MATED TO THE SECRET ALPHA
Chapter 188: Beta Qasas

Chapter 188: Beta Qasas

His gaze was cold, calculating, yet there was a flicker of something deeper beneath the surface – subtle panic.

Beta Qasas.

He was a man of few words, but his actions spoke volumes. Many feared him, not only because of his unyielding strength, but because he was the Alpha’s word.

As he entered the council room, his gaze immediately fixed on the large table at the center, surrounded by trusted warriors and advisors. But today, none of it mattered.

They were doomed.

"When did our merchant friends from the Mainland leave?" He asked. No pleasantries, no beating around the bush.

"It’s been over a month," said another.

Qasas took a deep breath, but a subtle tremble betrayed the iron control he usually wielded.

"Did they leave with an escort?" he asked, voice low but heavy with implication.

"No," said one of the warriors, frowning. "They insisted it wasn’t necessary. They believed they could protect themselves."

"They didn’t trust our kindness." Another spoke.

Fools.

Qasas’s jaw ticked, the muscle twitching under taut skin. "And still, no word from them. No ships returning. No messages carried across the sea?"

A thick silence followed. Only the crackle of the fireplace filled the room.

Qasas’s eyes darkened further. He looked to the far end of the room, where a map of the Southern Islands and the Mainland hung, marked with pins, threads, and ink. His gaze lingered on the wastelands route — that wide, treacherous stretch known for dangers and death in winters. Yet, was the fastest route to the Mainland.

He turned back to the council. "Alpha Snow sent a message. The death of one of them will bring you trouble."

Gasps, discomfort, and panic ripped through the hall as they shifted uneasily on their seats.

Who wants to receive Alpha Snow’s fury?

Absolutely no one.

"We ride out immediately. Prepare the fastest transport." With that, Qasas turned and disappeared through the heavy doors, his cloak billowing behind him like a shadow set loose.

The room was left in stunned silence.

No one dared question his authority – not because he held a title, but because his loyalty to Alpha Snow was legendary, unwavering, and often violent. If Qasas was afraid, the rest of them had reason to tremble.

The council scrambled into motion. Orders were barked, horns were sounded, and within the hour, the halls of the Dark Snow Pack estate came alive with the clamor of readiness and scouts–birds took to the skies on storm-gray gliders, vanishing into the thick clouds overhead.

But Qasas had already gotten into a ship, to cross the sea, his eyes scanning the large sea path ahead. He didn’t wait for the others. He never did.

Time was the enemy now, and if the merchants were dead... Snow would show no mercy.

....

Evening...

The blade still pulsed in the tall man’s hand, warmth seeping up his arm like a heartbeat not his own. The creature’s corpses smoldered in the snow behind him, leaking dark steam that hissed where it touched the snow. But more were coming – too many, and he could feel it as the ground trembled.

He turned at last.

"Form a wedge," the tall man barked. "Drag the caravans back! Get the horses under control or leave them to run... but you will not leave him."

His voice cut through the panic like a whip. It wasn’t loud, but it carried a quiet authority that made even the wounded stiffen.

A warrior with half his face bloodied limped forward, gripping someone’s arm. "Sir, he– "

"I said no one leaves him."

The warrior turned and snapped at the person, "Move it, Wretch!"

The Wretch, around twenty, stumbled back as another beast clawed over the edge of the crevice behind them, and warriors swung into action.

The Wretch – as he’s called – didn’t scream, not yet. His eyes behind the scarf wrapping around his face were wide – too wide to be natural.

He was thoroughly traumatized, from the moment the first monster appeared. And now, one wondered whether he’d ever be normal again.

The ground trembled again. Another shriek split the air, followed by the wet crunch of something dragging itself too fast across the snow.

"MOVE!" the tall man roared.

The warriors sprang into action, dragging carts through the half-frozen sludge, kicking away snarling horses, pulling the dying into tight ranks. Snow churned beneath boots and hooves. Mists and blood rose in gusts.

Yet, the Wretch stood frozen. Perhaps, his brain had also frozen.

The tall man grabbed him by the collar, yanking him behind his own cloak. "You’ll move with me. Stay behind my left shoulder. Don’t run. Don’t fight. If I fall, you run north. Only north."

The Wretch’s lips trembled. Finally, "W– why are you helping me?"

The man didn’t look back. He stepped forward instead, slicing a charging creature clean through the chest with another hiss of steam. "I’m under command."

They walked into the storm side by side, monsters shrieking from the ravine, some spitting fire – fire clashing against ice, the old blade pulsing like the end of time.

...

They reached a ridge where the snow had been churned to red slush. Warriors staggered there, forming a rough semi-circle, blades slick, arms shaking. Some turned as the tall man approached, relief in their eyes... until they saw who staggered behind him.

Wretch.

He was soaked to the bone, his cloak ripped and hanging in strips. The cover on his face had been lifted. His breath came in wet gasps. And his face was smeared with ash and tears, not from smoke – but fear. Unfiltered, ragged, shameful fear.

One of the soldiers sneered. "Figures he’s still breathing."

Another spat to the side. "Surprised he didn’t throw himself into the ravine just to be done with it."

Wretch heard it all. He always did. But now he couldn’t even pretend to ignore them. His knees buckled, and he collapsed into the snow, sobbing – loud, ugly sobs that didn’t match the haunted storm around them.

"Make him shut up," someone muttered.