Her abandoned Beta

In her bedroom (10 years ago)

*Dion*

I am halfway to the bed when I gain a clear view of the occupant, a she-wolf … her mouth unpleasantly open and folds of skin gathered at her neck … at least as old as my mum. I make a quiet but hasty retreat, closing the door in my wake. Picturing what I now know of these rooms and the windows through which light had spilled into the darkness, I ignore the next three doors and slowly open the fourth, knowing immediately that I have found the correct bedchamber, because it smells of her: flowery but not sickeningly so. Something rare, a scent I have only ever inhaled once, when I had walked past her to get to her mare. The fragrance has haunted me ever since, until this moment when I can inhale it and feel a sense of calm.

On feet as light as a cat's, I edge toward the bed, grateful it is summertime, and she has not drawn the heavy draperies around the bedstead. Carefully, I set my lantern on the table beside the bed, turning it just so in order to direct the flickering flame so it illuminates her face.

Lost in sleep, she appears more innocent and kinder than she had when we had first met, when she had smacked me with her ineffectual balled fist. Her injured arm is still encased in the splint, and will no doubt be for a few weeks if my experience dealing with broken bones is a true indication of how things go.

Her hand rests, palm up, on the pillow, her fingers curled. Her other hand is hidden away beneath the blankets. Her hair, a shade reminiscent of the brightest of moons, is plaited, the braid draped over her shoulder, the tail of it curled beneath her small breast, temptingly so.

With a silent curse, I tear my gaze from a spot where it should not be looking and clear my head of thoughts I shouldn't be thinking. She is a ranked she-wolf, an Alpha’s daughter. It is folly to think there might ever be anything more between us than a casualness brought about because of a need to reassure her.

Folding my hand around her slender shoulder, surprised by how dainty it feels, as though it could easily shatter beneath a tighter grip, I shake her. “Miss ?”

Slowly she opens her eyes. They widen. More quickly she opens her mouth. Swiftly, I cover it with my hand before she can cry out. “Shh. I mean you no harm. I bring you word of Misty”.

She blinks. Beneath my palm, I feel her mouth relaxing. “Promise not to scream and I'll remove my hand”.

She nods. Cautiously, I lift my hand slightly, prepared to drop it back into place rapidly if needed.

“You've come to tell me you've killed her”. She fairly spit, the sadness in her eyes belying the tartness of her words.

“Not exactly. But she is in heaven, of a sort. I thought you might like to go there yourself”. It had cost me a month's wages to have the horse spared, and I want to see reflected on her face that it has all been worth it.

Furrowing her brow, she shoves herself into a sitting position and yanks the covers up to her chin. “I don't understand”.

“I want to show you something, now, tonight. I have my car ….". I say hopefully.

“You expect me to go with you, a person I don't even know? Someone who sneaks into my bedchamber ?” She asks.

Fairly certain she is past the point where she might scream, I straighten, disappointed by her stubbornness and reluctance. I hadn't thought this through. Just because I had felt a connection, had been drawn to the green of her eyes, It doesn’t mean she is intrigued by me in the least. “I just want to show you that she's unharmed”.

“Are you striving to trick me ?” She asks.

“Why would I do that ?” I answer with a question.

“Because you're a commoner. You might be seeking to take advantage of me. Or, heaven forbid, kidnap me, and then make my father pay you an exorbitant amount in order to get me back”. She says.

Nicking a vase is one thing, but nicking a person ? Is her opinion of me truly that low ? Christ.

What the devil am I doing here ?

“Never mind. This was a stupid idea”. I spin on my heel.

“Wait”. She calls softly.

I shouldn't. I had been a fool to come here, to care what she thought of me, to have a need to show her that I am not a heartless bastard … just a bastard. I nearly laugh at the final thought. Swinging back around, I wish she didn't look so delectable and earnest, leaning away from the headboard now, leaning towards me.

“Why not come during a normal hour ?” She asks.

“Because what I've done has to remain a secret. Would they let you come with me ? I sincerely doubt it, but even if they did, they wouldn’t let you come alone. Chaperones and servants would be tagging along. If your father catches wind of your horse not being disposed of as he has paid for, do you think he'll be happy ?"

She shakes her head. “No, he'll be furious. He'll have your head”.

“Precisely. So it has to be now, in the middle of the night. That's when secrets are best made and kept”. When there is no one to see.

She hesitates another minute while I stupidly hold my breath as though that alone would influence her to make the decision I desire more than anything else. Finally, she gives a quick nod. “Give me a few minutes to prepare myself".

“Be quick. I'll be waiting in the hallway, but if I hear anyone moving about, I'll have to make a hasty escape”. I tell her.

"I'll hurry". She says breathlessly.

Grabbing my flashlight, I head out of the room, close the door, then lean against a wall to wait for her. It is madness, total madness, to be so intrigued by her. No good can come of it, and yet I am compelled to see my plans through.