Mated To The King's Gamma: Abbie Gannon's pin-off story

A Few Weeks Later

The stillness of the hallway presses in on me as I drag the damp rag across the wooden railing. The aged floorboards creak beneath my slow steps. A distant clock ticks steadily, marking the fleeting seconds. My hands tremble as I clean, but not from the morning chill or exhaustion. No, my mind is far from this place, these walls that cage me. It drifts to him, the one I can’t bear to leave behind. Tyson, too vulnerable, and too young, leaves me no hope for his well-being once I am not here to protect him from her.

Through the smudged window at the end of the hall in the backdoor. I see him in the backyard, right where he always is this time of day. He’s crouched in the old sandpit, digging away with a pointed stick, lost in a world of his own making. Little Kimmy sits beside him, her blonde matted hair moving with the icy breeze in the rising light as she pats a mound of dirt with her small hands.

I stood at this very window not an hour ago, watching them play. Tyson’s round face streaked with grime yet split into a grin so pure and joyful that it pierced my heart. A rare sight, that smile. A treasured gift in this bleak place. And now, as I gaze out again, memorizing the slope of his nose and the unruly curls that tumble over his ears, an ache builds in my chest, so sharp I can hardly breathe.

This is the last time I will see that precious face, the last chance to witness one of his unburdened smiles. After today, memories will die with me—blurred images that will dull and fade alongside my last breath.

I squeeze my eyes shut against the burn of tears, curling my fingers into the damp rag until my nails bite into my palms. Each breath shudders in my chest teetering on the edge of a sob. I want to run to him, gather his sturdy little body in my arms and run with him. To breathe in his scent of grass and sun-warmed skin and promise him everything will be alright, that I will always keep him safe.

But I can’t. Because the painful truth is, I have failed him. Failed to protect him from the cruelties of this life. Failed to shield him from the ugliness lurking in every shadowed corner of this place. So I stand frozen, watching my sweet boy through a pane of glass, close enough to see the freckles that dust his upturned nose, yet separated by an unfathomable chasm that feels like it is growing so large it will never end.

Mrs. Daley’s sharp voice slices through my thoughts like a blade. “Rogue!” I flinch, my fingers clenching around the damp cloth as her heavy footsteps thunder down the hallway behind me. The floorboards groan under her weight, echoing the dread that settles in my stomach. “Finish scrubbing that railing, then get to the bathrooms,” she barks, her words harsh as they always are. “The king doesn’t visit filth.”

I bow my head, letting my hair fall forward to hide the resentment that surely flashes in my eyes. “Yes, Mrs. Daley.”

I mutter the submissive words knowing any other words will get me beaten with the cane I want to so badly shove up her scrawny old ass.

I can feel her glare boring into the back of my skull, seething disapproval radiating off her like heat. She has always despised us. To her, I am nothing more than a burden, a slave, someone to take her frustration out on, not that I can complain; she hates Ivy more and it shows with the way she uses her dreaded cane on her; I don’t think Ivy has much skin left that isn’t scarred besides her face.

But for Tyson’s sake, I force myself to stay silent. To swallow the defiant retorts that burn in my throat and numb myself to her cruelty. Because as long as I am here, I can protect him. I can absorb the worst of her anger and shield him from the brunt of her hatred.

So I scrub harder, my knuckles turning white as I grip the rag with bruising force. I picture Tyson’s face, his toothy grin and the way his eyes light up when he sees me, and I let that image flood my mind instead of thinking of the trial that awaits me and Ivy today. Just a little longer.

Because deep down, I know the truth. There is no escape from this life. No happily ever after waiting for us on the other side of these suffocating walls. There is only death.

The click of Mrs. Daley’s heels fades into the distance as I stand frozen, the damp rag hanging limply from my fingertips. A shudder runs through me, shaking loose the paralyzing fear that grips my heart whenever she’s near. Slowly, I turn my head, scanning the hall with wary eyes.

A flicker of movement catches my attention, and Ivy emerges from behind a tattered armchair, her expression solemn but unsurprised. She’s seen this scene play out a hundred times before: The way I shrink into myself, becoming a ghost in my own skin; The way Mrs. Daley scares the hell out of me.

Ivy steps closer, her footsteps whisper-soft against the worn floorboards. “He’ll be alright, Abbie,” she says, even as she glances at the backdoor; I can tell she is saying that to try to ease my anxiety; we both know he is as good as dead once we are gone. “Stop thinking the worst; it won’t help anything.”

I swallow hard, my throat tight with unshed tears. “I can’t help it,” I whisper, my voice cracking around the edges. “Every time she yells, every time she raises her hand, all I can think about is him; about what will happen to him when I’m not here to protect him.”

Ivy’s hand finds mine; her fingers interlacing with my own. “I know,” she murmurs, her voice heavy with understanding.”

“I don’t want to leave him,” I say, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my own heart. “He needs me, Ivy. Without me, he’ll be all alone in this godforsaken place. We’re the only ones who care about him, the only ones who understand him.”

Ivy sighs, her shoulders slumping under the weight of my words. “I know,” she says again, her voice tinged with the same sadness I feel.

I swallow hard, my throat constricting with emotion.

“I need to see him, Ivy. One last time. I can’t… I can’t leave without saying goodbye; he’ll think I abandoned him to her.” The words tear from my throat and crack horridly.

“If she catches you…” she glances down the hall then chews her lip nervously.

“Then go,” she says, her voice soft. “I’ll cover for you. Where has she put you?”

“The bathrooms once I finish here,” I admit and she nods, taking my rag. “Go, be quick and don’t get caught!”

In that moment, I’m reminded of just how much I owe this girl, how many times she’s put herself on the line for me without a second thought, how I’d be dead if it weren’t for her.

“Thank you,” I whisper, the words greatly inadequate but all I can manage.

Ivy just nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Go,” she says again, giving my hand a final squeeze before releasing it. “Before Mrs. Daley comes back.”

I don’t need to be told twice. With a final glance at Ivy, I sneak past the kitchen, my heart pounding in my chest as I make my way down the narrow hallway. The floorboards creak under my feet, each step a risk I’m taking but one that is worth it.

The cold air hits me like a slap as I step into the yard, the wind whipping strands of hair across my face. I tuck them behind my ear with a shaking hand, my eyes scanning the overgrown grass for any sign of Tyson; he’s since moved from the busted sandpit.

There, by the old oak tree, I spot a flash of movement. My heart leaps into my throat as I make my way toward him, each step feeling longer. He’s crouched in the dirt, his little hands digging furiously as he mutters to himself in a language only he knows.

As I draw closer, I can hear his little puffs and grunts of frustration.

“Tyson,” I call softly, not wanting to startle him.

His head snaps up, his wide blue eyes meeting mine. For a moment he just stares at me. Then he’s on his feet, running toward me with a speed that belies his tiny frame.

I drop to my knees just as he reaches me, catching him in my arms and pulling him close. He buries his face in my neck, his small hands fisting the back of my dress as he clings to me.

Tears prick at the back of my eyes as I hold him tighter, breathing in the scent of dirt and sweat. “I’m here,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “I’m right here.”

He pulls back just enough to look at me; his eyes searching mine with an intensity that steals my breath as if he knows something is wrong and my lip trembles.

I swallow hard; the weight of that single word settling heavily in my chest.

His face breaks into a smile; a sight so pure and radiant that it momentarily chases away the shadows lurking in my heart. He presses his forehead against mine; his breath warm on my cheek as he pats my face with his hands; his way of saying ‘I love you.’

I feel the hot sting of tears as they slip down my cheeks; mingling with dirt and grime. “I love you, too, Tyson,” I choke out, my voice raw with emotion. “So so much.”

From the corner of my eye; I see Kimmy watching us; her small face etched with a sadness no child should know. She understands; perhaps better than she should, what today means for me and Ivy.

I pull back, cupping Tyson’s face in my hands as I try to memorize every detail - the curve of his cheek, the dimple in his chin, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. “I need you to be brave for me, okay?” I say softly, my thumb brushing away a stray tear. “Can you do that?”

He babbles something that makes no sense, which only breaks my heart. How can life be so cruel?

A sob catches in my throat, and I pull him in for one last hug, pouring the last ounce of love and strength I possess into that embrace, hoping it is enough for him to understand that I don’t want to leave him. “Never forget how much I love you,” I whisper, my lips brushing his ear. “Never forget that, no matter what.” I pull away, trying to get his full attention.

“Tyson, I need you to listen to me,” I say, my voice trembling but firm. “I need you to be a big boy now, okay? Can you do that for me?”

He nods, his little face so solemn and serious I almost laugh. Almost.

“I have to go away for a while,” I continue, my throat constricting with emotion.

His tiny brow furrows as he tries to make sense of my words. His hands fist my skirt, yanking on it.

I swallow hard, fighting back the tears that threaten to consume me. How can I explain this to him? How can I make him understand that leaving him is the last thing I want to do, but the choice isn’t mine.

“Somewhere far away, but I will always be right here,” I say softly, poking his chest; he giggles, thinking I am tickling him. Sighing, I brush a stray curl from his forehead.

He clutches his blanket tighter, his bottom lip trembling as he leans closer, burying his face in my chest once more.

I hold him close, my heart shattering into a million pieces. “I know, sweetheart. I don’t want to go, either. But sometimes... sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do.”

He sniffles, his tiny hands fisting the fabric of my blouse so tightly I think it might tear.

I stand on shaky legs, my heart shattering with each beat as I look down at his tiny form. His eyes are wide and wet, his bottom lip trembling.

“Tyson,” I say, my voice cracking as I kneel back down to his level. “I need you to promise me something, okay?”

“Promise me you’ll stay away from Mrs. Daley,” I whisper, cupping his cheeks with my trembling hands. “Promise me you’ll try to stay out of her way.”

A sob catches in my throat, and I squeeze my eyes shut trying to memorize the feel of him in my hands, the scent of his skin, the sound of his breath.

“I have to go now, sweetheart,” I say softly.

And then, I release him, rising to my feet on shaky legs knowing if I don’t, I will remain here and take the beating off Mrs. Daley. Unfortunately, that puts him at risk too since she would blame him for distracting me. He stares up at me; his eyes shine with a love and adoration I pray will never fade yet knowing this place and knowing her it will.

“Be good,” I manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper. “Listen to Kimmy and stay out of trouble. I’ll... I’ll see you soon.” I tell him if only he knew it means in another life because I won’t have one after today.

It’s a lie, but he doesn’t understand anyway, clutching his torn and holey blanket to his chest as he watches me back away. Kimmy steps forward, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“You have to stay out of Mrs. Daley’s way. Do you hear me? You have to stay quiet, okay? Stay hidden if you need to. And listen to Kimmy⁠—”

“I’ll look after him,” Kimmy’s small voice interrupts. She steps forward, her chin raised despite the fear that flickers in her eyes. Her hands, usually fidgeting with the frayed hem of her dress, are steady at her sides.

I tilt my head, my heart swelling even as it splinters further. “Kimmy, I⁠—”

“I know,” she says softly, her gaze unwavering. “I’ll keep him safe, Miss Abbie. I promise.”

The conviction in her young voice nearly undoes me as I reach for her; she slams into me, her arms wrapping around my waist.

She nods, her small hands gripping the back of my dress like a lifeline. “I promise, Miss Abbie,” she says, her voice quivering but never breaking. “I’ll make sure he’s okay.”

The weight of her words settle on my shoulders, a burden and a blessing all at once. This little girl, so young and yet so brave, is willing to take on a responsibility far beyond her years. For Tyson. For me.

“You’ve always looked after us. Now it’s my turn to look after him,” Kimmy whispers.

A sob catches in my throat, tears blurring my vision.

“Thank you,” I manage, pulling her into a tight embrace.

Kimmy nods, a tear tracing down her cheek as she peers up at me. “We love you, Miss Abbie. Forever and always.”

The distant sound of Mrs. Daley’s shrill voice breaks through our fragile bubble, a harsh reminder of the reality we face. I pull back reluctantly, cupping both their faces in my hands.

“I have to go,” I say, the words like shards of glass in my throat.

Tyson whimpers, his little hands reaching for me, but Kimmy grasps them gently, pulling him to her side. She meets my gaze, a silent understanding passing between us; she knows what fate awaits him if Mrs. Daley gets her hands on him.

With a final kiss to each of their foreheads, I force myself to walk away. Each step is agony; the weight of their eyes on my back is a physical ache. But I keep going, even as my heart screams at me to turn back, to gather them up and run, to never let them go.

As I slip through the gate, the cold metal biting into my palm, I risk one final glance back. They stand hand in hand watching me go; their faces etched with a sorrow far beyond their years.

“I love you,” I mouth, the words carried away in the bitter wind.

And then I am gone, the gate swinging shut behind me with a finality that echoes in the depths of my soul. I jog up the steps, listening for Mrs. Daley before slipping inside, narrowly making it past her as she exits the dining room. I rush up the steps to help Ivy with the last of our chores, stopping by the linen cupboard to grab some fresh linen.

I burst into the room, my heart pounding from the near miss with Mrs. Daley. Dropping the stack of fresh linens on the lower bunk, I snatch up the feather duster and attack the chandelier, trying to calm my nerves. The urgency of the day weighs heavily; we have twelve rooms to prepare, and not a minute can be wasted.

“She almost caught me,” I gasp out, the fear of the encounter still fresh. A tear escapes, tracing a path down my cheek. I quickly wipe it away, no time for tears.

Ivy, ever the pillar of strength, reassures me from across the room. “He’ll be fine, Abbie,” she says, but I catch the slight tremor in her voice. We both know the kind of person Mrs. Daley is, and my heart sinks for little Tyson.

Trying to refocus on the task at hand, I start stripping the beds, my movements quick and efficient. Ivy pauses and stares at me, her face troubled. “Mrs. Daley... she told me...” her voice trails off, and I can tell she’s struggling to deliver the news.

“What is it?” I ask softly, dreading her next words.

Ivy swallows hard, her eyes meeting mine with a grave intensity. “The butcher will be there. He’s hoping we’re auctioned and not killed.” Her words hit me like a cold wave, and I feel a shiver despite the sweat on my brow.

A lump forms in my throat as I process her words. I try to push back the panic rising within me. “More than my life, Abbie,” Ivy whispers, a solemn promise in her gaze.

The weight of her words anchors me, and I find a shred of courage. “I can’t promise that; not this time, Ivy. I’d rather die than let him touch me again,” I manage to say, my voice cracking. The memories creep up, threatening to overwhelm me. “Don’t make me break a promise,” I whisper, another tear rolling down my cheek.

Ivy nods, understanding the depth of my pain. “More than my life,” she repeats, affirming our pact—a pledge deeper than any simple ‘I love you’.

“No, I won’t allow it,” I stammer

“More than my life,” she reaffirms, knowing Ivy will stand by me no matter what comes and nothing I say will change her mind.

I wipe my tears and nod slowly, my bottom lip quivering as I look at her.

“More than my life,” I whisper reluctantly before turning back to my task.

Ivy responds with a nod, her own eyes misty.

We share a look before returning to our tasks, then we focus on pulling back the heavy drapes, letting in a sliver of cold morning air. As I move to help strip the beds, the physical exertion takes a toll. Mrs. Daley’s inspections are always rigorous, and any mistake can mean the whip.

“Pillows,” I sing out to Ivy behind me as I toss them her way. She catches them and begins placing them on each freshly made bed, ensuring everything looks perfect. We straighten the dark rugs, make sure no toys are left out, and adjust everything meticulously. We can’t afford any mistakes—not today.

With only a couple of hours left and more rooms to clean, the pressure mounts. Today we’re supposed to learn our fate in the town square, a day we’ve both dreaded for eight long years. As the reality of our situation sinks in, I know we might choose to face the lashes rather than be late for the Alpha, whose decision is final.

Rushing to the next room, the routine starts again. Each passing moment has us moving quicker, as we continually glance at the clock, the sinking feeling in my stomach grows. We’re running out of time, with over a hundred sandwiches still to make for the children.

The click of heels on the wooden floor signals Mrs. Daley’s approach. Straightening, Ivy and I flatten our aprons, fix our hair, and stand ready, hands clasped behind our backs. As Mrs. Daley enters, her presence dominating the room, I steel myself for what’s to come. Her eagle eyes scan every corner, looking for any reason to unleash her cruelty. As she inspects the room, I hold my breath, preparing for her verdict.

She begins her inspection, her eyes scanning for any imperfection. I hold my breath, praying she finds nothing amiss.