The crisp clack of Alana's designer heels echoed through the third floor of the Warrior House, a stark counterpoint to the rustic silence. She moved with an unshakeable confidence, her presence demanding attention. Every piece of her ensemble, from her tailored Chanel tweed jacket to her meticulously styled fresh blowout, radiated an aura of unblemished perfection and exorbitant wealth. She didn't mind the curious glances that followed her; in fact, she seemed to revel in them. Alana, the Beta Female, was above everyone save the Alpha family, and she carried that power in every deliberate step.
Alana pushed open the door to Wesley Stewart's office without a hint of hesitation or acknowledgement of his status as Head of the Third stagers. Wesley, despite his physical strength and position, instinctually bowed his neck in a subtle show of submission. He was mildly offended by her blatant disregard for his authority, especially in a hall where every wolf present was physically stronger than her. Her power stemmed solely from her title, a fact he found endlessly irritating given the humble nature of her mate.
"Beta Female," Wesley greeted, his voice even.
"The Beta sent me with a task," Alana stated, her voice cool and dismissive. She reached into her exquisite Birkin bag, pulling out a small, ornately carved box. She placed it with an almost theatrical gentleness on his desk. "He would like to test the awareness of the Wolves in training today. By 4 PM."
Wesley found the request unusual. While testing response times was standard practice, usually for displaying strength or impressing the Alpha, such drills were scheduled during peak activity. Currently, the school was full of newly promoted warriors, making it an odd time. Furthermore, the Beta Female had never before been dispatched with such a message. He felt a prickle of wariness, but he knew he had no right to question her.
Alana smiled, a polite yet undeniably condescending curve of her lips, and turned on her heels. Just before reaching the door, she paused, looking over her shoulder as if a crucial detail had slipped her mind. "Every warrior in training is to respond. Even the first stagers."
"Respectfully, Beta Female," Wesley began, his brow furrowing, "the first stagers aren't equipped to be at the border."
Alana rolled her eyes with an audible huff of irritation. "Of course not. What do they do in an emergency?"
"They're used to secure the inner areas, Beta Female."
"Perfect. When the training is over, the report can be sent to me alone."
"Yes, Beta Female." Wesley lowered his head once more as Alana glided out of the room as swiftly as she had arrived.
Alana ground her teeth as she made her way down the rustic hallway, its subtle, understated charms entirely lost on her. She had one more errand to run before she could finally leave.
Her daughter, Trinity, stood a few paces behind, dressed in the simple black pants and T-shirt of Warrior attire, a stark contrast that highlighted Alana's opulent display.
She assess Trinity standing in the open hallway, looking more than a little irritated at having been pulled from class. Trinity's eyes, usually bright, held a guarded wariness as she faced her mother.
"Missed me?" Trinity couldn't resist the snarky remark that slipped out before Alana could even utter a single word. She knew nothing good ever came with Alana, likening her to a witch on a broomstick, always hoping to encounter children she could torture.
Alana sighed deeply, a performance of long-suffering patience. She yearned for the day her true daughter would emerge from the depths of this rebellious child. "With all my heart," she said, her tone dripping with disingenuousness. She held out a large jar of ointment. "Here."
Trinity took the jar, a frown creasing her brow. "I'm not done with the one you gave me." She found it odd that Alana would provide more cream so quickly. If Boris had done so, she might have thought it an excuse to see her, but this was Alana, which meant nothing good.
"This one's different," Alana explained, her voice taking on a strangely clinical edge. "You need to use it after you shower. And don't let your back see the light after you've used it. You only need to use this one for a month."
"We're always out in the sun," Trinity countered, holding the bottle back out to Alana, a nascent suspicion forming.
Alana gave her a withering look, a slow, condescending smile spreading across her lips. "It's not as if you're actually training, Trinity. Don't be so silly. A few good days…" she laughed mockingly, a harsh, brittle sound. "No one expects anything from you. The best thing you can do is to sit down and try not to be seen."
A flush crept up Trinity's neck. She was momentarily stunned by the sheer venom in Alana's words. "Have I… embarrassed you?" she asked, her voice filled with indignation. She had had some good days here; it wasn't nothing. She had been acknowledged, even topped some of her classes. And Alana had just come here to tell her she was utterly worthless.
Alana's laugh deepened, filled with mockery and sinister intent. "I don't need you to do anything else to get boris into any more trouble—just stay still."
Trinity's ears perked up, her mind latching onto the mention of Boris. What had happened to Boris? Had he gotten into some sort of trouble? Had something she done triggered it? She racked her brain, but she couldn't think of anything. "What's going on with Boris?" she pressed, a tremor in her voice.
Alana merely shook her head, pleased to see Trinity's sudden anxiety. "Use your cream, and stay put. Don't leave the Warrior House." Without allowing Trinity another word, Alana was quick to make her escape. A few wolves were walking past, within earshot, and would have heard her tell Trinity verbatim to stay put. It would be enough for Boris to know she had followed his instructions. Earlier in the day, he had spoken into their shared mind-link, telling her to make sure Trinity was nowhere near the punishment grounds. Now, everything was in place.