The Beta’s Ugly Daughter

Chapter 25

Ten days.

The number haunted me as I stood in the doorway of the archives, watching Gail sort through a collection of manuscripts that had arrived from the eastern packs. Ten days until I walked down the aisle toward Mira, ten days until I spoke vows that would bind me for life, ten days until I stopped pretending I had choices.

But none of that mattered when I watched Gail work. She'd pulled her hair back into a loose knot, leaving a few strands to frame her face. When she concentrated, she had this habit of pressing her lips together in a thin line, and right now, as she deciphered some faded text, I found myself memorizing the exact shape of her mouth.

"Are you going to come in, or just hover in the doorway all afternoon?" she asked without looking up.

Heat flooded my face. "How did you know I was here?"

"You breathe louder when you're thinking too hard." She glanced up with that half-amused expression I'd grown addicted to. "What's got you so wound up today?" Everything, you. The way you make me question everything I thought I wanted.

"Council meeting ran long," I said instead, moving to my usual seat across from her. "Elder Morrison had thoughts about the ceremony preparations."

Her hands stilled on the manuscript. "Good thoughts, I hope?"

"The usual concerns about tradition and protocol." I picked up a random scroll, needing something to do with my hands. "Nothing that can't be managed."

"Mm." The sound was noncommittal, but I caught the way her shoulders tensed. "I'm sure everything will be perfect." Perfect. The word sat wrong in my chest, like something I'd swallowed sideways.

"Gail," I started, then stopped. What was I supposed to say? That the closer the ceremony got, the more wrong everything felt? That sitting here with her was the only time I felt like I could breathe properly?

"Yes?"

"Never mind." I forced myself to focus on the scroll in my hands. "What are you working on?"

"Trade manifests from the northern territories. Fascinating stuff." Her tone was dry, but when I looked at her, she was smiling slightly. "Apparently they've been underreporting their lumber exports for the past fifteen years."

"Underreporting?" I leaned forward, genuinely interested despite myself. "By how much?"

"Roughly thirty percent, based on these shipping records." She held up a piece of parchment covered in faded numbers. "Someone's been very creative with their bookkeeping."

I shook my head in amazement. "How do you catch these things? Most people would look at those numbers and see exactly what the writers wanted them to see."

"Most people don't spend their childhood hiding in corners, listening to conversations they weren't supposed to hear." The comment was casual, but it hit me like a physical blow.

"Gail-"

"It's fine," she said quickly. "It was actually useful. You learn a lot when people forget you're there."

The matter-of-fact way she said it made my chest ache. How many times had I been guilty of the same thing? How many conversations had I had in her presence without acknowledging she existed?

"I'm sorry," I said.

She looked up, surprised. "For what?"

"For not seeing you sooner." The words hung between us, heavier than I'd intended. Her dark eyes searched my face, and I saw the exact moment she decided not to push for clarification.

"Help me with these," she said instead, gesturing to a towering stack of bound documents on the shelf behind her. "I need to cross-reference the manifests with the official tax records, but I can't reach the ones from 1848."

I stood immediately, grateful for the distraction. The shelf was tall enough that even I had to stretch to reach the highest documents. As I pulled down the requested volumes, I became acutely aware of Gail standing close behind me, ready to take them as I handed them down.

"Careful with that one," she said as I reached for a particularly thick ledger. "The binding's coming apart."

I grasped it gently, but as I brought it down, the aged leather slipped in my hands. Gail reached up to steady it at the same time I tried to regain my grip, and suddenly our hands were tangled together around the book, her fingers pressed against mine. Neither of us moved.

I could feel her pulse through her fingertips, quick and light. Her face was tilted up toward mine, close enough that I could see the small scar above her left eyebrow, the faint freckles scattered across her nose that I'd never noticed before.

"Wyatt," she whispered, and my name on her lips sounded different than it ever had before, like she was uncertain.

I should have stepped back, should have released the book and put proper distance between us. Instead, I found myself studying her face like I might never get another chance, memorizing the exact shade of her eyes, the way her breath caught when she realized I wasn't moving away.

"The book," she said softly.

Right, the book. I forced myself to take it from her hands, but my fingers lingered against hers longer than necessary. She didn't pull away immediately either, and in that suspended moment, I felt that familiar tug in my chest intensify until it was almost painful.

"Thank you," she said, finally stepping back. I handed her the ledger and returned to my seat, hyperaware of every movement, every breath. The air between us felt charged, like the moment before lightning strikes.

"The 1848 records," I said, my voice rougher than I intended.

"Right." She opened the book with hands that weren't entirely steady. "Let me just find the section on lumber exports..."

She spread the ledger across the table between us, and I moved my chair closer so I could see the pages clearly. The movement brought me near enough to catch the faint scent of her soap, something clean and simple that somehow made me want to lean closer.

"Here," she said, pointing to a column of figures. "Look at these numbers compared to what's listed in the manifests."

I tried to focus on the discrepancies she was showing me, but she'd leaned forward to point out specific entries, and her shoulder was almost touching mine. The proximity was doing dangerous things to my concentration.

"Do you see the pattern?" she asked, her voice soft and intent.

I saw her, the way the afternoon light caught the auburn highlights in her hair. The delicate curve of her neck as she bent over the page. The small mole just below her ear that I'd never noticed before.

"Wyatt?" She turned her head, and suddenly her face was inches from mine. "Are you following this?" No, I was drowning in the realization that I'd rather spend eternity in this small room with her than fulfill any obligation waiting for me outside these walls.

"I need some air," I said abruptly, pushing back from the table so quickly my chair scraped against the floor.

"Are you all right?" she asked, concern flickering across her features.

"Fine. Just... the room's stuffy." I was already moving toward the door. "I'll be back." I didn't wait for her response.

Outside, I pressed my back against the stone wall and tried to get my breathing under control. What was wrong with me? I'd been around beautiful women before. Hell, I was engaged to one of the most stunning she-wolves in the territory. So why did sitting next to Gail make me feel like I was coming apart at the seams?

The answer came to me with terrible clarity as I stood there in the empty hallway. Because it wasn't just attraction, it was recognition. The same pull I felt toward the red-haired mystery woman, the same magnetic force that had been haunting my dreams for weeks. But how could that be possible? Unless...

I closed my eyes, trying to make sense of the impossible thought forming in my mind. The timing of the blood moons. The way both women seemed to see straight through to my soul. The identical tug in my chest that I felt whether I was dreaming of fire-haired beauty or sitting across from the Beta's overlooked daughter.

What if they weren't two different women at all? The thought should have been ridiculous. But as I stood there, remembering every interaction I'd had with both of them, the pieces began falling into place with frightening precision.

And if I was right, then everything I thought I knew about my future was about to change completely.