CHAPTER SIX: Beta Nial

I woke up slowly.

Not with fear, and not with panic, but with a gentle confusion that sat heavy in my chest. It felt like waking in the middle of a thought I could not remember finishing.

The first thing I noticed was the bed.

It was too large, far wider than anything I remembered sleeping on. The sheets were smooth beneath my fingers, warm in a way that felt deliberate, as if someone had chosen comfort instead of necessity.

I stayed still for a moment, staring at the ceiling, trying to understand why everything felt unfamiliar but not dangerous.

‘This is not where I slept before.’

The thought came quietly, without urgency, but it did not leave.

I turned my head.

Stone walls rose around me, pale and clean, catching the light softly. The room was quiet, not empty, just contained, like sound itself knew better than to linger here without permission.

Then I breathed in.

And stopped.

The scent was everywhere, woven into the air so completely that I had not noticed it at first. It was warm and clean, steady and grounding, wrapping around me without asking.

It clung to the sheets, to my clothes, to my skin as if it belonged there.

I did not know whose scent it was, but my body reacted anyway. My breathing slowed, my shoulders eased slightly, and a strange calm settled in my chest before I could question it.

‘Why does this feel… close?’

I pushed myself up on my elbows.

My head felt a little heavy, but there was no pain. My chest felt tight in a strange way, not aching, just full, like something inside me had not settled yet.

I looked down at myself.

I was dressed.

Clean.

My hair lay loose over my shoulders instead of tangled around my neck. My hands were unmarked, free of rope burns or bruises. There were no signs of restraint or struggle anywhere on my body.

That should have comforted me.

Instead, it made the confusion deepen.

‘Someone helped me.’

I sat up fully, the blanket slipping down around my waist. As the sheets shifted, the scent grew stronger, and I became painfully aware of how deeply it had soaked into the room.

It felt personal in a way I did not understand.

That was the word that made my stomach tighten.

I looked around again, slower this time.

There were no servants standing quietly at the edges of the room. No guards posted near the door. No tray of food waiting patiently on a table.

No one.

The space felt private, sealed off from the rest of the palace, as if it belonged to someone who did not need witnesses.

That thought made my throat tighten slightly.

Then I felt it.

The sensation was faint but unmistakable.

I was not alone.

I turned my head sharply.

A man stood near the far wall.

I startled, my hand flying to the blanket without thinking. My heart jumped, more from surprise than fear. He had not moved at all. He had been there the entire time.

Watching.

He stood tall, his posture straight but not rigid, his arms relaxed at his sides. His presence did not fill the room the way Alpha Kael’s had, but it was impossible to ignore.

He looked sharp.

That was the first word my mind offered.

His features were clean and angular, his expression alert and calculating. He was good-looking in a severe way, the kind that did not invite comfort. His dark hair was slightly disordered, as if he had run his hands through it too many times.

But the tiredness showed.

Shadows rested beneath his eyes, faint but undeniable, the kind that came from too many nights without rest. His jaw looked tight, like someone who carried responsibility whether he wanted to or not.

And his eyes.

Pale. Focused. Unfriendly.

They moved over me slowly, not in the way the wolves at the market had looked at me, but like he was measuring something he could not see.

I shifted slightly under his gaze, suddenly aware of how exposed I felt.

He spoke before I could.

“So,” he said calmly, “you’re the omega who slept in the Alpha’s bed.”

My breath caught.

The words themselves were simple, but the way he said them made my skin prickle.

There was no shock in his tone.

No admiration.

Only judgment.

I opened my mouth, then closed it again.

‘I slept here?’

I looked down at the bed beneath me, then back at him.

“I woke up here,” I said carefully. “I don’t know how.”

His eyes narrowed just a fraction, sharpening further.

“I heard you have no memory?” he asked.

The question sounded light, but something underneath it was not.

It felt like a test.

I nodded slowly.

“I don’t remember anything,” I said. “Not before today. Not even my name.”

Saying it aloud still felt strange, like admitting something fragile that might break if I touched it too closely.

His gaze sharpened instead of softening.

He studied my face carefully, as if searching for cracks or inconsistencies.

“No memory,” he murmured. “And no sense of authority either.”

I frowned.

“I don’t understand,” I said quietly, genuinely confused.

His eyes flicked to my posture, to the way I held myself, to the way my voice stayed soft even when I spoke.

“It shows,” he replied.

His tone was not irritated.

It was unsettled.

As if my confusion was not reassuring him, but confirming something he did not like.

The question escaped me before I could stop it.

“Who… are you?”

For the first time, his expression shifted.

His brows lifted slightly, not in anger, but in surprise.

“You really don’t know,” he said softly.

Then he let out a slow breath.

“That explains a lot.”

Heat crept up my neck as realization struck me too late.

The room accepted him in a way it did not accept me. His presence felt rooted here, natural and unquestioned.

He was a high wolf.

I understood it all at once.

“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “Sir.”

“Beta Nial,” he said.

“You can call me that.” He clicked his tongue.

“This pack’s Beta,” he added dryly, “...and apparently the palace physician as well.” His mouth tightened.

“Since the Alpha keeps leaving messes behind and expecting me to fix them.”

He looked at me again, his gaze assessing rather than pleased.

“Well,” he said flatly, “it’s not like you had a choice in any of this.”

He turned away, pacing a few steps as if thinking helped him stay calm.

“He brings an unknown omega into the pack,” he muttered. “Allows her inside. Allows her into his room.”

His voice sharpened.

“And then he allows her in his bed.”

I stayed silent, my fingers tightening slightly in the blanket.

The way he spoke did not sound like hatred.

It sounded like exhaustion.

Like someone used to cleaning up after powerful decisions made without explanation.

He stopped and looked at me again.

This time, his gaze was colder and more focused.

“Sit still,” he said.

I obeyed without thinking.

He stepped closer, stopping just short of touching me. His eyes followed the rise and fall of my breath. His nostrils flared faintly, as if he were sensing something beyond sight.

The warmth behind my ribs stirred.

A quiet pressure pulsed there, responding to his attention.

I swallowed.

His expression tightened.

“You’re burning,” he said.

“I don’t feel hot,” I whispered, confused.

“That’s because you don’t know what you’re feeling,” he replied evenly.

He straightened slightly, his voice shifting into something more professional, more distant.

“You’re a wolfless omega,” he said.

My chest tightened again, as if my body recognized the words even if my mind did not.

“And your energy,” he continued calmly, “is dangerously high.”

The room felt suddenly smaller.

“If you keep holding it inside you,” he said, almost casually, “your body will fail.”

I stared at him, my fingers curling into the blanket.

“If you don’t pass your excess energy to others,” he added, meeting my eyes steadily, “you will die.”

The words settled quietly.

And nothing in the room felt quiet anymore.