Beta Kael's Rogue Mate

Megan Pov

Clyde yells to me from the kitchen, "Hey, Meg." "It's Sharon's break. Please take table twelve.

I cringe a little bit. I wouldn't say I like the name Meg. However, I pretend to be polite and say, "Of course, Clyde," to him. After that, I quickly grab my apron and take their order.

Like me, Clyde is a rogue. However, it is essentially where the similarities stop. Since he owns the restaurant and humans and wolves use it, Clyde is the only outlaw in the area treated with respect.

He is aware that I detest the term "Meg." But because he's the only one willing to offer me a job and I need the money, I don't call him on it.

He questioned me about my experience throughout the interview.

"None," was my response.

That's my life's solution to a lot of questions.

No prior experience.

Not a pack?

Guardians? Not one.

None, mate.

I hastily return to table 12 to take their lunch order. I'm halfway there when I feel my butt being tightly pinched by two stony fingers. Enough to make me yell. I whirl around a feral sneer on my lips. But the moment I realise who the butt-pincher is, my expression goes blank.

A man sitting at a table with two other men snickering smiles up at me; he has sandy hair and bright green eyes. I recognize this face. He is the local pack's Gamma, and he visits at least once a week to brag about his two best fighters and have pep talks about rogues.

He is attractive. He's powerful. He has a beautiful scent. Plus, he's a complete, unredeemable jerk.

The Gamma looks up at me and says, "Sorry."

Await. I'm sorry. Did the Gamma give me a sincere apology?

Then his grin becomes a sneer. "I mistook you for someone else. As it happens, you are a nobody. My error. That makes him and his friends laugh heartily.

Me, I'm biting my tongue. I bite it, nearly to the point of bleeding, as there's no other way to stop myself from saying anything I may later regret. For far less than a hurtful remark, someone like him would murder someone like me, and not even Clyde would have the audacity to attempt to stop him.

I let him chuckle, said nothing, and went to wait on table 12 since that's what I do for a living. It's The only item I own.

Because I am that way. Meg the Nilpotent.

**

As I'm counting out the register as it gets close to closing time, Clyde approaches and says, "Hey, Meg."

"It's Megan l," I whisper to myself. But he ignores me if he hears it.

Grant me a favour. He displays a manila package that has been well cushioned, folded inside out, and secured with red tape. Please put this away for me.

I clear my throat instead of scoffing. "You know I don't have an automobile, Clyde."

"I see." He sounds almost apologetic. Nearly. "But I'm already running late, and I have tickets to the game."

"This isn't the type of thing I can turn down?" I query him.

With a smirk, he tells me not to keep it and places the envelope beside the cash register. "You recall the location of the drop point?"

"It is."

"A good girl," With one last grin, Clyde darts out the door.

Okay, As an example, I am a kid. For heaven's sake, I'm twenty, not that anybody is aware of it or gives a damn.

After fifteen minutes, I close the dining room door, switch off the lights, and enter the balmy spring evening. That's when I realise I'm still wearing my apron over my "uniform," which consists of only a black pair of slacks and black shoes with a white t-shirt underneath. At least I'm done for the day, even if I swear my hair will always smell like hamburgers and fries.

Or almost completed. Just one task to do.

Clyde's monthly donation to the local pack is in a thickly filled envelope, sealed with red tape. He agreed with their Alpha years ago to establish and run a cafe in their territory, promising them a calm environment free from violence and strife in exchange for his monthly payment.

It's three miles from the drop point. Fortunately, I like running and am relatively quick, so I go that way. If I shifted, I could run much faster, but what would I do with the envelope? Have I spoken it aloud to myself? It would then be completely soaked. Not to add that the Alpha himself may show up and inquire as to whether the money was tampered with if the red tape broke.

Feeling the wind in my hair, I run in human shape. And I daydream when I run. It may seem nerdy, but that doesn't bother me. All you have to cling to when you have nothing is hope. I withdraw into my thoughts and relive the enchanted fantasy I've had since turning eighteen: that I would meet the person I could call my own, and he would carry me away from this place and whisk me away.

My charming prince.

My ideal fulfilled life.

My friend.

It is, of course, just a fantasy. After working at the restaurant for two years, I've probably had at least one encounter with every male wolf within fifty miles. I'm sure he's out there, someplace. I'm not sure, however, but "somewhere" maybe Sri Lanka.

I drop to a trotting speed, realising that this is a new road I'm on and not because I'm tired. By this time, I should be nearly at the drop point. Usually, I jog along a route through the shorter park, but this trail is made of old dirt instead of pavement, and the trees that line it are more significant, bushier, and less well-maintained than they should be.

Did I turn the wrong way? Was I lost in my thoughts to the point that I failed to see my direction? God, where have I gone?

If most females discovered they were wandering in the woods alone at night, I imagine they would become terrified. Nonetheless, I like the night and find my vision sharper during the day. My night vision is so acute that I can see the mark clearly on a neighbouring tree.

It would seem to any human as an oddly coloured, crooked knot. However, it looks like a brown paw print to my excellent eyesight.

I mumble, "Oh crap," and a moment later I smell something. It's the distinct scent of a wolf.

I've ventured into the domain of the pack. And I've fed the conceited Gamma enough lunches to know that a trespassing rogue faces arrest or execution.

A second later, the roar that breaks my reverie is enough to get my legs moving again. A howl's tone and pitch may convey a multitude of meanings, but that particular howl gives me chills down my spine and gives me a boost in the step because it can only mean one thing: I'm being pursued.

After plunging down the route for a few yards, I understand how foolish it would be for me to continue pursuing it. That would be like attempting to escape from prison by rushing to the front door.

I stray between two trees and off the well-travelled route. Something rustles quickly and much too near for comfort. My assailant is closing the gap.

I keep sprinting, my survival instincts activating, my head going into overdrive.

To my right, movement. One more rustle. One more runner.

My heart begins to race. I can't quit even if my lungs hurt. For me, this cannot be how it ends.

The next howl is getting closer; in fact, it sounds so near that my mind is buzzing with anxiety. It hurts to realise I'm making enough noise to wake the whole forest as I smash through the trees.

I hear someone else panting, so I take a risk and look over my shoulder. Hot on my trail comes a massive wolf with sable-coloured fur. I can feel his scorching breath on my calves in only two steps.

I attempt to accelerate quickly, but the wolf jumps. He leaps over me with a substantial leap and lands elegantly a few steps ahead of me, preventing me from making a move.

With malice in his eyes, the wolf chases me, and I freeze.

In an instant, I decide on something.

To be more precise, I make a split-second, really dumb judgement.

I charge forward instead of halting, and I kick out my right leg just before I hit the wall of fur and muscle in front of me. My black shoe makes firm contact with the wolf's mane. I keep going while he yells and rolls.

You moron! I give myself a mental scream. You hurt one of them off! You're no longer alive!

I have lost whatever opportunity I could have had to defend myself. All I can do is try to cross the border before they find me. I hope that they quit trying to see me.

Whoa! My dishrag!

With my free hand, I rip at the knotted threads around my waist as I run. Though absurd, the strategy could be sufficiently ridiculous to succeed. I pull off the apron and throw it to my right.

I then turned left.

But then I see a towering guy standing before me, and I stop dead.

His face and hair are dark as he glares down at me. His eyes glared. A sneer curved a lip.

And although I realise it's a strange notion, at that very time, my mind went into overdrive, and I thought, Well, at least I'll be murdered by the most gorgeous guy I've ever seen.

He's wearing a white t-shirt that seems to gleam in the moonlight and black pants. The short sleeves push up against impressive biceps crisscrossed with dark tattoos that are difficult for me to make out.

I can't seem to move because I can sense how furious he is.

I glimpse his eyes as he tilts his head slightly, perhaps in an attempt to make sense of things. Staring into them is like floating on a summertime, crystal-clear lake. They're blue but outrageously blue.

Hey, who are you? He growls in a scratchy voice, and I find myself backing away since I can tell he's expecting a response.

Thus, maybe he won't murder me at first.

"I-I didn't intend to trespass," I mumble, terrified and sweating through my clothing.

He growls and moves closer to me, saying, "But you did transgress." "You are an outlaw."

Not merely fear is causing my heart to beat quickly. I'm unable to identify it; it's something else. It's a weird thrill that makes my wolf sit up.

"Yes, I do, but it's not what you think," I stammeringly attempt to clarify. "I wasn't intending to come here."

"If it was an error, you ought not to have fled," His eyes narrowed in my direction.

I swallow and confess, drizzling my chapped lips, "Yeah. True enough. To defend myself, however, I just-I made a flying gesture with my hands-ran because I feared you were going to murder me for trespassing.

With a narrowed gaze, he asks, "Do you find this funny?"

Slowly, I reply, "No." "I'm afraid." However, I find that I speak a lot when I'm afraid, and you're frightening, so I worry that you could still murder me.

I think I saw the corner of his mouth quiver for a second.

At last, he replies, "You're behaving fairly guilty."

"Defence mechanism," I responded right away. "That's my face."

He pauses a few steps away from me and says, "Okay," "Give me a solid excuse not to murder you. Why have you come to this area?

I blink, feeling as if part of the terror has subsided, and I realise why I am really in this circumstance. Me

Extend the bundle.

"I needed to give something away," I'm starting to get a little anxious again regarding your Alpha.

"Is this what?" As he approaches, his voice becomes harsher.

His aroma intensifies. Stimulating. Abruptly, I am pretty embarrassed by my greasy stench, and I'm starting to have an odd constriction in my chest.

I struggle to speak, but I'm unable to.

Alright? With a raised eyebrow, his eyes gleam.

"D-Diner," I stutter, suddenly feeling quite overwhelmed. "From the cafe."

He grabs the parcel. His finger brushes against mine as he does.

From the base of my head to my feet, an electric sensation shivers down my spine, weakening my knees. I briefly felt dreg. The man pulls back his hand as if I had burnt him.

Gosh, oh gosh.

He also sensed it.

I have been following it all this time. I wonder if it will ever occur.

I dare to see his too-blue eyes. I look shocked, but his eyes become even more intense and enraged, the hint of humour vanishing, as if I've just spoken the worst imaginable.

I found him. I've met my soulmate. And there's nothing but hatred and rage in his eyes.

Megan POV

I wait for the hit to land as I shut my eyes.

Instead, I sense the box being yanked from my grasp. He's taken several steps backward, away from me, as if being too near to me may harm him when I open my eyes again.

He seems as angry as ever but also a little bit confused. He seems unsure what to do as he glances left, right, and finally down at the box.

Yes, both of us.

"You," he replies, a snarl in his deep voice. You kicked me.

I see-in sable hair.

Regrets. I managed to add, "I was afraid." "I mean, I'm afraid."

It seems unreal all of a sudden. As if the mysterious, seductive, scary, gorgeous, and deadly stranger before me isn't my partner, and I'm not wandering in the woods at night.

Let me know your name. He asks it bluntly as if it were a demand rather than a question.

"Oh, Meg,"

Meg??? How come I said that? That moniker bothers me!

He looks at me for a long time, and after that, I understand that none of us knows what to do.

Then, for the only time, he pokes his chin out over my shoulder.

Is he... Is he requesting that I leave? Can I leave him now?

He doesn't have to tell me again, however!

I had to push back the tears from his azure eyes. I flee, turning my back on my friend.

**

All the way home, I ran. I keep going till I reach the front door of my modest two-bedroom ranch-style home. I don't stop once.

After making sure the door is locked behind me, I virtually pass out, holding my chest in. The whirlwind in the woods exhausted me, not the run.

"Hello," a voice from behind me says. My brother Ben was seated on the couch, but I was too focused on getting inside securely to pay attention to him. He's wearing a headset around his neck and is holding a gaming controller. "Jeez, Bel, you look like trash," he adds, furrowing his nose in my direction.

"You too, Ben, thank you." I exhale. Ben, who is five years my senior, was my guardian until I became eighteen. He essentially raised me. Therefore, he's the only person I have in the world. In addition, he is the only one who can call me Bel, which makes us "Ben and Bel," which he finds amusing.

"Have a rough night?" he inquired, un-pausing his game.

It's possible to say that. I collapse onto the sofa next to him. "Have you eaten?"

"Mm-hmm," he responds. "Burrito is frozen."

"That isn't genuine food, Ben."

"That's strange since I enjoyed it."

I exhale. Naturally, I would want to tell him everything, including the misplaced drop, being lost, being pursued, almost dying, and meeting. However, speaking it all out loud seems draining, and I'm already worn out. Ben becomes quite protective of me, so he would want to find out who this person is. He would also probably have some harsh words for Clyde for putting me on such a risky mission in the first place.

I tell them, "I'm going to take a lengthy shower," instead.

He tells me, "It's probably an excellent idea." "Your hair is covered with leaves."

I sarcastically thank Ben as I struggle to get off the sofa.

"Bel, you're welcome."

I go into my little bedroom down the hall to change into my new clothing, and I grin to discover my bed fully loaded with freshly laundered garments. Ben is an excellent sibling. It's just been him and me for as long as I can remember. It was too little for me even to remember; our parents passed away when I was tiny. I have images of them, but I can't remember their faces.

For a time, we were housed with an aunt who wasn't particularly kind to us and thought of us more as a burden. Ben helped us out and got us out of there as soon as he was old enough to work. I then started working at the restaurant when I turned sixteen. We eventually saved enough money to buy this run-down small house, and we've lived there ever since.

What happened to our parents is unknown to me. Ben doesn't say he doesn't, at least not that he does. If he does, he flatly refuses to discuss it. We've been outlaws for almost my whole life.

Not a pack?

Guardians? Not one.

Friend? Maybe murderous. That one, let's say, "TBD."

Big brothers, bless the goddess. He's at least with me.

I found new scratches on my skin from the tree branches when fleeing, so I took the longest shower of my life, washing my hair twice and wincing a few times. I'm in the shower when I hear Ben yell, "Bel, you do remember we paid for hot water, right?" and beat on the door.

I had to wipe my palm over the mirror when I got out because it was so steamy. I hold a few hairs up to my nose and inhale. Of course, the smell of French fries is still there, but at least it's blended with my shampoo's pleasant flavour.

I bid Ben good night, shut the door to my bedroom, and tuck myself beneath the covers while my mind races with a hundred other things. I unconsciously browse social media on my phone without really reading anything.

I can attempt to digest everything that occurred tonight now that I've had a shower, am a little more at ease, and my heart rate has returned to normal. And then I realised some frightening facts:

1) Tonight, I had my date.

2) I smelled like I had a burger grease bath when I saw my partner tonight.

3) This evening, when he was attempting to murder me, I met my partner.

4) I kicked my friend in the face to meet him tonight.

5) I was dirty, sweating, and had leaves in my hair when I met my partner tonight.

6) Above all, however, I did meet my partner tonight.

Remembering that I told him my name was Meg makes me moan out loud. Then, realising I neglected to ask him his name, I sigh again.

I sat up straight in bed, realising why he was staring at me angrily. It had nothing to do with my being an outsider in his domain. I was his mate and a rogue, which was why. He realised it, too, as our fingers met, and he must have been quite disappointed.

Would you choose me to be their partner? A renegade server with nothing? It's unlikely that I'll see him again. And he'll probably turn me down right away if I do.

Not like Meg, Nobody would have experienced anything like it before.

I hear something outside my window even as I'm thinking about it. A person wouldn't even notice the little rustle, much less take any notice of it. However, I wake up from my slumber and, after seeing how much of a mess raccoons created when they got into our trash can, I gently open the curtains to gaze outdoors.

I sigh.

I take my hand away from the blinds like they were on fire.

A guy is standing in the moonlight on our little yellow grass area.

I guess he followed my smell. Not that it would have been difficult.

This is it under my roof.

Megan POV

Goddamn, he's even prettier than I thought. I can't help but stare at him even though it's almost impossible to do so. My fingertips brush against the glass as I reach toward the sill, a reminder that I shut the window after showering.

I unsnap it and sit on the ledge, wanting to meet everyone with grace as I open my lips.

After my "hi?" my partner started to frown, his black eyes staring at me so fiercely I could feel it in my chest. Before, he wasn't quite smiling; upon closer inspection, I can tell that his face is more suited for scowling than smiling.

He has stunning cheekbones that make a sculptor cry, even when frowning.

I start to speak as I open my lips to ask him why he's here, but he darts toward our fence and leaps over it with a single fluid motion. The moment he touches down on the other side, he changes, his silver and grey fur flecked with moonlight. Leaning precariously out of the window, I follow him as he dashes into the woods, disappearing.

Okay, so it's official. Arrived, observed, and turned away.

I violently slammed the window shut and replaced the latch.

I've fantasised about my partner for years, hoping and praying they would complete me and give me a sense of belonging.

As an alternative, I feel more lost and alone than ever.

Tears well up in my eyes, but I push them back. Tomorrow morning, I have to get up for my early shift at the restaurant, and I'm too weary to weep. With a sigh, I lie over and shut my eyes in the hopes of falling asleep without incident since I can't enter with a red face and swollen eyes. I can't waste time daydreaming about the future now that I've found my true love. This is an absolute nightmare.

**

The restaurant is crowded at lunchtime with the typical mix of regulars, and while I'm balancing four plates of the meatloaf special, the doorbell rings to announce the arrival of new patrons. There's a single table available in the rear, where I turn to see where they may sit.

The table of packs.

As part of their agreement, Clyde gives the pack a monthly stipend and must maintain at least one available table.

My sense of smell allows me to identify the incomers as none other than the Gamma and his goons. However, I then smelled something that I had only smelled twice before. Thrice yesterday evening.

I turn my head and see my friend following the combatants from the Gamma.

I merely place the dishes on the table and approach the hostess standing at the front of the restaurant with a languid gait due to my exceptional waitressing abilities.

To avert the emotional storm I can feel developing inside me. I take advantage of having to stoop down to get four menus. I inhale and exhale a few calm, cleansing breaths.

I'm at a loss for words with him. I haven't even fully recovered from the hurt of his rejection. Twelve hours after everything occurred, I wasn't meant to have to see him!

Should I act surprised and act like I don't know him, or should I ask him why?

Even at a snail's pace, it takes me approximately thirty seconds to go from the hostess stand to the rear of the restaurant, and during that time, no choices are made.

As I go up to the table and distribute the menus, the Gamma remarks, "Well, if it isn't Miss Nobody."

"Hello," I reply, trying not to look at my partner.

I am not successful. Appallingly. The way my whole body gravitates toward him is magnetic. My flesh cries out to touch him, and the recollection of him physically fleeing away from me makes my eyes weep.

My eyes follow his, and when they do, I feel like I've been punched in the gut. Like I'm a wall, he's gazing right through me. as if I mean nothing.

My jaw tightens with a spark of rage. I ignore my embarrassment. I don't have to make things simpler for him if he disregards me and acts like I don't exist.

"And what can I get y'all?" I ask, beaming at him.

Because I'm doing the same thing as the others, I hardly pay attention to what they say, half mindlessly taking notes while keeping my eyes on my partner.

Although his eyes are irritated by how I'm holding them, he has enough arrogance not to avert his stare and keep making eye contact.

All right.

Act accordingly.

I say calmly, maintaining my tone courteously to avoid setting off the Gamma, "It seems your buddy here isn't ready to order yet." "After you make a decision, I'll return."

I hate him because I can see relief in his eyes. I've become used to it from everyone else. However, the fact that the person tasked with my protection is treating me the same way seems like a knife to my already wounded heart.

"Cousin?" Giggles the Gamma. "You need to learn how to be respectful. Beta is the new pack, Kai Lis.

Everything starts to make sense at this point, and I freeze.

He doesn't need to say anything more at this point. In a pack of wolves, status is everything. My partner does not need to reject me outright. I'm already aware.

"I understand," I responded, turning my head to avoid the guy who was supposed to be mine. I can only conceal the hurt my aspirations and ambitions have caused me.

"Congratulations," I grin, but this time it's all fake.

"He doesn't need your congratulations," sneers The Gamma in my direction.

I turn around and feel the Gamma's fingers tighten my ass, pushing me to hide my heartbreak deep within me, but I don't see anything.

He chuckles, and I wince, saying, "Kael, this is all she's good for." She and other women are only good for a few laughs and an excellent time.

Around us, and my face flushes crimson with embarrassment as tears fill up .

I'm ready to turn to go when I hear a low growl behind me as my hands become tighter around the notepad.

It doesn't take long for me to figure out who's making the furious noise.

I am your buddy.