Promised to the Beta

Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

The scent of sweat and iron fills my nostrils as I step into the gym, a place that reeks of determination. Logan's there, brown hair damp against his forehead, brown eyes focused on the heavy bag he's pummeling with methodical ferocity. His muscles ripple under the strain, a testament to the power contained within.

"Mind if I join?" My voice slices through the rhythmic thuds, drawing his gaze towards me.

"Never," he says, the corner of his mouth ticking up in that half-smile that always sends a jolt straight through me. He steps aside, and I can feel the heat radiating from his body, a magnetic pull that I'm constantly fighting to resist.

Gloves on, I take my stance and start working on the bag. Logan doesn't hover, but his presence is palpable, an electric charge in the air that makes my skin prickle. We fall into a rhythm, the sound of our fists against leather syncing up in a dance of strength and agility. With every punch, I feel the tension build, not just in my muscles, but in the space between us.

"Good form," he says during a brief pause, his hand brushing mine as he adjusts my wrist. It's an innocent touch, but it leaves a trail of fire in its wake. I nod, trying to focus on the workout, not on how close he is, or the way my heart races beyond the exertion.

"Trying to impress someone?" The sneer in Dane's voice cuts through the haze of my concentration. I turn to find him leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, a smirk plastered on his face.

"Only myself," I retort, meeting his challenge head-on. Dane has always been a thorn in my side, our rivalry going back further than I care to remember.

"Seems like you're putting on quite the show for Beta boy here." Dane's tone drips with derision, but I stand my ground, clenching my fists tighter.

"Maybe you should focus on your own training, Dane," I snap back, "or is watching others the extent of your skill set?"

Logan's quiet chuckle vibrates through the room, a subtle endorsement of my defiance. Dane's eyes narrow, but he knows better than to make a scene with Logan present. He pushes off from the wall and saunters away, though I know this isn't over; it never is with him.

With Dane gone, the atmosphere shifts back to the charged silence of before. Logan resumes his position next to me, and we continue the workout, pushing each other to go harder, faster. Every glance, every accidental brush of skin, cranks the tension higher, a silent acknowledgement of something brewing beneath the surface.

And yet, despite the intensity, I feel safe here with Logan. In this moment, there's nothing else but the two of us and the unspoken words hanging heavily in the air, mixing with the scents of effort and resolve.

The scent of authority tugs at my senses before the summons does. My pulse quickens; an audience with Ezra is no casual affair. I straighten up, wiping away the lingering sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand, as the intercom buzzes, a pointed reminder that duty eclipses desire.

"Gamma Mia, report to the Alpha's office immediately," the voice crackles through the speaker, impersonal yet laced with an undercurrent of urgency. Logan's eyes meet mine, a flash of concern in their depths that he quickly masks with a nod of encouragement.

"Better not keep Ezra waiting," he murmurs, and there's a hint of something unsaid passing between us — a silent promise or perhaps a shared apprehension.

I push off from the weight bench, my muscles protesting the sudden movement after the intense session. The gym falls away, swallowed by the long corridor that leads to the heart of our clandestine pack's command center. My footsteps echo against the concrete, a steady drumbeat that matches the thrumming in my veins. Each step forward is a step into uncertainty.

Why would Ezra want to see me? My mind rifles through possibilities, but it's like catching smoke — nothing solid takes shape. Has Dane said something, twisted our exchange into a challenge against pack hierarchy? Or maybe it's something else entirely, a new mission, a threat to our covert existence within the city's steel and glass canyons.

As I approach the Alpha's door, a heavy slab of dark wood etched with our pack's emblem, I pause. My hand hovers over the cool metal of the handle, taking a moment to collect myself. A deep breath in, and I taste the familiar scents of pine and iron — Ezra's signature aroma that permeates his space. It steadies me, somehow.

With a quiet exhale, I open the door, stepping into the domain of the Ironfur Alpha. The office is dimly lit, shadows clinging to the corners, but Ezra's presence fills the room like a tangible force. He stands by the window, a sentinel overlooking our urban territory, his back to me.

"Gamma Mia," he says without turning, his voice a low rumble that reverberates off the walls. "Close the door. We need to talk."

And so, the door clicks shut behind me, sealing me within the Alpha's den. Whatever this is about, my fate rests in the hands of Ezra, the one who holds our pack's reins tightly in his grasp. My heart races, but I stand firm, ready to face whatever comes next.