Beneath the Alpha’s Nose, Chapter 3

I make my way down the hall, sliding quiet as dusk through the hush of the house. Under my feet, the floorboards ache to creak out warnings, but with each practiced step I keep them hushed; every bruised muscle in my legs and back reminding me what’s at stake. Uncle’s training burns in my muscles, but I’ve kept the beast inside most of the night, kept the change at bay, full moon or not. That discipline—the pain, the repetition—it’s turned into something I can hold, a tool sharp enough to cut through the wild edges of myself.

At Leila’s door I freeze, heart pounding in my ears, listening for the scrape of a chair, or the sudden hush of breath from my father’s study. But the house is asleep. All that reaches me is the soft pulse of night. I knock: three sharp raps, a silent count, then two more, a code between two sisters who grew up together.

How do you tell your sister you’re already half gone? I used to believe our knocks meant safety. Tonight, they sound like farewells.

Leila looks like she hasn’t really slept: hair knotted, eyes wide and glassy, already hunting for whatever’s about to go wrong. “Ariana?” she breathes out. “What is it?” She swings the door open and I’m in, locking it behind me with a click that lands like a dropped stone.

Her room is better than mine. Smaller, but every inch claimed: flowers flattened between pages, sketches of charcoal forests lining the walls, little trophies on shelves—a crow’s feather, river-polished stones, an old bird’s nest.

“We have to talk,” I tell her, voice so soft I barely recognize it. “And no one can hear.”

She doesn’t hesitate, laying back down in her bed and patting next to her for me to join. She pulls the quilt around us, old habit; knees knocking together, heads bent close under the blanket. It used to feel as if nothing bad could reach us in this cocoon of color and wool. Now, the quiet is tight with everything we can’t say.

I’m younger by a year, but sitting here, we’re mirrors.

“I heard the council… Father’s arrangements,” I say, tasting the words before I give them voice. “Two moons from now, he’s marrying me off to Isaac Banes.” Saying his name feels like letting him in the room and I shiver.

Leila just sits. It takes a second for the blood to drain from her face—the way fear looks when it’s too big to move fast. She shakes her head. “I thought maybe I could change his mind,” she barely breathes.

“He decided.” I spit it out, rough. “Packs and territory. He thinks he’s making us safe. There was nothing you could do, but I appreciate you trying.”

Leila’s tears come so quick it’s like her body barely tries to stop them. “They can’t… He’s a monster.”

“Worse than that. Do you remember Lena? From Eastridge?”

“Father said we were too young for the ceremony.”

“She ran. The night before the ceremony. Isaac hunted her himself. When he caught her, he broke both her legs so she’d never run again. He made her crawl up the aisle at the claiming ground.” I keep my voice low, flat. “Uncle told me.”

I didn’t need to say which uncle. My sister was the only one who knew of our secret practice in the forest. He’d offered her the same deal before me, only she had declined. Leila had always been more interested in words and nature than fighting.

“That’s not all either. His mates? They never speak in front of the pack. They eat last, always. Last winter, one questioned him in front of everyone. She vanished that night. Supposedly banished, but no one’s seen her. No other pack took her in.”

Every word lands, sharper than fangs. Leila’s sob is trapped behind her hand; she shakes with it. “There’s got to be something. Mother, maybe, or the council—”

“Mother won’t even look at Father. You know that. And the council already approved.” The truth is as plain as hard earth: there’s no help coming. “No pack will risk Isaac’s anger by sheltering me. No one will. There’s only one way open.”

For a second all I hear is the tick of the clock on her wall, the faint wind through the pressed-petal tapestry. I steady myself.

“I’m leaving, Leila. Before they can even announce it.”

It’s only after I say ‘I’m leaving’ that the gravity of the situation really hits me—the sound of exile dressed up as courage. How many wolves have dreamed of running, only to learn escape costs the name that raised them?

I see her mind stumble, trip. “Leaving? Alone? They’ll hunt you down.”

“Alone. It has to be. I can’t drag anyone else into this…” Now the shape of Uncle’s plan feels more real in my mouth. “I’m going to Silverpaw Academy.”

She blinks, trying to catch up. “The combat school? They don’t let girls in…”

I nod. “They don’t accept girls. So I won’t go as one.”

She looks at me for a long moment, and then it clicks—the fear, the awe. “You’re going to fake it. Live as a boy at the academy.”

“It’s the only place Isaac won’t expect. He can’t even set foot on the grounds without an invitation from the headmaster. The school is neutral ground. No Alpha gets past the gate.”

She chews her lip, thinking. “But how?”

“I’ll forge the application. Father’s signature. The seal’s in his study. We’ve helped him write enough of his letters, I know the style. Uncle is going to write me a letter of introduction saying I’m an orphan he took in. No one will bother checking with father if I have that.”

Leila nods once, but I can see the storm of doubt all over her face. We sit in the hush, letting the weight of it settle in. This is the kind of silence that doesn’t get lighter.

Then she says, “What do you need me to do?”

“Help me get some clothes and things. No one would believe me if I suddenly took an interest in sewing. And… cover for me. When I’m gone, tell them you don’t know. Stay safe. Don’t let yourself get dragged down with me.”

She nods, then hesitates, voice tremulous: “Do you really think this will work? What if he finds you?”

I don’t let myself flinch. “I’d die before letting Banes claim me.” I let that truth ring between us for a moment, taking it in for the first time myself. “You’ve heard his stories. I won’t become a ghost in his house. Better to risk everything.”

Suddenly she’s moving, digging through the wooden chest beside her bed. She lifts out a moon-silver pendant, a crescent wrapped around a blue stone. It catches every fragment of light, glowing soft and secret.

“Take this.” She presses it into my palm, closing my fingers around it. “Grandmother said it keeps the wearer safe. She wanted one of us to have it. It should be you.”

I try to argue it, but she’s already tucking the chain around my neck. I let the weight of it settle under my shirt, pressed to my skin. The metal is cold at first, then warm against my skin, like it’s already memorizing my heartbeat. I want to ask if it ever worked for Grandmother. I want to believe it will for me.

“I’ll give it back to you. When this is all over,” I promise.

We hold each other then, arms locked tight, both of us shaking. Her hair smells of lavender, her breath uneven in my ear. I try to lock the moment in my memory as I feel a tear roll down my cheek.

“When?” she finally asks, voice so small I almost don’t catch it.

“On the new moon. Two weeks. Easier to slip out in the dark.”

For a heartbeat her grip tightens, then she lets go enough to look into my face.

“Come back. When you can. Promise me.”

“I promise.” It’s a vow I want to keep. “If I don’t, you might be next in line for his plans. I swear I won’t let them.”

We sit in the hush, neither willing to let go. This might be the last time we huddle together, shadowed by secrets and fear and hope.

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