Gamma's Purpose

Remy

“Let me make sure I’m hearing this,” Banks said, legs crossed, clipboard balanced on one knee as if she could bullet-point me into a calmer mood. “She thinks we’re pranking her. That means you’re going to have to corral everybody and get them on the same page, Mr. Smith.”

She’d switched to the safer title on purpose. Upstairs, with the door shut, it wasn’t necessary—but she was making a point.

“Sean obviously didn’t get the memo that she’s human and not looped into our—” the pause was brief, practiced “—company culture. If he had half a brain, he would’ve sensed it the way Sharlotte and I did.”

The door opened. Sean stepped in, his jaw set, eyes flicking from Banks to me. He’d heard the last line clean as a bell. Silence snapped tight for a beat.

“What was that about my half a brain, Banks?” he asked, trying to keep it light and failing. He took the end of the chaise and sat, shoulders wide, clipboard tucked against his thigh like he needed somewhere to put his hands.

“Enough,” I said mildly, before it could spiral. My authority filled the room without raising my voice. “Banks is concerned about the conversation you had with Ms. Williams at the counter.”

“I didn’t say or do anything wrong, Alpha,” Sean started, reflex over reason.

I lifted a hand. “I know. But you weren’t aware she’s human until you met her—and completely unaware of our pack life.” I let my gaze rest on him until he nodded. “She’s not from here. She doesn’t know we exist, and I’d like to keep it that way for now.”

Banks uncrossed and re-crossed her legs, pen tapping. “With respect, wouldn’t it be wise to keep it that way permanently? She’s an outsider. No reason to add human variables if we don’t have to.”

She wasn’t wrong—in almost any other scenario, her logic would be policy. But there are policies, and then there is the Moon.

“Typically, yes,” I said. “This is not typical.” I stood, a quiet movement that nonetheless rearranged the air. “Round everyone up. All ranks. I need a brief announcement. No intercom—I don’t want Ms. Williams alerted or curious about where everyone went.”

Banks rose without another question, already halfway to the door, the heels of her pumps clicking a neat code. Sean remained seated, eyes on the floor.

“Alpha,” he said finally, voice low. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry if I made it messy.”

“No apology necessary,” I said, gentler. “I should’ve convened this meeting yesterday.”

He nodded once and followed Banks out.

I exhaled. The office felt smaller when I was preparing to say something that would change its shape. I ran a hand over the scar on my cheek—a useless habit, as if the old line in my skin could teach me how to weather the new ones on the inside.

Jacek slipped in a minute later without knocking, closed the door with his heel, and leaned against it like a doorman guarding a secret. “They’re gathering,” he said. His mouth twitched. “You look like a man about to say something both obvious and explosive.”

“Accurate.”

“You sure?” He didn’t mean about the meeting.

“Yes.” The word was iron. Pierce rose under my ribs and pressed his approval through me: Say it. For once, the wolf and I were perfectly aligned.

The conference room still smelled faintly of coffee and dry-erase marker from the morning huddle. Fluorescent lights hummed. A dozen chairs filled, then fifteen, then more—foremen, drivers, accountants, techs with grease under their nails, day-shift Omegas who’d come upstairs reluctantly but respectfully. A few stood against the wall. Eyes settled on me, steadied by habit and history.

I kept it simple.

“Thank you for coming on short notice,” I said. “I know you have work on your plates, so I’ll be brief.” I let the room quiet completely before I continued. “We have a new hire at the rental counter—Holland Williams. She’s from out of town. She’s human. She has no knowledge of our kind.”

A few shoulders eased; others tightened. I saw curiosity comb the room, the subtle prickle of mindlink chatter starting up and as quickly tamped down when Jacek lifted his chin in a not now warning.

“Effective immediately,” I said, “do not use pack terms in her presence. No ranks, no titles, and she will not hear ‘Alpha’ from any mouth while she’s within earshot. With her, and around her, my name is Mr. Smith or Remy.”

I held them a second longer, making sure it—the simplicity of it—landed. “We’ll keep our language clean and our house in order. Questions?”

Todd lifted a hand halfway and then dropped it, not because he was unsure but because he preferred directness. “Mr. Smith,” he corrected himself smoothly, “are you worried about her exposing us?”

The Gamma always chose the hardest question first. It’s part of why the rank exists: to test the edges and make sure they hold.

“No,” I said, and let the certainty carry. “Which brings me to my next point.” I let my gaze pass over them all—Sean’s anxious earnestness, Sharlotte’s calm, Banks’s businesslike poise, the techs’ tight attention, Jacek’s steady presence. “What I’m about to say will feel like news and inevitability at the same time.”

I let the corner of my mouth lift, a crack of the storm letting light through. “I’ve found my mate.”

The room didn’t erupt; it inhaled as one. Then the sound came: a layered murmur of relief, disbelief, and something like laughter. Omegas grinned outright, raw joy bright as currency. A few of the senior wolves exchanged looks that said finally. The younger ones straightened, instinct for order sharpening; a mated Alpha steadies the ground they walk on.

Todd’s face went through three expressions in three heartbeats—confusion, suspicion, hope—before settling into a grin that transformed him. “No…” he said, then louder, almost a whisper you could hear in the back. “Is she?” His eyes went bright.

I nodded. “Yes. Holland Williams is my mate.”

That was the explosion—quiet but seismic. Heads tilted, minds linked, then cut the link because they remembered the rules. The question flowering unspoken on a dozen faces wasn’t what now? but how? I answered it before anyone asked.

“She’s human.”

The silence this time was harder. Fine lines deepened around a few eyes. One of the foremen’s lips thinned. Two mechanics looked sideways and then down, as if the very word human might be a test they weren’t sure they would pass.

I didn’t raise my voice. I let the power ride it. “I believe in the Moon’s hand. I won’t question the mate She chose for me or the Luna She’s chosen for you. For us. I expect the same trust from my pack.”

The words my pack warmed the air like a coal. They knew what I meant by them: not ownership. Stewardship.

“I will move slowly,” I continued. “I will bring her into our world when it’s right—if it becomes right. In the meantime, we protect her ignorance as a kindness and a strategy. You will not expose us. You will not test her. You will not say ‘Alpha’ when she’s five rooms away.” I let my eyes rest on each of them in turn, not accusing, simply binding. “We do this together.”

“Yes, Alpha,” came back on instinct—then a ripple of embarrassed laughter at their slip, and a second chorus of “Yes, Mr. Smith,” softer but sincere.

I nodded. “Good. Dismissed.”

Chairs scraped. Hands clapped my shoulder, clasped my hand. Congratulations, boss. About time. Moon keep you both. It meant more than I let show. The ones who worried didn’t voice it. They would come around or come clean; either way, I’d handle it.

Todd didn’t move. He waited until the room cleared, then stepped forward with the barely contained energy of a man whose purpose had just been named.

“Alpha—” he caught himself and huffed a laugh— “Remy. Let me start building something with her. The Luna-Gamma bond exists for a reason, and we’ve been running without it too long. I can… I can bring steadiness to her, show her that this place is safe. For her.”

Todd’s job—beyond enforcement and logistics—was older than our payroll system, older than the building around us. The Gamma is the Luna’s shield and the pack’s hinge. Historically, he’s the one who turns force into safety and safety into trust, who stands between an Alpha’s fire and a Luna’s gentler gravity so neither consumes the other. Without a Luna, Todd had spent years turning that energy inward—on operations, on discipline, on a thousand little tasks that never added up to the thing he was bred for.

I clapped his shoulder. “That’s exactly what I want,” I said. “Start with relationship. Not information. No pack terms. No pressure. Just be who you are and let her see it. And pass word to second shift—same rules. No intercoms, no jokes. We are clean.”

Todd’s smile was quick and genuine, a man handed a tool that finally fit his hand. “Yes, sir.” His tattoos moved when he flexed—a script of loyalty written in muscle. “And… congratulations.”

“Thank you,” I said, and meant it. “I can’t believe I found her either.”

When he left, the room felt strange in a new way—emptier and fuller at once. Pierce stretched lazily in my chest like a beast after a good run. We did well, he grunted, smug.

“For once,” I muttered.

“You’re talking to yourself again,” Jacek said from the door, amused.

“I’m talking to my better half.”

“Debatable.” He sobered. “You know the Council will hear it through the stone in a day.”

“I know.” I rolled my shoulders, feeling the weight settle where it belonged. “Let them.”

He smiled, wolf-sly. “There he is.”

Todd

I didn’t walk downstairs—I paced it like a measured descent into the rhythm I was made for. When you serve as Gamma without a Luna, you learn to carry your purpose like a folded flag—honored, heavy, out of sight. You wait. You keep the edges crisp. You don’t get sloppy. But a folded flag isn’t the same as one unfurled.

By the time I pushed the lobby door open, my face had settled into something that wasn’t the grin that had tried to take me over upstairs. I didn’t want to spook her. A Luna—or a future Luna who didn’t know she was one—needs steadiness first, not a wall of teeth and joy.

The lobby was the same as always and different from now on: the hum of the lights, the ring of the phone, the tall ficus in the corner whose leaves we kept forgetting to dust. Sun slanted across the front desk, pooling in warm squares on the linoleum. Behind the counter, she looked up.

Holland Williams was small the way a coiled spring is small. Dark waves fell past her shoulders, and her eyes—brown, yes, but bright in a way that said watch me think—caught mine and weighed me without apology. Curves where a man’s hands could anchor if he were invited. A chin made for holding a line. She wore a simple blouse and slacks, nothing fussy. Practical. I liked that. Remy had called her scent sunlight and cedar; even from across the lobby, I caught the warm clean of her shampoo, the faint starch of office air, something sweet like apples from the bowl on the counter.

I took my time crossing to the water dispenser, filled a paper cup, and used the moment to check my impulse to introduce myself with the word that vibrated in my head: Luna. Not yet. Maybe not ever, if the Moon had a different story in mind. But the bond that ties a Gamma to the Luna isn’t a romance. It’s a vow: I will stand. I will make this house safe.

“How’s it going up here in rental?” I asked, turning and giving her space to decide whether to engage.

She smiled, a real one with a tired edge. “It’s not bad,” she said. “If I’m honest, it gets boring up here by myself sometimes.”

“Believe it,” I said, stepping to the counter and keeping my hands visible, my posture easy. “You’re always welcome in the back. We don’t bite.” A wink threatened. I strangled it. “Name’s Todd. Operations Supervisor on second shift.” I offered my hand.

She hesitated a sliver and then gave me a quick, polite shake. Her palm was warm and dry, grip firmer than I expected from her size. “Holland. Nice to meet you.” The corner of her mouth lifted. “And thanks for the invite, but I don’t think I fit in back there.”

“Can’t blame you,” I said, because being honest helps more than selling a dream. “Shops can be loud, greasy, and hey—we’ve got some characters. But they’re good people. And if you ever want a tour, I’ll make sure you get the clean version.”

Her laugh was small and surprised. Good. “I’ll stick to the clean version.”

“I come in around noon,” I added. “Eat before I clock in. If you ever want to sit for ten and vent about a customer or a form that doesn’t make sense, I’m decent company and a better listener.”

“That,” she said with a rueful sigh, “is very true. The ‘demanding clients’ part, I mean.” She wiggled her mouse and glanced at the screen. “Some days it feels like everyone thinks I keep spare trucks under the counter.”

“They do,” I said solemnly. “Right next to the free money and the patience jar.”

Her laugh came easier this time. The sound hit me in the chest—a quiet bell. This was it. The work. Not grand gestures. Not werewolf fairy tales. Just the slow building of a bridge a human could trust with both feet.

The front door chimed and a man in a ball cap came in like he owned the floor—swagger, sunglasses inside, car keys jangling as a prop. He leaned a forearm on the counter and gave Holland a smile he’d probably practiced in high school. “Hey there, sweetheart,” he said. “I’m here to pick up my box truck. Should be ready.”

I let my breath go slow. There are a thousand ways to be protective. The loudest usually win you the smallest battles.

Holland’s smile flattened to professional. “What name is the reservation under?”

He gave it. She typed, eyes flicking over the screen. “Looks like you’re a day early,” she said politely. “We can try to pull one from the back, but it’s not guaranteed. If you’d like to wait—”

“Can’t wait.” He drummed fingers. “We pay you people for service.”

I sipped my water, stepped just enough into his periphery that he knew he wasn’t alone with her but not close enough to escalate. “Good afternoon,” I said evenly. “Operations can see what’s movable. If you give me ten, I’ll try to shuffle the schedule.”

He looked me up and down and did the math—tattoos under my sleeves, stance like a man used to being obeyed. He pulled back half an inch. “Sure. Ten.”

“Great.” I nodded to Holland. “Can you print the paperwork? If we can swap, we will.”

She met my eyes, gratitude small but bright there, then turned to click through the system. I stepped into the shop and, without summoning anyone by rank, made three calls, moved one driver to a different job, and asked a tech to bump a tire swap. When I came back, I had keys in hand.

“You’re in luck,” I told Ball Cap. “Spot twenty-three. Fill to full on return. Holland will finish the contract.”

He took the keys with a grunt that wanted to be gratitude and wasn’t. “Finally.” He didn’t say sweetheart again. He didn’t need to. He wasn’t going to.

When he left, Holland let out the kind of breath you don’t admit you’ve been holding. “Thank you,” she said, not effusive, just plain.

“Anytime,” I said. “That’s literally my job.” I tapped the counter. “Pro tip: If you’re alone up here and someone gets… big? Call the shop, ask for me, say ‘Could you check the twenty-three?’ We don’t have a code book, but that’s a code.”

Her mouth tugged. “I thought you were second shift.”

“I am. But I’m around earlier more days than not. And if I’m not, someone will still answer the phone. You don’t have to be the only line of defense.” I kept my voice neutral. No wolf in it. Just a man telling a woman he’d show up when asked.

She looked at me a few seconds longer than necessary, weighing whether trust could be that simple. “Okay,” she said finally. “Check the twenty-three.”

“Exactly.”