The Beta’s Ugly Daughter

Chapter 8

Three weeks of living a double life had turned me into a walking contradiction—brilliant archivist by day, mysterious seductress by night, and completely freaking exhausted in between.

"Alpha Thornwick declared war three times in five years," Wyatt said, frowning at the territorial dispute records scattered across our table. "What the hell was wrong with this maniac?"

I glanced at the increasingly ridiculous list of grievances, then back at his genuinely baffled expression.

"Well, let's analyze the evidence. War One: neighboring pack children were 'too loud during full moon celebrations.' War Two: disagreement over proper fish smoking techniques. War Three..."

I paused, reading the faded ink. "Someone called his ceremonial cloak 'adequate' instead of 'magnificent.'"

Wyatt stared at me like I'd grown a second head. "Are you telling me he started a war over fashion criticism?"

"I'm telling you Alpha Thornwick had the emotional regulation skills of a toddler who missed naptime," I shot back. "Though 'adequate' is pretty devastating when you've spent three months bedazzling a cloak."

The sound that escaped him wasn't his usual polite chuckle—it was genuine laughter that transformed his entire face into something devastating.

"You're incredible," he said, still grinning. "Absolutely incredible."

Heat flooded my cheeks. "It's just pattern recognition—"

"It's brilliance disguised as humor." His silver eyes held mine with burning intensity. "You see things others miss, Gail. You always have."

The way he said my name made my breath catch. Not dismissive, not polite, but like it mattered. Like I mattered.

"We should call it a night," he said, stretching his arms above his head. "You've been at this for twelve hours straight."

"I don't mind." I kept my gaze fixed on the scroll, afraid he'd see too much if I looked up. "I have nowhere else to be."

"That's not the point." His voice carried an edge I'd never heard before. "When's the last time you did something for yourself? Something that had nothing to do with duty or serving other people?"

The question hit like a physical blow. "I don't—"

"You don't know." He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against stone. "That's exactly what I thought."

"Why does it matter?" The words came out sharper than I'd intended.

"Because it matters to me." The confession hung between us like a loaded weapon. "Because watching you work yourself to death while everyone else treats you like invisible help is driving me insane."

I looked up then, unable to help myself. The intensity in his gaze made my pulse hammer against my ribs.

"Promise me," he said, his voice dropping to something dangerously soft. "Promise me you'll do something nice for yourself this week. Read a book you actually want to read. Take a walk somewhere beautiful. Anything that makes you smile."

"You don't have to worry about me."

"Maybe I want to." The words were barely above a whisper. "Maybe I should have been worrying about you a long time ago."

Before I could respond, he was gathering his things with sharp, efficient movements. "I'll see you tomorrow, Gail."

"Tomorrow," I echoed, watching him disappear through the doorway like smoke.

I packed up slowly, my hands shaking as I replayed every word, every glance, every moment when his professional mask had slipped.

Was this how it started? This careful dance around feelings neither of us could acknowledge?

The forest path home had become as familiar as breathing, but tonight something felt different. Wrong.

The shadows seemed deeper, more alive, and the air carried a metallic taste that made my skin crawl.

"Well, well. Look what the night has brought me."

I spun around to find a woman blocking my path—ancient, silver-haired, with eyes that held too many secrets. Her smile was sharp enough to cut.

"Laila," I breathed, recognizing her from pack stories whispered around dying fires.

"Good. You know who I am." She circled me like a predator evaluating prey. "That saves us time for more interesting conversations."

"What do you want?"

"To admire my handiwork, of course." Her laugh was like breaking glass. "You're even more pathetic than I imagined. Though I suppose that was the point."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't you?" She stepped closer, and I caught the scent of old magic and bitter herbs. "Tell me, child, have you ever wondered why your beautiful mother produced such a... disappointing daughter?"

The words hit like physical blows. "My appearance isn't your business."

"Oh, but it is." Her smile widened, revealing teeth too white for someone her age. "You see, I created it. Every flaw, every imperfection, every detail designed to inspire revulsion rather than love."

The world tilted sideways. "What?"

"Your precious mother came to me when she carried you. Desperate, she was. Terrified her child might not be beautiful enough to enhance her reputation."

Laila's eyes glittered with malicious satisfaction. "Vivian Raymond begged me for a spell to ensure her baby would be as gorgeous as she was."

"You're lying."

"Am I? Think about it, Gail. Why can you shift under blood moons but not any other time? Why does your appearance change so dramatically when you transform?"

She began circling again, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You were cursed before you drew your first breath."

My legs nearly gave out. "That's impossible."

"Is it?" She laughed, the sound echoing through the trees. "I enhanced every flaw, magnified every imperfection. Your appearance is designed to trigger revulsion."

"No." The word tore from my throat.

"Yes. Every conversation is a battle for them. Every glance requires effort. Every moment of kindness is them fighting against what I built into your very bones."

The implications crashed over me like ice water. Wyatt's careful politeness. The way he had to visibly concentrate during our conversations.

The extra effort it took him to maintain eye contact.

"The curse can be broken, of course," Laila continued, as if discussing the weather. "True love must see past the surface to the soul beneath. Someone must fall in love with you while you appear in your cursed state."

Hope fluttered weakly in my chest. "Then there's a chance—"

"I made sure that would be nearly impossible." Her smile turned vicious. "True love, child. Not pity. Not kindness. Not friendship. Love. Someone must love you—this version of you—enough to choose you despite what their eyes tell them."

"You're a monster," I whispered.

"I'm a woman who gave your mother exactly what she deserved." Laila began fading back into the shadows. "The question that should haunt you is whether anyone could truly love someone they can barely stand to look at."

"Wait!" I lurched forward, but she was already dissolving into darkness.

"Oh, and Gail?" Her voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere. "Your little midnight meetings with the Alpha's heir? He may want Red, but he could never love what you truly are. The magic won't let him."

Then she was gone, leaving me alone with the devastating weight of truth.

I sank to my knees on the forest floor, my entire body shaking with rage and despair. Everything made horrible sense now.

A sob tore from my throat, then another. I'd been so stupid, so pathetically hopeful. Thinking his concern in the archives meant something real.

Thinking maybe, just maybe, someone could see past my appearance to the person beneath. But it was all a lie.

How could anyone love me when looking at me was literally a battle against supernatural revulsion?