Mated to the Two Warring Alphas

The Beta's Daughter

The first kick lands square in my stomach, stealing the breath from my lungs like a punch from Death himself.

I double over, the stale taste of copper blooming on my tongue, but there's no time to gasp, no moment to recover.

The second kick crashes into my side, cracking my ribs—or maybe it's just my pride. I can't tell anymore. Pain is pain. And mine never ends.

A hand yanks my hair back, and I feel the burn in my scalp before I see the smirking face above me.

Another girl—Elly, I think—drives her fist into my cheek. The impact rings in my ears, and the world tilts sideways.

I collapse onto the packed earth of the training ground like a sack of meat, all twisted limbs and broken silence.

Laughter roars around me, cruel and bright.

I want to scream. I want to shift and tear into every single one of them. I want to remind them who I am.

Who I was.

The Beta’s daughter.

Nuraya Thane.

The one who used to walk through this very courtyard with her chin held high, flanked by wolves who bowed when I passed.

I ruled with a glance, a scoff, and a curled lip.

If I didn’t like the way someone looked at me, I made sure they didn’t look at me again.

Back then, the Omegas feared me.

Now, I am one.

Wolfless. Spineless. Useless.

The moment I turned fourteen and didn’t shift—no claws, no growl, no sacred snap of bones beneath moonlight—my fate was sealed.

And when my parents realized their perfect, powerful daughter would never inherit a wolf… they didn’t hesitate to cast me out.

At that point, I was nothing but a liability.

Elly kicks me again, snapping me back to the present with another bolt of agony.

My vision blurs, tears threatening—but I blink them away. I won’t give them that. Not the satisfaction. Definitely not the victory.

My pain is mine, and mine alone.

“Get up, b***h,” someone snarls behind me.

Another Omega, bitter and feral.

I don’t know her name, but I know her hatred. It’s the same poison I used to spit at others. The same fire I once lit in their bellies just to watch them burn.

Now it's my turn to dance in the flames.

I brace myself, hands trembling, face pressed to the cold earth.

The ground smells like sweat and ash and old blood—my blood.

I used to think the world belonged to me. That I was untouchable. That my parents would fight the stars themselves before letting me fall.

Now? I can't even remember the last time they looked at me.

Something inside me cracks.

Not a bone—no, I think those are already broken. It’s something deeper. The last sliver of fight, slipping away like blood in water. I close my eyes and let the next blow come.

Hoping it would be the one that ends this.

But it doesn’t.

There’s a sharp bark of a command—firm, clipped, and male. The kind that stills a room.

Boots thunder across the training yard.

I hear the scuffle of bodies being shoved away from me, curses swallowed back, snarls dying mid-throat.

The heat of the pack’s hatred fades like a dying fire, replaced by the crisp edge of discipline.

I lift my head—barely.

The insignia hits me first. A black leather pauldron etched with a silver fang wrapped in ivy. The Beta’s crest. My father's house.

The soldiers surrounding me wear it openly, unapologetically.

Their uniforms are pristine, armor gleaming under the cloudy afternoon light. They move with practiced precision—calculated, quiet, lethal.

And at their head is someone I recognize.

Dareon—my father’s second-in-command.

A man who once knelt before me when I was just a child, swearing to protect me until his dying breath.

Now, he looks at me like I’m a duty. An errand. Something to check off a list.

“Nuraya Thane,” he says, voice cold as winter steel. “Your father wishes to see you. Now.”

The world tilts again, but this time, it’s not from pain.

It’s from disbelief.

From dread.

From something I can’t name.

Why does he want to see me? He doesn't want to be associated with me, so why now?

They remain rooted in place, none of them offering to help me up.

Not even a glance of sympathy.

I push myself to my feet, dusting what little dirt I can from my arm.

Once he's made sure that I'm stable enough, Dareon turns his horse, expecting me to follow.

I do.

Slowly, limping.

Each step drags fire through my muscles, but I move anyway. Like a beaten dog following its master home.

Four sleek horses carry them ahead, hooves clapping over the gravel path that winds up toward the Beta House, while I'm left to catch up on foot.

None of them look back to see if I’m keeping up, they just know I would.

My bare feet stumble through mud and stone, every rock slicing into my skin. I don’t cry out. I don’t scream. I just walk.

They want me to feel the distance, so I don't complain, I just remain where I'm left. I've learned to do that over the years. Complain less.

By the time we reach the gates, my vision is swimming. My body is a tapestry of bruises and cuts. The familiar black spires of the Beta’s estate rise before me like a memory I no longer belong to.

At the gate, the soldiers dismount, and the guards salute. I watch them all with dull eyes.

No one says a word as I make my way through.

Inside, the halls are too clean, too still.

The air smells like lavender and lemon oil, and so do the walls.

There are banners hanging here and there, paintings pinned to the walls, hides from animals showcased in expensive frames—souvenirs from all the dangerous hunts.

My eyes wander around like it's my first time here, the servants stare my way and whisper into each other's ears, some with scowls on their faces.

I bow my head and continue as the soldiers lead the way, my footsteps echo behind them like whispers that shouldn’t be heard.

He’s waiting in the drawing room—standing like there's not a single place to sit. My mother stands beside him, stiff and silent in her cream gown.

Her lips are a thin line, her eyes colder than I remember.

A quick glance around tells me that brother is absent.

If he were here, he would’ve run to me.

He would’ve asked what happened to my face. He would’ve cared.

But there’s no softness in this room.

Only power.

And disappointment.

“You’re late,” my father says.

My throat tightens. “I came as soon as I was called.”

He doesn’t answer that. Just studies me with the same expression he reserves for broken weapons and failed warriors.

A thing to be discarded.

“I can’t keep defending this,” he says, gesturing to me like I’m an abomination. “Every week, someone’s dragging your name through the mud. Someone’s saying you were caught crying, or bleeding, or crawling away from another fight you couldn’t win.”

I blink, tears building despite how hard I try to hold them in.

“I didn’t ask for this,” I whisper. “I never wanted to be wolfless.”

“But you are,” my mother says flatly.

“And it’s humiliating,” my father snaps. “For us. For this house. For this Pack. You think just surviving is enough? That dragging your battered body around like a ghost is noble? It’s pathetic.”

I stagger back like he hit me. “I’ve done everything you asked. I’ve trained. I’ve cleaned. I’ve taken the beatings. I haven’t complained—”

“You just did.”

His voice cuts through me, but I inhale it all.

“I’ve endured,” I say, louder now, bitter. “I’ve endured. I’ve scrubbed blood from floors that belonged to me. I’ve bowed to wolves who once feared me. I’ve swallowed your silence, your shame. What more do you want from me?”

He looks at me for a long, cold second. “To leave.”

The word slices through the air like a blade.

“What?”

“You’re no longer a member of this Pack. You will leave before sunrise. Take whatever scraps you need. But be gone.”

My knees almost give out. “You’re banishing me?”

“I’m releasing you,” he says, like that makes it kinder.

“But I’m your daughter—”

“You were,” he says. Then turns his back to me.

Just like that.

My mother doesn’t look at me. She doesn’t speak. Neither does Dareon.

I'm the only one who can defend myself.

“You know what’s out there, don’t you?” I question, taking staggering steps towards him. “Beyond the borders?”

The silence that follows is heavy.

“There are rogues in the woods. Rabids. Starvers. Loners don’t survive long without a Pack. You know that.”

My father doesn’t turn around.

“All the more reason to move quickly,” he says. “If you linger, it’ll be your own fault.”

I stand there, shaking, bleeding, heart cracked open, and no one moves to catch me.