Chapter 6 The Alpha’s Gaze

Damien’s POV

I have been standing here for ten minutes telling myself I am watching the perimeter. The perimeter is fine. The perimeter is not what I am watching.

Lanterns swing from every tree branch, throwing warm gold light across the packed road.

Music drifts from the center circle where fiddlers saw away at their strings. The whole pack has turned out tonight. Laughter rises and falls around me like waves I can’t quite ride.

My father moves through the crowd as though he belongs in every conversation. He claps shoulders, tosses back his head when someone tells a joke, and hands out small pouches of coins to the younger families.

“For the little ones,” he says each time, voice smooth and warm. “Snowdon looks after its own.”

A woman with two small boys at her side takes a pouch and presses it to her heart. “Alpha Dexter, you always know what we need. You are the best Alpha this pack’s ever had, truly.”

I watch her eyes shine up at him and see the same thing in every face nearby. Pure belief. I used to have that. I am not sure exactly when I stopped, only that tonight it sits closer to the surface than usual, the space where it used to be.

“Damien,” my father calls across the space between us. He waves me over with an easy smile. “Come join us. The harvest went well this year thanks to all your border work.”

I walk toward him as everyone watches. His hand lands on my shoulder, firm but friendly. His touch feels different after what I see in the courtyard yesterday, him standing half-hidden, eyes fixed on me and Brie.

“You remember Elder Tomas,” he says, turning me toward an older man with gray streaks in his beard. “He was just telling me how the new patrol routes cut theft by half.”

Elder Tomas nods. “Your son has a sharp mind for these things, Alpha. The pack feels safer already.”

I smile genuinely at the praise. “Just doing what needs doing.”

My father laughs, the sound rich and rolling. “He’s modest. Always has been. He takes after his mother that way.” He squeezes my shoulder once before letting go. People around us smile wider, sharing in the pride.

A group of young warriors pushes closer, their cheeks flushed from dancing. One of them, a tall delta named Rowan, grins at my father.

“Alpha, that story you told last festival about the river crossing. Tell it again. The pups keep asking for it.”

My father holds up both hands as if he might refuse, then winks. “Only because you asked nicely. Gather round, everyone.”

The circle widens. Children sit cross-legged on the ground while adults lean in. I stay on the edge, half-listening as my father’s voice paints pictures of old battles and clever escapes.

He makes the dangers sound exciting instead of deadly. When he finishes, applause breaks out.

“More!” a little girl shouts.

He crouches down to her level. “Tomorrow, little one. Tonight we celebrate the plenty we have.” He slips a sweet into her hand and straightens up, eyes scanning the crowd until they land on me again.

I smile and look away first.

Later, near the long tables loaded with roasted meat and fresh bread, I spot Brie. She stands a little apart, helping Mabel carry trays. Her shoulders stay low, her movements quick and careful, taking up as little space as possible. Our eyes meet for half a second. Not long enough for anyone nearby to catch it. Long enough for something to move through my chest that has no business being there. She turns back to her work fast. I make myself look away slower than I should.

My father appears beside me. “The Moonfall girl works hard,” he says quietly, but not quiet enough that a few nearby ears don’t catch it. “Good to see omegas contributing.”

I stiffen. “She does more than most realize.”

He raises an eyebrow, still smiling for the crowd. “High praise from you. Careful, son. People might get ideas.”

Before I can answer, a man steps up. “Alpha Dexter! The new well you ordered dug near the eastern cottages, my family can’t thank you enough. Water runs clean and steady now.”

My father clasps the man’s forearm. “That’s what a strong pack does. We lift each other. Tell your mate I said hello.”

The man walks away beaming. I watch my father’s face stay open and kind. The same face that watched me in the courtyard without a single word. My hands curl at my sides.

“You seem distracted tonight,” he says, turning fully to me. The crowd noise covers our words.

“I’m fine.”

He studies me the way he studies maps before raids. “The incident in the yard the other day. You handled it well. It shows leadership.”

I keep my voice even. “They were hurting her for no reason.”

“Packs test strength. You know that.” He smiles again, softer this time. “But I understand. Sometimes the heart pulls us in odd directions.”

My pulse jumps. Does he know about the spark that still hums under my skin whenever I think of her?

A group of women calls out to him. “Alpha! Come judge the pie contest. Your taste is the fairest.”

He laughs and waves them over. “Duty calls. We’ll talk more later, Damien. Enjoy yourself. That’s an order.”

He walks off surrounded by smiling faces. I stay rooted, watching how easily he becomes whatever they need. Father, leader, hero.

I look at him laughing with the pie judges and something settles wrong in my chest. The man at the courtyard yesterday and this man do not match. They never have. Tonight the distance between them feels wider than the valley.

Rowan finds me a few minutes later, two mugs of ale in his hands. He offers one. “You look like you need this, Alpha heir.”

I take it. “Thanks.”

He leans against the table. “Your father’s in rare form tonight. The way he remembers everyone’s names, every family’s troubles. Man’s a legend.”

I stare into the mug. Rowan is still talking. The words reach me from somewhere I am not.

My father is across the grounds now, surrounded by laughing faces, head tilted just slightly as though whatever the elder is saying is the most important thing he has heard all evening. He is very good at that.

I drain the rest of my ale. It does not help.

“Best we’ve had, no question,” Rowan says.

“Yeah,” I say. “Legend.”

I set the empty mug down and don’t pick up another one.