The Beta’s Ugly Daughter

Chapter 18

I forced myself to return to the archives the next morning, despite every instinct screaming at me to hide in my room for the rest of my life.

My body still ached from our encounter under the blood moon, a sweet soreness between my legs that served as a constant reminder of what had happened. What he'd done to me. What I'd let him do.

But staying away another day would draw attention I couldn't afford. The entire pack was buzzing with preparations for the upcoming mating ceremony, and everyone was watching Wyatt and Mira with increased scrutiny. The last thing I needed was people wondering why the quiet archivist had suddenly become unreliable.

I arrived early, hoping to lose myself in work before he showed up. The familiar smell of old parchment and leather bindings usually calmed me, but today it felt oppressive, heavy with the weight of everything I couldn't say. I'd been sorting through ceremonial records for about an hour when I spotted a document that had been misfiled on one of the high shelves. Standing on my toes, I stretched as high as my cursed form would allow, my fingertips just barely brushing the scroll's edge.

Come on, I thought, pushing myself higher. Almost… My foot slipped on the chair I'd been standing on, and suddenly I was falling backward, arms flailing, eyes squeezed shut as I braced for the impact with the stone floor. Instead, I landed against something warm and solid. Strong arms wrapped around me, steadying me, while a familiar hand shot out to catch the document that had come tumbling down with me.

"Easy there," Wyatt said, his voice light with amusement. "Are you all right?"

I opened my eyes to find myself pressed against his chest, his arms around my waist, his face mere inches from mine. The familiar scent of pine and something uniquely him filled my senses, and suddenly I was right back in the grove, feeling his skin against mine, hearing the way he'd whispered my name in the darkness.

Not my real name, Red's name. The mate bond hit me like a physical blow, that sharp, electric pull that I'd felt in the grove, magnified by proximity and memory. My breath caught, and for a moment I couldn't move, couldn't think past the way my body was responding to his nearness.

"Gail?" His voice was concerned now, and I realized I was staring at him like I'd seen a ghost.

"I'm fine," I said quickly, stepping back so fast I nearly tripped again. He steadied me with gentle hands, his touch burning through the fabric of my sleeve. "Thank you. I'm sorry, I was just... the document was too high."

"No harm done." He smiled, that easy, polite smile he always wore around me, and handed me the scroll I'd been reaching for. "Here you go."

"Thank you," I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper.

There was something in his expression as he looked at me, a flicker of confusion that made my stomach clench with hope and terror in equal measure. Did he feel it too? The pull, the connection that seemed to spark every time we were close? But then the moment passed, and his expression cleared, returning to the careful politeness I was used to.

"You're here early," I said, desperate to fill the silence that was stretching between us.

"Had to check on some final details for the ceremony," he replied, running a hand through his dark hair. "Mira wanted to make sure the floral arrangements would work with the altar setup."

The words hit me like a slap. Of course, the mating ceremony. His wedding to my cousin, which was now only days away. While I'd been lying in my bed remembering the feel of his hands on my skin, he'd been planning his future with another woman.

"That's nice," I managed, turning away before he could see the pain in my eyes. "I'm sure it will be beautiful."

"Gail." His voice was softer now, uncertain. "Are you sure you're all right? You seem... different today."

I kept my back to him, pretending to study the document in my hands. "Just tired. I didn't sleep well." That was the understatement of the century. I'd barely slept at all, my mind replaying every moment of our encounter, my body still humming with the memory of his touch.

"Maybe you should take the day off," he suggested. "If you're not feeling well-"

"I'm fine," I said more sharply than I'd intended. "I don't need special treatment."

The silence that followed was uncomfortable, loaded with all the things I couldn't say. I could feel him watching me, could sense his confusion at my odd behavior, but I couldn't bring myself to look at him again.

"I should get back to work," I said finally, moving to the far side of the archive table to put distance between us.

"Right. Of course."

He didn't leave, though. I could hear him settling into his usual chair, and could feel his presence like a physical weight in the room. The mate bond hummed between us, a constant reminder of what he didn't know, what I couldn't tell him.

I tried to focus on my cataloguing, but the letters on the page kept blurring together. Every time I glanced up, I caught him looking at me with that same puzzled expression, like he was trying to solve a problem he didn't understand.

The problem was me. I was the complication he couldn't identify, the disruption to his carefully ordered life. In two nights, he'd experienced the mate bond with his mysterious Red under the blood moon, and now he was feeling echoes of that connection with the cursed girl he could barely stand to look at most days.

But he didn't know we were the same person, didn't know that the woman who'd trembled in his arms and the archivist who organized his documents were one and the same. The weight of that secret pressed down on me like a physical thing, making it hard to breathe. How much longer could I keep this up? How many more days could I sit across from him, pretending I didn't know the taste of his lips, the sound he made when he came undone?

The mating ceremony was in five days. Five days until he'd be bound to Mira forever, until any chance I might have had would be gone completely. I should tell him, find the courage to reveal the truth and let him make his choice with full knowledge of what he was choosing between.

But what if he chose duty over love? What if knowing the truth only made him more determined to go through with the ceremony, to prove that he wasn't the kind of man who could be swayed by physical attraction? What if he looked at me with disgust when he realized how thoroughly I'd deceived him?

The ache in my chest that had been growing for weeks intensified until it felt like my ribs might crack under the pressure. I was running out of time, running out of chances, and I still didn't have the courage to risk everything for the possibility of love. But as I sat there, listening to the scratch of his pen across parchment, feeling the invisible thread that connected us pull tighter with each passing moment, I knew I couldn't hide much longer.

Something had to give. And I was terrified that when it did, I'd lose everything that mattered.