The Beta They Could Never Let Go

Riley's POV

The moment Theo lifted me from the rubble, all those years ago, I fell in love with him.

Theo Blake — a retired legendary hunter, an Alpha standing six foot two, with a presence that filled every room he walked into. When my family was destroyed, when the vampires slaughtered every last member of my bloodline, it was Theo who stepped through the carnage, through the blood-soaked ruin of everything I had ever known, and pulled my half-dead body out of that hell. His affection had always been open and unguarded — warm, direct, without reservation. For me, it was something more: an indulgence without limit, a tenderness without condition.

I came to depend on him. And somewhere in that dependence, something shifted — something I had no name for at first, and then a name I refused to speak.

The feeling was shameful. He was my guardian, my father in every way that mattered. And yet in my dreams, he came to me differently — his body over mine, thick and relentless, driving into me while I twisted beneath him and sobbed, please, slower — I'm so full, I can't—

I woke to the wet ruin of my underwear. I moved quickly, before Theo could notice, slipping into the bathroom to wash the evidence away by hand.

He pushed the door open before I finished.

He took in the scene — me hunched over the sink, scrubbing — and smiled, the way he always smiled, easy and unhurried. "Look at you," he said. "Riley's all grown up, doing his own laundry. Don't you have class today? Leave it, I'll take care of it."

He had always done my laundry. That was simply how things were. But ever since the dreams had started, I couldn't allow it — couldn't let his hands touch fabric that carried what I couldn't say aloud.

My whole body locked up. "It's — it's fine. I'm almost done."

Time passed. I watched him, carefully, the way you watch something you're afraid of wanting. And gradually I began to believe that perhaps he didn't find me repulsive. Perhaps there was something there.

I wrote him a letter. I don't know how many nights it took. I folded it until the creases were soft, and I carried it to his bedroom door, my fingertips trembling so badly I could barely hold it.

I stood there for a long time. Then I reached for the door — and stopped.

The room was dark. Theo sat at the edge of the bed, and he was leaning down, pressing his lips gently to Isolde's forehead as she slept.

Isolde — his other ward, a pureblooded vampire Omega. Her mother had been a gentle woman of the blood clans, killed by hunters while shielding human civilians. Theo had loved that woman when he was young, and when she died, he transferred everything he owed her, everything he felt for her, onto the daughter she left behind.

His voice, when he spoke, was softer than I had ever heard it. "My Isolde. Sleep well."

Four words. That was all it took.

I must have made some sound — my breathing had gone ragged, unsteady — because he looked up. His eyes found me in the doorway. He rose, crossed the room, and by the time he reached me the tenderness in his expression had smoothed itself into something more familiar: calm, composed, the face I had always known.

"Riley." His voice was gentle. "What are you doing out here?"

My throat had gone dry. I was still clutching the letter. My eyes were burning, pressure building behind them, and I forced it back — forced all of it back — and said nothing.

He reached out and touched the side of my face, his fingertips light against my jaw. Then, quietly: "Riley. You don't have feelings for me. Do you?"

It wasn't a question. It was a reminder. A boundary, drawn in the softest possible voice, which made it no less absolute.

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Bit down hard on my lower lip and nodded.

After that, I buried it. All of it — sealed away, untouchable. I told myself it was finished, and for a while I believed it.

But the heart doesn't take instructions. I thought I was done with wanting things I couldn't have, and then Eliot Vautier walked into my life and proved me wrong.

He was a progenitor of the blood clans — over a thousand years old, immaculate in bearing, constitutionally averse to physical contact. He kept everyone at a courteous, impenetrable distance. He visited the Saint Vera Academy on a regular basis to teach a course on the elimination of fallen vampires, and among all the new hunters enrolled there, he chose only me for hands-on instruction.

His long fingers settled over the back of my hand. His voice dropped low near my ear. "When you grip the weapon, keep your hand steady."

His breath was warm against the side of my face. I was practically enclosed in his arms, and I could smell something faint and clean on him — like roses — and then, to my complete humiliation, I got hard.

"Wait — just a moment, I need to use the restroom—"

I made it to the bathroom before anything showed. I shoved my pants down and confirmed what I already knew. I pressed both hands over my burning face and stood there, useless, while his image refused to leave my mind.

I convinced myself it meant something. He had never tutored another young hunter like this. He had bent his own rules for me.

On Valentine's Day, I went to find him — face flushed, letter in hand, every nerve wound tight. I turned the corner toward his office and heard voices. I stopped.

One of the elder vampires was speaking. "You should be thinking about marriage. The bloodline cannot be allowed to die out. That young hunter you've been spending time with — Riley — you wouldn't consider—"

My pulse spiked. I pressed myself against the wall and waited.

Eliot stood with his back to me, his height and build making him look almost carved from something older than stone, his deep red eyes fixed on the middle distance. When he spoke, his voice was unhurried and final. "Bloodline purity is a non-negotiable requirement. Isolde is the highest-compatibility match among those available. When she comes of age, I will take her as queen. As for Riley—" A brief pause. "I've never given him a second thought. The personal instruction, setting aside my usual boundaries — that was purely practical. One more capable hunter to serve as protection for Isolde. Nothing more."

I stood in the hallway and went cold from the inside out.

A tool. That was my function. A bodyguard for his future wife.

The second time I buried something, it went deeper than the first. I didn't speak of it. I let it rot quietly where no one could see it.

I went back to the Hunter's Association after that. My mentor was there — Julian Thorne, the Association's director, the most formidable human Alpha in existence, six foot two, sparse with words and unsparing in his expectations. He was the closest thing to solid ground I had left.

When he saw me walk through the door, he frowned slightly. "Did something happen to you out there?"

My eyes stung. I told myself it was pathetic — it was only a failed infatuation, twice over, nothing worth tears — and I held myself together.

Julian didn't press. He walked over and placed one hand on my back, a single slow, steadying pat. That was all. It was enough.

I wasn't going to let myself want anything more than that. I told myself I only needed to be near him, to exist in the same quiet space. That was enough. It had to be.

It wasn't enough.

One evening after a training cycle ended, we were alone in the office. Julian set down the files he'd been sorting, looked across at me, and said, without particular inflection: "Riley. The way you look at me — it's the way someone looks at a person they want to sleep with."

I dropped my gaze to the floor. "I'm sorry."

I knew what I was to him in that moment.

Before I could recover, he tapped the desk once with his knuckle. "You're unfocused. You're not suited for core operations at headquarters."

He was sending me away. He had phrased it as a professional assessment, which was worse than if he'd simply asked me to leave.

Whatever had still been warm in me went out completely.

I packed what I needed. I left the city alone, and I didn't look back.

Two years. I spent them moving through dangerous territories — hunting fallen vampires, neutralizing rogue werewolves, sleeping rough, eating when I could, keeping myself too exhausted to feel anything. Every emotion, every lingering attachment, every wound I hadn't let myself acknowledge — I pressed it all down and kept moving.

It was during the first year of that exile that my secondary sex characteristics finished developing.

I emerged on the other side as the most unremarkable thing possible: an ordinary human Beta.