The Price of Weakness

“Declan…” The voice on the other end of the line shattered the quiet morning air. “You should have come with me. Why didn't you come with me?!”

Luna Rowena’s voice broke into a series of jagged, wet gasps. She stuttered over her own breaths, her usual commanding tone reduced to the frantic pleas of a broken woman. “Your father… Your father…”

Declan gripped the phone tighter, his knuckles turning a stark, bloodless white. The early morning sunlight streaming through his bedroom window suddenly felt freezing against his bare skin. The remnants of sleep vanished from his system, replaced by a spike of pure adrenaline that tasted like copper in the back of his throat.

Earlier, when Declan had gone to speak with his mother at the pack office, she had sat him down and delivered a stern warning. She had looked him dead in the eye and laid out the harsh reality of his father’s deteriorating health. Day by day, the great Alpha of the Dusk Moon pack was losing his strength. His immune system was failing, his wolf was slowing down, and the burdens of leadership were crushing his weakened body.

Declan had brushed it off. He had prioritized the delicate girl sleeping in his bed over the urgent needs of his pack.

“Mom, speak to me,” Declan demanded, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribcage. He pushed himself off the edge of the mattress, his bare feet hitting the cold hardwood floor. He began to pace, his voice rising in volume. “What happened to my dad?!”

He needed facts, not the terrifying sound of his mother’s uncontrollable weeping. The silence stretching between her sobs felt like a physical weight pressing down on his shoulders.

“I told you your father is not strong enough!” Rowena wailed through the receiver, her grief morphing into a sharp, accusatory shriek. “I told you he needed you to help him! But you refused to come because of that useless mate of yours!”

Declan stopped pacing. His boots felt glued to the floorboards. The air in the room grew thin.

“If she was strong enough to take care of herself, wouldn't you have come with us?!” Rowena’s voice cracked, the raw agony of her loss bleeding through the speaker. “Your father has been attacked by an enemy! He is dead, Declan! He is dead!”

She delivered the news like a physical blow to his gut. Rowena tried to hold back another wave of sobs, desperate to maintain some semblance of Luna-like composure, but the effort collapsed. The sheer, devastating pain of losing her husband, her fated mate, crashed over her. She cried out loudly, a primal wail of suffering that made Declan’s own wolf howl in sympathetic agony.

Declan’s arm went numb. He slowly pulled the phone away from his ear. The plastic casing slipped through his sweat-slicked fingers and tumbled toward the floor.

“My dad?!” he whispered to the empty room. His eyes widened, staring blankly at the wall in front of him.

The conversation he had shared with his mother in his office replayed in his mind on a relentless, tormenting loop. After she had informed him about the border patrols and his father’s failing health, Declan had firmly stated he wouldn't be able to accompany them. He had used Della as his excuse. He knew he couldn't leave Della alone. She was frail. She was human in a world of monsters. Anyone could target her now that the whole pack knew she was the fated mate of Alpha Prince Declan.

His mother had warned him. She had sat across his desk and told him Della was too weak. She had declared that Della didn't deserve to be his mate because an Alpha Prince required a formidable woman by his side. Someone like Lexa, the Beta’s daughter, who could fight, lead, and defend herself without needing constant supervision.

At the time, Declan had defended his mate. He had let his heart overrule his strategic mind. And now, his father was a corpse.

Right on cue, the bedroom door flung open.

Declan snapped his head toward the entrance. Della walked in, holding a polished silver tray loaded with fresh food. Steam rose from the plates, filling the room with the scent of cooked eggs and toasted bread. She kept her eyes focused on balancing the heavy tray, missing the dark, murderous storm brewing in Declan’s eyes. She didn't see the tension vibrating through his rigid posture or the way his jaw locked tight enough to crack his own teeth.

She strode toward him, a soft, innocent smile spreading across her lips. She reached his side and carefully placed the warm tray on his lap as he sat back down on the edge of the bed.

“Here is your food,” she said, her voice light and cheerful.

Declan stared down at the plate. The sight of the perfectly cooked meal made a sickening wave of nausea roll through his stomach. His father was dead, lying in a pool of his own blood, and here was his mate, playing house.

The grief inside his chest twisted, warping into a blinding, misplaced fury. Anger is often stronger than love, and in that split second, Declan let the rage consume him. He didn't care that this was Della. He didn't care that she was the one woman he had loved his whole life. He was drowning in guilt, and he needed a target.

With a savage sweep of his arm, Declan threw the tray away.

The metal hit the wall with a deafening crash. Porcelain plates shattered into dozens of jagged pieces. Hot food splattered across the expensive wallpaper and rained down onto the rug.

Della jolted to her feet, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. She stared at the ruined breakfast she had spent the morning struggling to prepare. The eggs and toast were mashed into the floorboards. She bit her lower lip, tasting salt, and slowly raised her terrified eyes to meet Declan’s gaze.

The words Lexa had spoken to him the other day began to echo in the hollow space of his mind. He began to correlate those warnings with the tragedy that had just ripped his family apart.

If Della was strong enough to defend herself, he would have left her alone in this house. He would have marched to the borders and attended to his father. He would have fought alongside his Alpha. Like Lexa said, if he was not careful, Della would be the end of him. And she would be the end of the pack.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Della asked, her voice trembling. “Are you okay?”

She was already terrified. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.

Declan didn't answer her question. Instead, he pushed himself up from the bed and walked toward her in slow, domineering steps. He backed her up until her shoulders hit the wall. He leaned down, staring into her wide, fearful eyes with an intensity that burned like acid.

“Della,” he said softly, though his face twisted into a wicked, unrecognizable mask. “I'm going to be the Alpha. My coronation must begin immediately.” He leaned an inch closer, dropping his voice to a dangerous whisper. “Do you have what it takes to be my Luna?”

Della's breath hitched. Her chest rose and fell in rapid, panicked motions. She was terrified of that title. The position of Luna was reserved for great women with brilliant, strategic minds and unbreakable wills. She possessed none of those qualities. She was just a girl who loved Declan very much and would do anything to make him happy.

But beneath her fear, genuine confusion swirled in her mind. Why was he asking such a heavy question right now? Was his father finally ready to step down as the current Alpha? Was the coronation happening today?

She opened her mouth to ask, to beg for an explanation, but Declan didn't give her the chance. He spun on his heel, grabbed his jacket, and stormed out of the bedroom. The heavy oak door slammed shut behind him, shaking the walls.

***

Three Days Past.

Della sat alone in the sprawling, quiet pack house. Declan had walked out that morning and never returned. He hadn't called. He hadn't texted. He left her stranded in a sea of unanswered questions.

She didn't understand why he was so angry. She missed him. She wanted to hold him, to talk to him, to figure out how to fix whatever she had broken. But he had vanished without leaving a single word behind.

Outside the large bay windows, the sound of heavy tires crunching over gravel shattered the midday silence.

A sleek black car pulled into the main compound and parked near the front steps. The driver’s door opened, and Luna Rowena stepped out.

She looked nothing like the polished, terrifying matriarch Della was used to seeing. Rowena didn't wear any of her fancy, tailored clothes. She didn't wear the towering, sharp heels she usually used to command a room. She wore dark, unkempt clothing. Her posture was slightly hunched, carrying the physical weight of a mate bond severed by death.

Inside the house, chaos erupted. By the sharp, barked orders of Rose, the eldest maid, the staff scrambled into the main foyer. They moved with practiced precision, forming a neat, disciplined line on either side of the entrance. As Rowena walked through the heavy front doors, every single maid bowed their heads in deep, solemn respect.

Rowena reached the center of the foyer. She paused, her red-rimmed eyes sweeping over the bowed heads of the staff. The silence in the room was suffocating. Then, her gaze caught an empty space in the line.

She noticed Della wasn't amongst the maids.

A fresh wave of livid rage boiled up in Rowena’s chest. The sheer audacity of the girl made her blood run hot. How can she still think of herself as the future Luna with her weak, pathetic nature? Rowena thought, her hands curling into tight fists. Her husband was dead because of this girl, and she couldn't even bother to show up and pay her respects.

“Where is that bitch?!” Rowena yelled. Her raspy voice echoed off the high, vaulted ceilings.

The maids flinched. Everyone slowly raised their heads, exchanging nervous, terrified glances. Nobody dared to speak.

Seeing their hesitation, Rowena stepped forward and turned her burning gaze directly onto Rose.

“Where is that bitch called Della?!” Rowena’s face warped with ugly, raw anger as she spat the words.

Rose swallowed hard, keeping her eyes fixed on the floorboards. “In the kitchen, Luna. She is preparing dinner.”

Rowena let out a harsh, barking scoff. The sound lacked any trace of humor.

Does she have the effrontery to still cook in this house? Rowena’s mind spun with disbelief. Even after the Alpha of the Dusk Moon pack has fallen, she still wants to eat like a freaking glutton!

Rowena didn't say another word. She marched past the line of maids, her boots thudding heavily against the floorboards. She shoved the swinging kitchen doors open with enough force to crack the hinges.

Della stood near the counter, turning around at the sudden noise. A polite, confused smile started to form on her lips, but it vanished the second she saw Rowena’s face.

Before Della could utter a single greeting, Rowena lunged.

She reached out and grabbed a thick handful of Della’s hair. Della let out a piercing yell of pain as Rowena’s fingers clamped down near her scalp. The older woman yanked hard, pulling Della away from the counter.

Della stumbled, her hands flying up to try and pry Rowena’s fingers loose, but the Luna’s grip was like iron. Rowena dragged her backward out of the kitchen. Della’s knees slammed against the hardwood floor. She cried out again, tears springing to her eyes as the agonizing pull on her scalp forced her to scramble on all fours just to keep her neck from snapping.

“You daughter of a bitch!” Rowena yelled, dragging Della into the center of the hallway where the maids were still gathered.

Rowena had never actually liked Della. She had only tolerated the human girl because of her son’s stubborn obsession. She had accepted her presence in the house to keep Declan happy. However, now that she saw proof that Della was too weak to ever be the Luna of the Dusk moon pack, her hatred for the girl doubled. Coupled with the burning fact that, because of her, Declan wasn't able to come and help his father on the battlefield, Rowena wanted to tear the girl apart.

“Aren’t you shameless?!!” Rowena screamed, her voice tearing at the seams.

She released Della’s hair. As Della gasped for breath, trying to push herself up off the floor, Rowena swung her arm back and delivered a resounding, vicious slap across the girl’s face.

The sharp crack echoed through the silent hallway. The impact threw Della to the side. A deep pang of humiliation and sharp physical pain settled heavy in Della’s stomach as the sting reverberated through her jaw. She lay on the floor for a second, her vision swimming. Slowly, she pushed herself up into a kneeling position. She placed her trembling left palm over her burning cheek and looked up at Luna Rowena. Tears gathered thick in the corners of her eyes, spilling over her lashes and rolling down her face.

“You can still cook?” Rowena stood over her, breathing heavy, looking down with pure disgust. “Even after Declan’s father is dead, you can cook and eat?!”

Della froze. Her heart stopped beating for one agonizing second.

*Declan’s father is dead.*

“I don't blame you,” Rowena continued to yell loudly, her voice dripping with venom. “I see why your parents abandoned you. They must have known you are such an unfortunate child and abandoned you to save themselves. You whore!!”

Della only stared up at her. She was stuck in a paralyzed state between shock and surprise. She didn't believe Luna Rowena would ever speak to her with such vile cruelty, but the words barely registered over the ringing in her ears.

The Alpha was dead.

Now, the pieces clicked into place. Now, she knew exactly why Declan was asking her that menacing question three days ago. He had just lost his father. He was drowning in grief, looking for a strong partner to share the sudden burden of the pack, and she had stood there like a fool. He must have been so incredibly upset when she didn't answer his question.

Della lowered her head, the tears falling freely onto the floorboards. The maids watched in pitying silence, no one stepping forward to intervene.

“Declan,” Della whispered to herself, her voice cracking under the weight of her sorrow. “Where are you? Declan, please come and help me.”

Just then, the heavy front doors swung open.

Declan stepped into the foyer. He had been on his way back from the territory borders when he heard a radio transmission from his executive assistant confirming his mother had arrived at the pack house.

He walked down the hallway, the heavy thud of his boots drawing the attention of everyone in the room. He stopped a few feet away, taking in the scene.

He saw his mother standing tall, her chest heaving, her hands balled into tight fists at her sides. Then he looked down. He saw Della on the floor, clutching her bruised cheek, crying and shivering like a homeless child left out in the winter rain.

Declan knew instantly that his mother had done something bad. He felt the protective instinct of his wolf flare up, urging him to grab his mate, pull her into his chest, and bare his teeth at anyone who dared to touch her.

But the memory of his father’s funeral pyre burned brighter than his instincts.

Della looked up at him through her tears. A desperate glimmer of hope flashed in her eyes. Her mate was here. He would stop this. He would save her.

Declan looked into her eyes. He didn't reach out his hand. He didn't offer a shred of comfort. Instead, his posture went rigid, and his expression turned to cold, unyielding stone.

“Defend yourself in front of my mother, Luna Della,” Declan uttered, his voice echoing with brutal authority. He kept his eyes locked on hers, searching for any hidden glimpse of hope or fight buried within her soul. “You're the next Luna, right? Now defend yourself in front of her.”