The Witch and the Beta

Vicky

School hallway.

A narrow stretch of linoleum and lockers that smelled faintly of gym socks and teenage angst.

The children laughed and pointed at me, their voices sharp and gleeful, slicing through the air like little daggers. Me being called the little whale, when all I ever wanted was to be the little mermaid—graceful, ethereal, slipping through life with a shimmering tail. But reality was much worse: short, chubby, and cursed with four eyes, thanks to the thick glasses perched on my nose.

I ran, my sneakers squeaking against the floor, the sounds of boys imitating the squeals of a pig chasing me like a pack of hounds. Their mocking grunts echoed in my ears.

"No...Stop!"

It was when I fell, that the feeling became unbearable, a suffocating weight that jolted me awake.

I was having a nightmare, one of those recurring ones that clung to me like damp fog, seeping into my subconscious night after night. I sat up in bed, my chest heaving, only to realize I’d forgotten that Toby’s arm was draped over me, heavy and warm. He was strong and beautiful, and one of my friends, my best friend.

I gently lifted his arm, disentangling myself from his possessive grip, and stumbled toward the bathroom.

A cold shower was what I needed. I stood under the spray, letting it cascade over me, then grabbed my brush and worked it through my black hair with its bold red highlights, taming the wild strands into something sleek and defiant.

Good makeup followed: a sweep of eyeliner, a bold lip, a mask to hide the vulnerability still trembling beneath the surface.

I finished with a spritz of my favorite perfume, a scent that wrapped around me like armor, floral and fierce.

I slipped into my short V-neck dress, the fabric hugging my curves before flaring into a loose skirt that fell to my thick thighs, concealing my round ass—my full moon, as Toby called it with that lopsided grin of his.

I laughed alone in the quiet of my room, the sound bubbling up unexpectedly.

My breasts had been full since I was ten, a precocious development that set me apart from the other girls. It gave the impression I was much older, drawing the eyes of boys like moths to a flame and igniting jealousy in the skinny girls who whispered behind bony hands.

The time for bullying ended when I became a teenager, when my body—chubby, with a round ass, big breasts, and a full, expressive mouth—transformed from a target into a magnet. It attracted men of all species: werewolves, vampires, wizards, and humans who couldn’t resist the pull of something different.

Toby said I was delightful, a word he murmured against my skin with a reverence that made my heart ache. We had always been friends, tethered by years of shared secrets.

He was the son of a human and a werewolf, a hybrid who straddled two worlds with ease. He’d come to Salem every vacation to spend time with his mother, and we’d let the summers unfold—free and wild, knowing we had each other if no one else came along.

Over the years, we grew bolder, our connection deepening into something fierce and unshakable. He was very beautiful. They all are, those creatures of myth and moonlight.

I was a human, but I lived among other beings in this strange, vibrant world, coexisting with them in a harmony I’d fought to find.

I was raised by Madonna, the owner of a third-rate brothel on the edge of town. She was a woman with a smoker’s rasp and a heart big enough to accept everyone, even an orphan like me, left in the trash like yesterday’s garbage.

At age twelve, I ran away from the nuns at the orphanage in Salem, the capital of Oregon, their starched habits and stern faces suffocating me. I was tired of being dismissed by boys who thought me too much and ridiculed by girls who envied what they couldn’t understand.

But the truth was, I didn’t know where I was going. I just got lost in the city, wandering the streets at night with no sense of the danger lurking in the shadows.

That’s when she found me, Madonna, her sharp eyes glinting under the flicker of a streetlamp. She said she’d never seen more expressive eyes than mine and fell in love, but with the kind of fierce maternal instinct that claims a stray as its own.

She tried to take me to the house I didn’t have, offering me food when I was starving, toys when I’d never had playthings, and a home that eventually became my Women’s Club—a sanctuary I built from the ashes of her legacy.

I spent eight years under her wing, learning the ways of all kinds of people and supernatural beings.

Madonna was the mother life gave me, flawed and fierce, and I loved her with every fiber of my being. She left when I turned twenty, disappearing on my birthday like a ghost dissolving into mist. I cursed her for it, even though I didn’t know the exact date of my birth.

When I was found in that dumpster, a squalling bundle with a few days of life clinging to me, they slapped a birth certificate together: April 12th.

And I kept it, though it felt like a cruel jest.

Madonna—Bad Dona, as I sometimes called her with a smirk—had a wicked sense of humor about it all. She’d laugh, her voice rough as gravel, and tell me I was born to rise from the muck.

I walked out of my suite bathroom like a star, head high, shoulders back, the remnants of my nightmare sloughing off.

Toby was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at me.

We hadn’t seen each other for about three years—he’d been off training with his pack in Nevada, honing his strength, his instincts, his everything. Then he appeared out of nowhere at my club the night before, striding through the door like he’d never left. And it was as if time hadn’t touched us, as if the years apart were just a blink.

He had more muscles now, his body all sharp lines and defined power, but that familiar lust still burned in his gaze—for his chubby girl, for me.

"Good morning, beautiful! "

"Good morning, wolf!"

"Where are you going?" Toby’s voice rumbled low, thick with a hunger that wasn’t just for food. He looked at me, his golden-brown eyes glinting with lust as he licked his lips, slow and deliberate. Those eyes were darkening, I still had an effect on him, even after all these years. "Are you going to leave me here alone?"

"Toby, you’re not Little Red Riding Hood, you’re the big bad wolf," I shot back, crossing my arms and leaning against the doorframe of my suite. "Tell me what you need. Why’d you show up like this, no warning, no call? Wasn’t there supposed to be that mating ceremony? Haven’t you met your partner yet? Haven’t you turned twenty-one yet?" The questions tumbled out, sharp and rapid, my curiosity battling with the unease gnawing at me.

"Little witch, you talk too much early on. Makes me dizzy."

"It's called a hangover, Toby. You drank like hell."

"Look who’s talking—you’re not exactly Mother Teresa yourself," he retorted, a grin tugging at his lips. "And no, I haven’t found my partner yet. Again. I’m starting to think she’s already dead—or maybe the Moon Goddess didn’t bother making one for me. Probably figures a hybrid doesn’t deserve it." His voice dipped, bitter and raw, and for a moment, the cocky werewolf I knew slipped away, leaving behind a glimpse of something vulnerable.

"Really, Toby?" I softened, stepping closer to him. "I’m sorry. I know you believe in true, fated love and you were desperate to find her. But you can wait a little longer, can’t you?"

"And make you wait too?" He tilted his head, those dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath hitch. "We took an oath when we were twenty-two, remember?"

I laughed, a short, sharp sound. "Toby Wilson, I know you. You didn’t just leave your pack, travel two days by bus, to ‘eat’ your best friend and then slink back home. What’s going on? Spill it."

He sighed, running a hand through his tousled hair, the muscles in his arm flexing under the motion. "Debts," he admitted finally. "I can’t get a better position than kitchen grunt. I’m a gamma—a hybrid gamma—which, in your human world, means I’m below an intern. Less than nothing. I’m drowning in it, Vick."

"Well, I’m not the love of your life," I said, grinning wickedly as an idea sparked, "but if it’s money you need, I’ve got you. Enter the show!"

He blinked, caught off guard. "My baby boys are gonna blow the bank with a sexy werewolf? Because seriously, Toby, you were horny last night."

"How was I?" he asked, leaning back on the bed, his voice dropping into a playful growl. "I’ve always been a girl’s dream."

"It was cute back then," I teased, "but now? You’re sexy as hell."

"I missed that full, dirty mouth of yours, Vick," he said, his grin widening, all teeth and mischief.

"Competing with humans is easy, cat," I replied, tossing my hair over my shoulder. "Wolves still show up here sometimes, but you? You put them to shame now."

"Now I eat, baby," he said, patting his flat stomach. "No shortage of food, despite working my tail off."

"Come on, then—dance at my club. You win, I win!"

"Seriously, Vicky? A third-rate nightclub?" he asked, skepticism creasing his brow.

"No!" I protested, puffing out my chest with pride. "I raised the level. Now our audience is women—mostly—and, of course, the gays. Everyone pays well, and you don’t have to do a full program, just dance. Unless you want to…"

"Absolutely not," he cut in, shaking his head so fast I thought it might spin off. "If my father finds out, I’m a dead werewolf."

"There’s four thousand bucks a night," I said, letting the number hang in the air like bait.

"No, seriously? Working all month—"

"Per night, Toby," I interrupted, nodding firmly. "For the main dancer. And some nights, you get more—tips, private parties. Eight thousand, easy."

"In one night?" His jaw dropped.

"Vicky’s done good, huh?"

"What you’ve built here is wonderful, woman! Madonna would be proud of you, wouldn’t she? Her investment in that Advertising degree paid off. Witch, we could get married if you want!" he added, half-joking, though his gaze lingered on me, hot and appreciative. "You were always hot. The boys dated the skinny girls, but they dreamed of you—and that ass that looks like a damn ball…"

I burst out laughing, the sound bright and unfiltered. "Toby, I’ve got some hookups—"

"No boyfriend?" he cut in, eyebrows shooting up. "Seriously, baby, because you look amazing."

"After Alexsander, that possessive vampire Madonna dated, I’m done, " I said, my voice hardening. "I don’t want to know about any man or anything claiming to own me. No boyfriend, no suffocating ‘mate.’ I’m free, and I like it that way."

"No, dear, I have to disagree," he said, his tone gentling. "It’s beautiful to see the love of true companions. Soulmates."

"I don’t believe in soulmates, Toby," I shot back, waving a hand dismissively. "What I do believe in is coffee. I’m hungry!"

"Do you eat like a bird in the morning?" he asked, smirking as he stood, stretching his long, muscled frame.

"More like an ostrich!"

"How modest," he quipped, following me toward the kitchen. "I was gonna say a pterodactyl!"