Chapter 3

Leila POV

I jolt awake before the sun breaches the horizon, my stomach a churning knot of nerves tangled with a spark of exhilaration.  Today’s my first day working in the Alpha’s office, a chance to wield my degree instead of wrestling with Miss Ophelia’s temperamental toaster.

Standing before the small mirror on my dresser, I fuss over my reflection, smoothing the royal blue sundress that hugs my frame, its cap sleeves light enough for high summer but crisp enough to feel professional.  My fingers tremble slightly as I braid my hair and throw the braid over my shoulder, loose strands brushing my shoulders like a soft curtain, glinting faintly in the pre-dawn gloom filtering through my window.  The pearl earrings I was wearing when the pack found me five years ago catch the dim light, their smooth weight a quiet tether to a past I can’t grasp.  I slip on worn leather sandals, their soles whispering against the wooden floor, and hesitate before adding a touch of mascara to frame my eyes and a dab of rose-scented lip gloss.  It feels monumental, like I’m shedding the skin of the foundling kitchen hand and stepping into someone new – someone who might belong.

Pacing my room, the clock’s relentless ticking drives me to the edge of madness, each second amplifying the flutter in my chest.  Unable to bear the wait, I slip out, the packhouse looming silent in the eerie pre-dawn stillness, its halls bathed in shadows that seem to hold their breath.  My sandals echo softly on the polished hardwood, the air carrying a faint chill and the lingering scent of last night’s stew.  At the Alpha’s office, I pause before the dark wood door, its grain rough under my knuckles as I knock.  No answer - obviously.  I roll my eyes at my own nerves, a wry smile tugging my lips. Kai won’t mind if I get a head start, right?  Pushing the door open, it creaks on heavy hinges, and I let out an excited squeak that bounces off the walls.  The office is a chaotic sea of paper - teetering piles of files cover every surface, some spilling onto the hardwood floor in a cascade of crumpled pages and dust motes that dance in the slivers of starlight seeping through the massive windows.  A polished mahogany desk dominates the room, flanked by two black leather chairs that gleam faintly, while a cozy seating area with plush leather sofas and a stone fireplace hugs one wall, its hearth cold and dark.  Near the door, a smaller desk - mine, I hope - sits buried under a landslide of folders, its chair tilted askew.

I grab the nearest file:  Howling Moon Mall tenant agreements, its edges frayed, and ink smudged.  Beneath it, a jumble of unsigned patrol logs, their dates scrawled haphazardly, no rhyme or reason to the mess.  My inner organiser flares to life, a spark of purpose cutting through my nerves.  I dive in, sorting company files by name, then urgency - leases, budgets, trade deals - stacking them neatly on the main desk.  The patrol logs get their own pile, their messy signatures and inconsistent dates prickling my instincts, a faint unease stirring deep within. By eight-thirty, my stomach growls, a loud demand for coffee and something edible that isn’t charred toast.  I step back, hands on hips, and survey the office – less a paper avalanche now, with clear desk space emerging like an oasis.  The logs’ irregularities linger in my mind, a puzzle I can’t shake, but I nod, satisfied with the progress, and head for the dining hall, the promise of Miss Ophelia’s coffee pulling me forward.

Kai POV

I’m dreading another day drowning in the suffocating chaos of paperwork, each unsorted file a reminder of my pack’s disarray, but Leila’s joining us, and the memory of her hazel eyes sparking with excitement when I offered her the job yesterday kindle a flicker of hope in my chest.  Halfway down the packhouse stairs, the worn oak creaking under my boots, I catch up with Dax, his storm scent sharp in the morning air, a grounding constant amid my swirling thoughts.  “Ready to tackle this mess?” I ask, clapping his shoulder, my voice rough but laced with a tentative optimism.

“Good morning to you too,” Dax grins, his eyes glinting with mischief as he sidesteps my playful shove, his boots scuffing the polished floor.  We reach the office door, the dark wood looming like a gate to my personal hell, and there’s no sign of Leila.  “She’s late,” I grumble, a twinge of disappointment tightening my jaw.  “First day, too.”

Dax chuckles, a low, easy sound that cuts through my irritation.  “Give her a break, Kai.  She’s probably still untangling Miss Ophelia’s kitchen disasters.” I push the door open, its hinges groaning, and freeze mid-step, my breath catching.  Dax stumbles into me, muttering a curse, and we both lurch forward.  “What in the Moon Goddess’s name?” I breathe; my voice hushed with astonishment.  The office, once a warzone of teetering files and scattered papers, is transformed – neat stacks line the mahogany desk, organised by company and priority, their edges aligned with precision.  Dust motes swirl in the sunlight now streaming through the massive windows, revealing clear desk space that feels like a miracle.  Leila’s work, no doubt – her degree already proving its worth. Atlas stirs faintly, her wildflower scent lingering in the air like a promise.

Leila strides in, a piece of toast clamped in her mouth, balancing a tray with three steaming mugs of coffee, their rich, nutty aroma cutting through the office’s stale, papery musk.  “Good morning, Alpha, Beta,” she says, voice muffled as she sets the tray on a cleared corner of the desk, her auburn braid swinging.  “Brought milk and sugar – didn’t know how you take it.”  Her hazel eyes flicker with nervous energy, but a proud smile tugs at her lips as she bites into the toast, crumbs dusting her chin.

Dax raises an eyebrow, clearly impressed, his grin widening.  “I hope you don’t mind, Alpha – Kai,” Leila says, swallowing her bite, a soft blush creeping up her neck.  “I got here early and started sorting – company files first, then priority.  The patrol logs were a mess, so I separated them.” 

“Mind?” I laugh, the sound bursting free, shaking my head as relief floods me.  “Leila, you’ve done more in one morning than Dax and I managed in a week!”  She exhales, shoulders relaxing, her wildflower scent blooming stronger, stirring Atlas into a restless pace in my mind.  We dive into the files, the three of us working in a rhythm that feels almost natural, clearing half the desk by noon.  Papers rustle, pens scratch, and Dax’s occasional quips keep the mood light, but Atlas’s unease grows, his instincts prickling as Leila pauses, frowning at a patrol log, her fingers tracing the page.

“Something wrong?” I ask, leaning over, her scent enveloping me, a mix of wildflowers and something deeper, untamed, that makes Atlas whine softly.

She hesitates, her hazel eyes narrowing, a shadow crossing her face.  “These logs…three of Scout Harlan’s reports from the south border have dates scratched out and rewritten, and two are missing signatures entirely. It’s not just sloppy – it feels like someone’s hiding rogue sightings.”

My jaw tightens, Atlas growling low, a rumble that vibrates through my chest.  A traitor in the pack?  The thought sends a chill down my spine, the implications coiling like a snake.  “Good catch,” I say, keeping my tone even, though my mind races.  “We’ll watch the scouts – keep this quiet for now.” 

Suddenly, howls rip through the pack link, sharp and urgent: Rogues on the south border!