Her abandoned Beta

Late at night

The poorest part of Blackrock city

Early November current day

*Summer*

With a shiver I bring the hood of my coat up over my head. There is a chill in the midnight air that has been lacking on other evenings, and I am not altogether convinced it is only a result of autumn giving way to winter but has more to do with the possible peril awaiting me.

I am a woman with a purpose, and have been since August when I had escaped my planned out pack life to seek something that would bring me more fulfillment than what had previously been mapped out for me without my consultation and none of my desires taken into consideration.

Although my current mission brings with it dangers that lurk unseen in shadowy corners, I am beyond being frightened. Rather I am spurred on by a calling I can trace back a decade to a boy on the cusp of manhood whom I had met when I had been but a girl on the threshold of womanhood.

He had been some unnamed Alpha’s by-blow, considered beneath me in every regard, in spite of his high ranked … albeit tainted … blood. Although he knew the identity of his father, he never confided that information to me.

I still remember the sadness in his voice when he had confessed he knew nothing at all about … and had no memory of … the woman who had given birth to him because he had been immediately taken from her and handed over to a baby farmer.

Learning of his experiences had introduced me to a world I hadn't even known existed, a world through which I now move, my bare hand tightening around the cold carved wolf's head that decorates the walking stick that is a constant and reassuring companion when I make these late-night sojourns. Through him, I had learned the truth of baby farming and the horrors that sometimes accompanies the practice.

I had learned how the women, usually widows, advertised their services. Recently I have taken to searching out their adverts, writing to them, meeting with them, paying them. Not to take care of a child as my letter initially indicates, but to give the children presently in their keeping over to me. With the blessings of the Sisters of the Goddess who shelters me, I bring the children to their foundling home, regretting that I do not have the means to open my own shelters. Theirs will soon be full, and then what am I to do ?

The women with whom I correspond are only willing to meet at night, in the darkest of alleyways and abandoned areas, at the latest of hours, when the streets are ominous with the click-clacking of rats' paws, the odd song with words slurred by too much ale, the occasional grunt, the rare screech. And the feeling, always the feeling, of being watched.

The fine hairs on the nape of my neck suddenly stand on end. I abruptly halt and listen.

Tightening my hold on the wolf's head, I quickly lift the walking stick, grab it midway with my other hand, and have the rapier partially free of its cleverly disguised scabbard as I swiftly swing around, my eyes scouring the area intently. No one is about except what appears to be a beggar curled on the stoop of a building across the way. I had not seen him before because the alcove hides him from the view of anyone coming from that direction. He is only visible … and barely so …. from my current position.

I wait, watch, listen, hearing his occasional snuffling snore. Deeming him harmless, I slide the steel back into place and carry on.

I had been delighted to find the weapon in a pawnshop and equally relieved the pawnbroker had been willing to take the earbobs I had worn on the day I was to wed in exchange for it. When I was younger, I had been tutored in fencing, I loved the challenge of it, and so I had became quite skilled. My brother had only ever engaged me in a duel once. Being a sore loser, he hadn't taken kindly to being bested, although he had confessed to being surprised by my mastery of the sport. But for me, it has always been more than a sport. It had been a way to survive and retain my sanity in a place that catered to madness.

I shake off the unsettling thoughts. All that matters is the future, moving forward one step at a time. Forgetting what can’t be forgotten. So I concentrate on my present and my surroundings, aware I must remain ever alert if I am to meet with success during the possible confrontation that awaits me.

Usually men would be about after finishing their evening at a bar or tavern, but tonight's meeting is occurring a bit later than customary in an area more deserted than I am comfortable with..

But nothing can deter me from my purpose. It is all I have now, all I want. It nurtures, sustains, and gives me cause to crawl out of bed in the morning.

I am nearing the cross streets that had been written in the message telling me where and when the meeting is to occur. Carry on to the other side, I remind myself, fighting to ignore the sense of foreboding, concentrating instead on following to perfection the words sent to me in secret. Turn left into the first alleyway you find.

Halfway down …

I stop where the light from the streetlamps do. To go farther would be to step through a curtain of blackness. My courage and foolhardiness has limits.

With discreet, barely perceptible movements, I slowly glance around the narrow confines, hemmed in on two sides by the brick walls of buildings, the windows dark, the rooms beyond probably uninhabited. These assignments usually occurs in desolate areas where no witnesses can observe the transactions. In the event I am being watched, I fight not to give the impression I am quite suddenly having second thoughts regarding this arrangement.

I keep my breathing steady, even though I can feel my palms beginning to sweat and hear the pounding of my own heart. The sisters has warned me more than once that I shouldn't go out alone, but I can’t accomplish my objectives if I remain hidden away like a frightened child, and I have spent far too much of the past eight years in hiding, concealing my true wants and desires from not only myself, but from others.

I am weary of it. Done with the past. I am starting over, determined to lead my life as I feel it should be led.

It is the very reason that three months ago I left a good man standing at the altar. Not that my abandonment of Thor hadn't worked out in his favor as far as I am concerned, because he had quite recently taken to wife a woman he dearly loves.

The last time I had seen him … secretly and to beg his forgiveness … he had expounded on the virtues of Gina Tempest, and I had heard in his voice the raw emotion of a man who had well and truly fallen. It hadn't surprised me to learn soon after that he had taken her to wife. Much better than taking one he couldn't love and who, with time, as he learned the truths about her, he would come to despise, as she so very often despised herself for her past failures and weaknesses.