Banished With Bloody Hands

The heavy, gold-framed photograph slipped in Della’s sweaty grip, the sharp metallic edge biting into the raw skin of her fingers. A few agonizing days had blurred into a seamless nightmare of relentless manual labor, bringing her to this exact moment. The grand hall of the Dusk Moon pack house echoed with the frantic energy of dozens of servants rushing to finalize the preparations. Declan’s Alpha coronation was mere hours away. The air was thick with the overwhelming scent of fresh white roses and expensive floor wax, a combination that made Della’s stomach churn with nausea.

She stood precariously on the third rung of a tall wooden ladder, her arms trembling under the immense weight of the massive portrait. In the picture, Declan looked regal, his strong jawline set in a proud, confident angle. Standing right beside him, her head resting possessively against his broad chest, was Lexa. The newly chosen Luna. They looked perfect. They looked like a fairy tale.

Della forced the heavy wire onto the steel wall hook, the muscles in her shoulders burning from the prolonged strain. She stepped down off the ladder, her boots hitting the polished marble floor with a dull thud. Severe emotional pain staked her heart, a physical tightness in her chest that made drawing a full breath nearly impossible. She wiped a line of cold sweat from her forehead with the back of her dirty sleeve, refusing to let the tears welling in her eyes fall.

This was not random manual labor. This was a calculated, psychological torment devised specifically by Luna Rowena. The older woman stood on the ornate iron balcony overlooking the grand hall, sipping from a delicate porcelain teacup. Rowena’s cold, calculating eyes tracked Della’s every move. She had purposely ordered Della to be the one to hang these massive, romantic displays of Declan and Lexa’s union. It was a brutal lesson, a constant, crushing reminder of Della’s absolute worthlessness. Rowena wanted her to see, in giant, glossy print, that Declan would never belong to her.

Below the balcony, the grand hall was a hive of activity. Servants carried towering silver platters and stacks of crystal champagne flutes. As Della dragged the heavy wooden ladder to the next designated spot, she heard the unmistakable sound of hushed giggles. Vera and Valerie, two maids who used to trade quiet, friendly gossip with her in the kitchens, walked past. They didn't offer a hand. They didn't even offer a sympathetic look. Instead, Vera bumped her shoulder intentionally against Della’s, forcing her to stumble back, while Valerie pointed at Della’s stained, oversized work clothes and laughed behind her hand.

Della tightened her grip on the wooden rungs of the ladder. The harsh mockery stung, but it didn't surprise her. The past few days had taught her a harsh truth about pack life. People only stayed by your side when the sun was shining. The moment the shadows fell, the moment true disaster struck, they abandoned you to the wolves. They left you to your miserable lot and found joy in kicking you while you were down. She ignored the two gossiping maids, turning her focus back to the towering blank space on the wall, preparing to hoist another crushing reminder of her broken reality.

Before she could lift the next portrait, Vera strutted back over, her face twisted in a smug sneer. "Luna Rowena wants you upstairs," Vera snapped, crossing her arms. "You’re done in the hall. You are ordered to go directly to the new Luna’s room. You have to assist Lexa with her pre-coronation preparations."

Della let out a slow, jagged sigh. The order felt like a physical blow to her ribs, but she had no power to refuse. She left the ladder against the wall and turned toward the grand staircase, leaving the safety of the busy hall for the intimate, suffocating atmosphere of the Luna’s private quarters.

Reaching the heavy oak doors of Lexa’s lavish room, Della pushed them open. The scent of expensive, imported perfumes and burning vanilla candles hit her in a suffocating wave. The room was a whirlwind of frantic preparation. Lexa sat perched on a high velvet chair in front of a sprawling, illuminated vanity mirror. Two dedicated maids hovered around her, one meticulously curling long strands of her hair while the other applied precise strokes of makeup to her flawless skin.

Lexa caught Della’s reflection in the brightly lit mirror. A sickeningly fake smile stretched across her glossy lips. She raised a hand, stopping the maid with the curling iron, and swiveled in the chair to face the door.

"You are here?" Lexa asked, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. She gestured with manicured fingers. "Come closer, Della. Don't just stand there in the doorway."

Della forced her heavy legs to move. She crossed the plush, cream-colored carpet, stopping a few feet from the vanity. Lexa reached out and casually handed Della a heavy crystal glass. It was empty, save for a few melting ice cubes stained with the remnants of a dark red drink.

"Can you refill that for me?" Lexa asked, her tone light, as if she were speaking to a dear friend rather than the woman whose life she had stolen. "The pitcher is just over there on the side table."

"Okay," Della replied, her voice sounding hoarse and foreign to her own ears.

She took the heavy crystal glass and turned around to locate the drink pitcher. As she shifted her stance, her gaze swept past the side table and landed on a tall velvet mannequin positioned in the corner of the lavish room.

Della froze in place. Her breath caught sharply in her throat, choking her.

Hanging beautifully on the mannequin was a breathtaking gown. It was a sparkling white dress, tailored with long, elegant slits down the sides, adorned with intricate, emerald-looking beadwork that caught the light of the chandelier and fractured it into a thousand green prisms.

Della recognized the fabric. She recognized the cut. She recognized the exact placement of those emerald stones.

It was the very dress Declan had promised to buy for her. He had held her in his arms, his chin resting on the top of her head, and sworn to her that she would wear this exact gown on the day he claimed the title of Alpha. He had traced the imaginary lines of the dress on her skin, telling her how the white silk would contrast with her hair, how the emeralds would bring out the hidden depths of her eyes.

Seeing it now, staged in Lexa’s room, triggered a profound and devastating reaction. The pain transcended the physical exhaustion of her manual labor. It sank deep into her bones. A hot, stinging pressure built behind her eyes as tears threatened to spill over her lashes.

Deep within the recesses of her mind, her inner wolf stirred. It was not a proud, ferocious beast, but a broken, dying creature. The wolf whimpered weakly, the sound echoing hollowly inside Della’s skull. The creature was utterly devastated by the mate bond being severed, starved of the connection it needed to survive. Declan had completely shut them out of his senses, building an impenetrable mental wall that left Della’s wolf clawing at the void.

"Della," her wolf spoke, the voice fragile and fading into a raspy whisper. "I don't think I can do this anymore. Declan has shut his wolf against me. I can't access him. I can't feel him. It makes me feel so weak, Della. The dark is swallowing me. You have to do something... you have to—"

Before the wolf could finish her desperate plea, Della’s center of gravity was violently stolen from her.

Consumed entirely by her grief and distracted by the cruel sight of the emerald gown, Della hadn't seen the movement on the floor. She hadn't noticed Lexa purposefully and maliciously sticking her long leg out, directly into her path.

Della’s heavy work boot caught behind Lexa’s ankle. She tripped hard. The world tilted in a sudden, dizzying blur. She flailed her arms, completely losing her balance. The heavy crystal glass in her hand tipped forward, and the remnants of the crimson liquid flew through the air in a dark, violent arc.

The dark red drink splashed directly across the pristine, sparkling white fabric of the coronation dress. The crimson liquid soaked instantly into the delicate silk, staining it like fresh blood.

A split second later, Della crashed heavily to the hard marble floor beneath the plush rug. The impact rattled her teeth. The crystal glass slammed into the marble right beneath her palms and shattered violently upon impact. Sharp, jagged shards of thick crystal bit deep into the soft, unprotected flesh of her hands.

A raw, burning agony flared up her arms. Warm blood instantly welled from the deep lacerations, pouring out and mixing with the shattered glass on the cold floor.

"You wench! You ruined my dress!"

Lexa’s shriek tore through the room, loud enough to rattle the vanity mirror. She jumped up from her chair, her hands flying to her cheeks in a display of flawlessly feigned horror. The two maids gasped, stepping back in shock. Lexa stared down at Della, screaming at the top of her lungs, successfully orchestrating yet another devastating sabotage. Inwardly, behind the mask of outrage and tears, Lexa was smiling.

Della lay on the floor, her breathing ragged. She tried to pull her hands back, but the movement only caused the embedded glass shards to grind deeper into her tendons. She stared at the streaks of her own blood painting the white marble. She knew Lexa had tripped her. She knew this was a setup. But as she looked up at the maids, she saw them shaking their heads, looking down at her with pure, unadulterated scorn. No one was going to believe her.

The heavy oak doors burst open. The loud commotion had drawn immediate attention.

Declan and Luna Rowena stormed aggressively into the room. Declan was dressed in a sharp, tailored black suit for the coronation, his broad shoulders filling the doorway. Rowena was right behind him, her face a mask of furious authority.

Their eyes swept the chaotic scene. They bypassed Della’s crumpled form on the floor. They remained completely blind to the thick pools of blood pouring from Della’s lacerated hands. Their gazes locked instantly onto the heavily stained coronation dress and the shattered glass.

They saw the red stain on the white silk, and they immediately, ruthlessly condemned her.

Declan’s handsome face twisted with intense disgust. The features Della had memorized, the face she had loved, morphed into a mask of pure hatred. He rushed forward, stepping right past Della, and quickly wrapped a protective, comforting arm around a fake-crying Lexa. Lexa buried her face in his chest, her shoulders shaking with manufactured sobs.

"Della, how can you be so wicked?" Declan spit the words out like venom, his voice echoing in the large room. He was entirely convinced of her malicious intent. "I know you and I had seen this dress before, but did you have to ruin it for Lexa? How can you be so heartless? You didn't even think of the money I used to purchase the dress!"

Luna Rowena stepped forward, her heels clicking sharply on the floor. She eagerly joined the vicious, coordinated tirade. "I don't know why this wench is still alive! Why isn't she dead by now?!" Rowena yelled, her voice dripping with lethal malice. "She is so wicked and heartless! Why can't you accept that you are not cut out for the position of a Luna? Do you have to be an antagonist?!"

Della remained completely silent. She didn't try to defend herself. She didn't point out Lexa’s outstretched leg. She just directed her head toward the floor, staring blankly at the crimson droplets falling from her palms. She endured the agonizing physical pain of the thick glass shards still buried deep in her flesh. Every pulse of her heart sent a fresh wave of fire through her hands.

But the severe physical pain of shredded skin and bleeding palms easily paled in comparison to Declan’s next spoken words.

"Della, you are so evil and I hate you very much!" Declan yelled, his voice cracking like a whip against her spine.

He glared down at her kneeling, bleeding form. Convinced wholeheartedly that Lexa was his true savior, that she was the one who had donated the kidney to save his life all those years ago, he discarded Della completely. In a matter of seconds, he rewrote their entire history in his mind. He erased the nights they spent planning a future, replacing them with a narrative where Della was nothing but a manipulative, jealous parasite. Finding this excuse gave him the perfect justification to feel no guilt over his rejection.

Deep within Della’s mind, her wolf let out one final, agonizing cry. The absolute, final rejection of their bond by their mate was a lethal strike. The fragile connection snapped. Her wolf collapsed inwardly, the presence vanishing into a dark, silent abyss, leaving Della entirely hollow and alone in her own body. A cold numbness spread from her chest, freezing her veins.

"Della, you are banned from this pack forever," Luna Rowena declared, stepping closer to deliver the final blow. Her voice carried an icy, lethal finality that left no room for negotiation or appeal. "Go and never return or you will be killed! I promise you that if you step your foot into the pack, I will kill you myself!"

Della heard the death sentence, but the words felt distant, like they were being spoken underwater. Seeking one final, desperate sliver of mercy or perhaps just a flicker of the man she once knew, Della slowly raised her head. The tears that had threatened to fall finally broke free, streaking hot and fast down her pale cheeks. She looked up at Declan.

Declan merely turned his head away in disgust. He refused to even look at her face. He pulled Lexa tighter against his side, shielding the new Luna from the sight of the bleeding, broken rogue on the floor.

The last spark of hope in Della’s chest died. It extinguished without a sound, leaving behind a cold, hollow resignation.

A deeply sad, broken smile touched Della’s lips. It was a smile born of pure defeat. She nodded her head in silent acceptance. Using her forearms to push herself up off the marble, she avoided putting pressure on her shredded palms. She stood slowly, her body swaying for a fraction of a second before she steadied herself.

She didn't speak a single word. She kept her bloody hands clenched tight by her sides, the glass grinding into the bone, and turned her back on the Alpha, the Luna, and the woman who had orchestrated her ruin. She walked slowly out of the room, leaving a trail of crimson drops on the plush, cream-colored carpet.

Watching her walk away in total disgrace, Lexa remained pressed against Declan’s chest. From the safety of his arms, she peered over his shoulder at the doorway. Lexa beamed with immense, unhidden satisfaction. A warm rush of triumph flooded her veins.

With Della officially gone, permanently banished into the wild where her survival was highly unlikely, the lingering threat of the true mate bond was finally severed. There would be no miraculous reconciliation. There would be no interference during the heat periods. The path to power was entirely clear.

*Declan is mine and mine alone,* Lexa thought triumphantly, a wicked smirk playing on her lips where Declan couldn't see it. As she listened to the fading sound of Della’s heavy footsteps retreating down the corridor, she remembered Luna Rowena’s ultimate, sinister lesson from just a few nights prior.

*Even if you have to cheat to get to the front, do it.*