A Legacy of Blood

"Declan..." she whispered again. The single word scraped against her dry throat. Tears carved hot trails down her cheeks, dripping off her jaw to stain the collar of her shirt. A suffocating weight pressed into her chest. She commanded her legs to move, but they felt like pillars of concrete rooted to the floorboards. Each step forward required a monumental effort, her vision blurring with a fresh wave of salt and heartbreak.

"Declan... have you forgotten all you said to me?" Della pleaded. Her voice cracked, exposing the profound grief tearing her soul apart. "How can you stand there and talk like this? How can you reject me? You looked into my eyes and promised you would never turn me away. You swore you would protect me. You told me you would stay by my side no matter what happened, you said..."

She choked on a sob, swallowing down the loud, guttural wail that threatened to erupt from her lungs. The pain in her chest morphed into a physical, jagged blade twisting through her heart.

Declan’s expression remained an unreadable mask of stone. He did not flinch. He did not reach out. Instead, he shifted his weight and gripped Lexa’s hand. His knuckles turned white from the force of his hold. A faint tremor ran up his arm as he physically suppressed his own struggling wolf, fighting the innate, biological urge to comfort his true mate.

"You are not good enough for me," Declan replied. His tone held the chill of a winter storm. He averted his gaze, staring at a blank patch of wallpaper so he would not have to witness her broken state. "You're not ready. You lack the strength required for the position that lies ahead of us. I'm sorry, Della, but only love is not enough."

Della let out a hollow, agonizing sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. She dragged herself another step closer, desperate to catch his eye, desperate to find the boy who used to look at her with adoration. "I promised to do anything you wanted, Declan. Please don't push me away... I can't... My wolf... I can't..."

She gasped for air between the fragmented words. Her shoulders slumped. She looked frail, ready to shatter into dust if a strong wind blew through the room.

Before Della could form another desperate plea, the heavy kitchen doors swung open. Luna Rowena marched out. Her face twisted into a mask of pure malice. In her hands, she carried a large, steel pot. Before Della could register the danger, Rowena hoisted the heavy cookware and tilted it forward.

A torrent of scalding hot spaghetti sauce splashed directly over Della’s head.

The impact stole the air from the room. Blinding, searing pain erupted across Della’s scalp, dripping down her face, her neck, her shoulders. The boiling heat blistered her skin on contact. The thick, red sauce clung to her clothes, trapping the scalding temperature against her fragile body. A horrific gasp tore through her lips, but the agony was so immense it silenced her hysterical sobs. She squeezed her eyes shut, dancing back in erratic, frantic movements as the fire ate into her flesh.

The sheer cruelty of the attack short-circuited her brain. The physical torment dragged her mind backward, plunging her into a memory she had clung to as proof of her worth.

It was a quiet Sunday afternoon. The air in Luna Rowena's private quarters smelled of expensive lavender and polish. Della remembered stepping into the room, bowing her head in deep respect. Rowena had saved her from the streets, from starvation, from the hands of violent rogues. Della believed she owed this woman her very existence.

"Della, can you do something for me?" Rowena had asked, her voice trembling.

Della had nodded without hesitation. Then, the powerful Luna collapsed onto her knees, grabbing Della’s hands with a desperate, crushing grip.

"You know Declan is sick," Rowena sobbed, tears ruining her perfect makeup. "He hasn't gotten his wolf yet, so he cannot heal. His kidney is failing. He needs a donation, Della." Rowena pressed her forehead against Della’s knuckles. "I know you have feelings for him. I know you would do anything for him. You are only seventeen, and you haven't found your mate yet, but maybe... maybe it could be my son. Maybe he could fall in love with you. Please, help my boy. I owe you one. I owe you his life. I owe you everything."

Della had dropped to the floor beside the weeping mother, offering a brave smile through her own tears. "I will do anything for Declan," she had promised. She willingly offered her body to the surgeon's knife, sacrificing a part of herself for the boy she loved.

Della opened her eyes. The thick sauce burned her eyelids. The tearful gratitude from that Sunday memory had twisted into the pure malice standing before her. Once the surgery was over and Declan was saved, Rowena’s kindness had vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating distance.

Through her blurred, stinging vision, Della saw Lexa step forward. Lexa gently stroked Declan’s arm, her wide eyes putting on a masterful display of utter innocence. "Babe, don't yell at her," Lexa murmured softly. "She didn't do anything bad. It is all my fault. I shouldn't have stood up."

Declan squeezed Lexa’s hand. He stood back, watching the steaming sauce drip from Della’s chin, watching his mother glare at the girl who saved his life, and he did not lift a single finger.

Inside Della’s mind, her severed wolf let out a frantic, dying whimper. The spiritual cord connecting them had been mutilated. Declan had shut his wolf away, numbing himself to the bond's destruction, while Della bore the full brunt of the agony. The physical burns on her skin paled in comparison to the crushing weight of the rejection.

Unable to breathe the same air as her abusers, Della spun around. She stumbled blindly through the hallways, her boots slipping on the polished floors. She burst through the heavy oak front doors, fleeing into the cool evening air.

Her knees buckled the moment she reached the dirt path. She collapsed heavily onto the ground, the rough gravel biting into her palms. She clutched the fabric of her ruined shirt over her chest and unleashed a devastating, guttural cry. The sound ripped through the quiet night, loud and raw, until her throat turned sore and her voice hitched.

"Momma..." she sobbed into the dirt. "Daddy..."

The intense heartbreak ripped open the deepest, oldest wounds in her soul, dragging her consciousness back to the horrifying day her childhood ended.

The smell of damp earth and dried herbs filled her nose. She was small again, crouched in the dark, underground pantry beneath her family’s kitchen. She had been sent down to fetch ingredients for soup. Then the front door splintered open. Heavy boots pounded against the floorboards above.

Della peered through the thin cracks in the wooden ceiling boards. She watched in paralyzed horror as the intruders dragged her twin sister into the center of the room. A deafening gunshot rattled the floor. Her sister fell limp. Then came her mother’s screams, cut short by a second blast. Finally, her father charged forward, only to be met with a third, final shot.

Dust drifted down from the ceiling boards, settling on little Della’s tear-soaked face. She bit down on her own arm until she tasted blood, forcing herself to remain silent. If she screamed, they would find her. If she made a sound, they would kill her too. She stayed trapped in that dark, suffocating space until the house fell dead and silent.

From that day on, she had been a starving rogue, wandering the dangerous territories until Luna Rowena took her in. She met Declan. She fell in love. They were declared true mates by the Moon Goddess. She gave him her kidney to save his life. And now, he had chosen another woman, discarding her like garbage.

Fresh tears washed the red sauce from her cheeks. Footsteps crunched against the gravel. Brant, the head guard, had heard her agonizing cries.

Brant possessed a massive, well-built frame, his arms thick with muscle from years of combat training. He moved with surprising gentleness, stepping cautiously toward the broken girl on the ground. He squatted carefully beside her, reaching out to touch her trembling shoulder.

"Brant..." Della choked out, turning her sauce-stained face toward him.

"Please, don't cry," Brant whispered. His deep voice carried a warm kindness. He shifted closer, pulling her off the dirt and folding her into a strong, protective embrace. He did not care about the mess on her clothes or the heat of the sauce. "Future Alpha Declan doesn't know what he has lost."

Della wrapped her arms around Brant's thick torso, burying her face against his chest. She sobbed louder, the dam breaking completely as his large hand patted her back in a soothing rhythm.

"Maybe if he knew you have started training for his sake," Brant murmured into her hair. "Maybe if he knew you were preparing yourself for the Luna position in secret, he wouldn't reject you. You cannot let this break you, Della. You have to be strong."

Della nodded her head against his shirt, her fingers curling into his uniform jacket as she anchored herself to the only source of warmth left in her world.

Meanwhile, inside the opulent Pack House, the true, sickening depth of the betrayal fully unfolded.

The living room was a masterpiece of luxury, featuring velvet sofas and a roaring fireplace that cast long, dancing shadows across the walls. Lexa sat comfortably on the plush cushions beside Luna Rowena. A large slice of expensive fruit cake rested on a porcelain plate in Lexa’s lap. She cut a piece with a silver fork, placed it into her mouth, and chewed, reveling in her stolen, orchestrated victory.

Lexa swallowed the sweet cake and turned to the older woman. A smug smile played on her lips. "I thought you said you wanted Della for Declan?" she asked, feigning casual curiosity.

Rowena dabbed the corners of her mouth with a silk napkin. "Yes, I did. I allowed her to stay because she gave Declan her kidney." Rowena let out a dismissive scoff. "A sacrifice which my son doesn't even know about."

"Yeah, and isn't that exactly why he is with me right now?" Lexa rolled her eyes, cutting another piece of cake. "He believes I am the one who saved his life all those years ago. But that aside, she is far too weak to be his Luna. She is pathetic."

Rowena’s expression darkened. The refined elegance of the Luna vanished, replaced by a cold, hardened edge. "Her weakness is a convenient excuse," Rowena revealed coldly, leaning closer to Lexa. "I found out something else. Something far more dangerous. That child is the daughter of Vaughn Mercer."

Lexa paused, her fork hovering in the air. A genuine look of confusion washed over her delicate features. "Who is Vaughn Mercer?"

Rowena’s eyes narrowed as she stared into the dancing flames of the fireplace. "Vaughn Mercer was a powerful, immensely wealthy wolf. His riches were greater than that of most Alphas combined. When my late husband was younger, he was a new Alpha with no real power, no land, and no wealth to his name. He pleaded with his best friend, Vaughn, to share some of his resources to enable him to rule."

Rowena interlaced her fingers, resting them on her lap. "Vaughn gave him just a little. A pittance. My husband could not stand the humiliation. Driven by greed, he planned to take all of Vaughn’s immense riches and power for himself. But the only way to access the Mercer fortune..." Rowena paused, ensuring Lexa grasped the gravity of the secret. "...was to eliminate him."

Lexa’s eyes widened in shock. The fork clattered onto the porcelain plate. "You mean... your husband murdered Della’s father? But why on earth did you accept her into this house when you knew she was Vaughn Mercer’s daughter?"

"I didn't know," Rowena hissed, her voice sharp as glass. "Not until very recently. I accidentally spotted a mark on her skin. The distinct Mercer family birthmark on the side of her stomach. The moment I saw it, I instantly knew who she was. The surviving heir."

Rowena stood up from the sofa, pacing the length of the extravagant rug. "My son can never marry a Mercer. If she became Luna, if she ever discovered the truth about her bloodline and our stolen wealth, it would destroy everything my husband built. I had to protect our bloodstained legacy from a looming disaster. I meticulously orchestrated this separation. I had to ensure Declan discarded her."

Lexa stared at the older woman in sheer awe. The dark, murderous political intrigue surrounding the family’s wealth sent a thrill down her spine. "Wow," Lexa breathed out, openly praising the woman. "You are so brave. And so cunning."

Rowena stopped pacing. She turned back to Lexa, her eyes hardening with a ruthless, unshakable conviction. The firelight reflected in her gaze, making her look demonic.

"A Luna must be sharp, Lexa," Rowena instructed, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Unless you want to be belittled and trampled upon by those beneath you. This life is a race. If you have to cheat to be at the front, then do it."