakily. “I can’t put myself in the middle of what you and Jameson have. Not when you still feel him. Not when he still feels you. Even after the rejection.”

Ace’s lips parted, a soft, broken sound escaping. “So… this is it then?” Her voice was barely a whisper. He nodded once, eyes bright with emotion. “I wanted it to be different. Believe me. I wanted…” He looked toward the window, toward the moonlight spilling over the pines. “I wanted you. All of you.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, hot and slow. Felix reached up on instinct to wipe it away, his thumb tender against her skin. He rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling, both of them standing right at the edge of something neither could have. He held her like that... lightly, reverently, as if she might break.

“The truth is,” he murmured, “you loved him. Really loved him. And I’m not going to be the man who makes you hate yourself for that.” Her throat closed. “I don’t hate myself,” she said, but the lie tasted bitter. “I just… I just wish it hadn’t happened... That the bond never formed...” He gave a broken little chuckle. “Yeah. Me too.”

For a long moment, there was only the sound of the fire popping in the other room and the night pressing against the cabin walls. The room felt too small for the size of what they were feeling.

“Then I guess,” Ace said after a while, fighting the tremor in her voice, “I’ll have to be strong on my own.” Felix cupped the back of her neck, thumb stroking soothing circles over her skin. “You’re stronger than you know, Ace.” “You always say that.” “Because it’s always true.” He stepped back then, just a little, like he was forcing himself to. She watched him move toward the door, each step like a hammer falling in her chest.

He stopped with his hand on the knob. “I can’t leave without saying one last thing,” he said, voice low, frayed. She swallowed hard. “What?” He turned, the dim light catching the pain in his features.

“I’m so sorry. But tomorrow I’ll be gone and I… I need you to know that I’ve never wanted anyone like I wanted you.” His voice cracked on the last word. “I loved you, Ace. Or… still love you. I’m not sure. Maybe it doesn’t even matter now.”

The sound she made was small and wounded. Before she could overthink it, before she could talk herself out of it, she moved. She closed the space between them and rose on her toes, capturing his mouth with hers.

For a single breath, Felix froze. Then every ounce of restraint he’d been clinging to snapped. He kissed her back, hard, pulling her closer like he’d been starving for this. Her hands slid up his chest to cup his face, fingers tangling in his hair. His stubble scraped her palms, grounding her in the moment, in him.

It hit like hunger. Sudden, fierce, and unforgiving. Then it deepened, overflowing with every what if, every missed chance, every too late they’d never spoken aloud. He tasted like warmth fighting its way through grief.

Felix’s hands slid into her hair, fisting gently, angling her mouth to his. He pressed her closer, her body fitting to his like muscle memory. Like a story they had almost written together. “Ace…” he whispered against her lips, reverent, ragged.

She clung to him harder, knowing this was the last time. The last kiss. The last night he’d hold her like this. The last moment before everything changed. His forehead came to rest against hers again, both of them breathing hard. A soft light touched the edges of his hair.

He memorized her. He really did. She could tell. The way his eyes traced her face like he was committing every inch to memory, the curve of her mouth, the slope of her cheek, the tiny birthmark near her Temple. The way he inhaled like he was trying to pocket her scent for the road. The way his fingers smoothed over her shoulders, her arms, her hips. Like he’d go mad if he forgot what she felt like.

He kissed her one last time... slow, lingering, the kind of kiss people in love give when they know timing has betrayed them. When they finally pulled apart, the room felt colder. Felix gave her a small, pained smile, his hands sliding down her arms to squeeze her fingers one last time.

“I’ll make sure you’re protected,” he said softly. “Even from far away.” “Felix…” Her voice was barely there. “I’m sorry.” “I know.” He opened the door. For a heartbeat, he looked like he would turn back. Like he would say to hell with Jameson, to hell with Kaine, to hell with all of it. But Felix Lavigne was loyal. To his pack. To his future Alpha. To her. So he stepped out.

The door closed with a soft click. And Ace was alone. She sank onto the edge of the bed, fingers curling in the quilt, knuckles white. The cabin was so quiet now that she could hear her own breathing, uneven and shaky. She stared at the door long after he’d gone, hoping it would open again. It didn’t.

So, in the quiet of the mountain night, wrapped in moonlight and the fading warmth of Felix’s embrace, Ace finally let herself cry. For the boy who loved her, for the mate she couldn’t have, and for another cruel truth the Goddess was forcing her to live: Sometimes love wasn’t the problem. Timing was.