Elara’s POV

The morning air in the Beta estate was thick with summer roses and sweeter with anticipation.

Elara sat on the small veranda outside her chambers, a cup of jasmine tea untouched in her hands. Her cheeks still flushed from memory. Her body felt different. Opened. Branded. Her skin still tingled where he’d touched her—her neck, her hips, her inner thighs. She’d woken aching, the phantom of Caelan’s mouth still worshipping her in places that had never known reverence.

But what clung to her most was his voice.

“I’ll come tonight.”

Not whispered in passing. Not in a rush. It had been low. Promised. Sure.

She pressed her lips together, a smile tugging. Gods, what would her father say?

No—she knew what he would say.

The Beta of Blackmist had never spoken of her future with Caelan. Not once. Because he knew the Alpha’s fate had long been sealed elsewhere—in politics, in alliances. Not with her. Not with the daughter of his second.

And yet… last night had felt like more. Like a choice. A shift.

She wanted to believe in that.

Elara stood, smoothed down the soft lilac fabric of her day dress, and headed for the training grounds where her father drilled the warriors every morning.

“Papa,” she called, spotting him overseeing a young male’s sword form. He turned, sweat beading his brow. “Do you have a moment?”

He handed the sword back to the trainee and crossed toward her. “You’re up early. What’s the occasion?”

“I spoke to Caelan last night.” Her voice softened. “He said he’ll come tonight. To see me. Here.”

Her father’s face didn’t shift.

“He said that, did he?”

Elara nodded, a faint blush on her cheeks. “He wants to talk. Properly.”

His mouth twisted. Not quite a frown. Not quite a smile.

“I wouldn’t hold your breath.”

She stared. “Why?”

“He’s an Alpha,” he said simply. “They say what they must. When they must.”

That was all.

He turned away.

But Elara did hold her breath. All day.

That evening, she bathed and scented her skin with wild bergamot and clove—the same fragrance Caelan had once said lingered on his sheets for days. She chose a robe of deep green velvet, cinched at the waist, elegant without being presumptive. The kind of thing a Beta’s daughter might wear when hoping to become something more.

Her chambers were quiet.

Too quiet.

She lit the candles herself.

Set out two goblets.

Poured the wine.

The sun sank behind the western hills, staining the sky blood-red.

She waited.

The shadows grew longer.

Still, no knock.

She paced the room. Checked the time.

Eight turned to nine. Then ten.

Her skin itched. She pulled the robe tighter, crossed to the window.

No footsteps. No howl. No sign of patrols making way.

Nothing.

A soft knock came then—not at her door, but somewhere down the corridor.

She stilled. Her heart leapt.

But it was only a servant girl passing by, whispering with another, giggling. Their laughter cut off when they saw her in the doorway.

“Elara,” one said too brightly, bowing. “Didn’t realize you were still awake.”

The other girl stared until the first nudged her. They hurried off.

Still awake.

The implication burned.

Her throat tightened.

She slipped on her outer cloak and left the room. Her feet carried her faster than she realized—past portraits of long-gone Betas, down staircases that creaked beneath bare steps, out across the courtyard toward the Alpha’s keep.

The guards at the main gate looked up as she approached—then quickly looked away.

At Caelan’s wing, she paused before the two guards outside his private quarters.

She didn’t recognize either of them.

“Evening,” she said, keeping her voice calm. “Tell Alpha Caelan Elara is here.”

Neither moved.

“I’m sorry, Lady Elara,” one said after a moment. “You’re not to enter. The Alpha’s orders.”

Elara blinked.

For a moment, the words didn’t make sense.

“I think there’s a mistake. He told me—last night—that he’d come. He asked me to wait.”

The taller guard glanced at her, his jaw tight. “He left no such instruction. He… isn’t to be disturbed.”

A white-hot crack split down her ribs.

Still, she kept her face composed.

“And you’re certain those orders apply to me?”

“Yes, my Lady.”

No hesitance. No confusion.

Only finality.

Elara nodded once. Not because she agreed—because there was nothing left to say. She turned and walked away.

She made it to the end of the corridor before she heard the guards murmuring behind her.

She didn’t stop.

Didn’t look back.

She returned to the Beta estate like a ghost walking through a dream.

Every eye felt like a blade. Every whisper a nail.

She passed a group of young females in the outer garden. Their laughter stopped cold when they saw her.

She climbed the stairs.

The wine still sat. Unmoved. Waiting.

The second glass gleamed in the candlelight, mocking.

She swept the tray off the table with one sharp motion.

The wine spilled like blood.

The goblets shattered.

She stood in the mess, breathing hard.

Her hands shook—but not from grief.

From clarity.

This wasn’t heartbreak. This wasn’t confusion.

This was the truth.

He had used her.

And now he was erasing her.

The whispers. The silence. The guards. The look in her father’s eyes this morning.

He had known.

Caelan had already moved on.

Elara knelt, picked up a shard of broken glass. It sliced her thumb. She watched the blood bead, bright and red, before pressing it to her lips.

No tears came.

She would not cry.

Not for him.

Not for this.

She rose. Washed her hands.

Removed the velvet robe.

Stripped away every trace of that night from her skin, her hair, her memory.

She stood before the mirror.

Stared at the woman reflected there.

She was no longer the Beta’s daughter.

She was not the Alpha’s anything.

She was something else now.

The woman who survives.

The woman who remembers.

And when the time came—the woman who would burn it all down.

Her voice was barely above a breath.

“Never again.”

She turned from the mirror—

And froze.

A letter had been slipped beneath her door.

No seal.

No signature.

Just one word scrawled across the front in jagged ink:

Beware.