Page 42 of Storm
"Would it matter if I did?" She sighs. "When do you need him to start?"
"Immediately."
"You know, Jonathan," she says without looking up, "I always thought you were different from the other alphas. More controlled. More rational." She slides her eyes up to meet mine. "I see now that I was mistaken. You're just as driven by your baser instincts as the rest of them."
"Your opinion has been noted, Veronica."
"For what it's worth," she adds as I stand to leave, "Storm was never going to be happy in a pack of alphas. Perhaps this arrangement with the beta will calm her. Though I doubt she'll be any more obedient."
A hint of amusement creeps into my voice despite myself. "I wouldn't expect her to be."
Veronica's expression softens fractionally. "Good luck, Mr. Kingsley. I suspect you'll need it."
* * *
I find Frankie in the guards'quarters, sitting at a table with three other betas playing cards. He looks up as I enter, his eyes widening in recognition. The other guards quickly stand, murmuring respectful greetings. Frankie scrambles to his feet a beat behind them, nearly knocking over his chair in the process.
"Mr. Kingsley," he says, his voice catching slightly. "We didn't expect—I mean, I thought you'd resigned?"
"I have," I confirm. "But I need to speak with you, Frankie. Privately."
The other guards exchange glances, a silent communication passing between them. They gather their drinks and filter out of the room, leaving me alone with Frankie, who shifts nervously from foot to foot.
"Is this about Storm?" he asks once the door closes, surprising me with his directness. "Is she okay?"
Interesting. His concern for her is genuine, and exactly what I need.
"She's fine," I say, studying his reaction. "Better than fine, actually. She's adjusting to her new situation."
Relief flashes across his face briefly before uncertainty returns. "That's... good. I'm glad."
"I need a beta for my pack," I say, getting straight to the point. "I want you to fill that position."
Frankie stares at me, mouth falling open slightly. "Me? But—why? I mean, I'm just a guard."
"I know this isn’t the way it’s done. But you know Storm," I reply simply. "She trusts you. That's valuable right now."
He blinks rapidly, processing what I'm saying. "You want me to... what? Take care of her? Be her beta?"
"Among other duties, yes."
"I don't understand." Frankie runs a hand through his hair, confusion plain on his face. "Why would you want someone she likes… I mean?—"
Smart question. Most betas wouldn't dare ask it.
"Because right now, I need her cooperation more than I need her submission," I say truthfully. "Having you there will help with that."
Frankie considers this, his expression thoughtful. "Do I have a choice?"
"Everyone has choices," I reply. "But consider what your options truly are. Continue working here, never seeing Storm again, knowing she's alone in a situation she doesn’t want to be in. Or come with me, be part of the pack, help her adjust."
Put that way, it's hardly a choice at all.
"When do I start?" he asks quietly.
"Now. Pack your things. You'll live in the penthouse with the rest of the pack."
He nods, moving to a small locker in the corner of the room. It takes him less than five minutes to gather his belongings—a few changes of clothes, a worn paperback, a small wooden box I don't ask about. The betas here don't accumulate much. They're encouraged not to.
