Chapter 14 – The Alpha’s Weakness
1363 Words
Rylan insisted on patrolling.
Of course he did.
“The pack needs to see their Alpha’s spine,” he said when I found him in the courtyard, lacing his boots with slow, deliberate movements. The late afternoon sun carved hollows under his cheekbones, picked out the new silver in his hair.
“The pack needs to see their Alpha breathing,” I shot back. “You can barely stand through a council meeting without swaying.”
His mouth twitched. “I notice you didn’t say that in front of Serapha.”
“I enjoy not being burned as a heretic,” I said. “Call it a personal quirk.”
He snorted, then winced as he straightened. The tiny tremor in his hand was worse today, the stiffness in his shoulders obvious if you knew to look.
I knew.
“Just a short loop,” he said. “Old route by the east ridge. We haven’t walked it together in months. Humor an aging Alpha.”
He wasn’t old. Not really. Not for a wolf who’d survived three territorial disputes and two winters of famine.
But poison aged you from the inside out.
“Fine,” I said. “On one condition.”
His brows rose. “You’re bargaining with your Alpha now?”
“With my uncle,” I said. “You take it slow. If you so much as wobble, we turn back. I don’t care how many warriors are watching.”
He hesitated, then inclined his head once. “Deal, little wolf.”
We set out with a token escort—just Jarek and one younger warrior trailing at a polite distance. The east ridge trail wound through dense pines, up a gentle slope that used to feel like nothing. Today, I watched Rylan’s breathing grow shallow, his jaw tighten.
“You could’ve ordered a litter,” I said as we climbed. “No one would think less of you.”
“They would,” he said. “They’d just pretend they didn’t. And I’ve had enough pretending to last a lifetime.”
The path opened onto a rocky outcrop that overlooked a sweep of forest and, beyond it, the faint glimmer of a distant highway where humans moved like oblivious ants.
We stopped. The wind tugged at our clothes, carrying scents of pine, damp earth, exhaust, and the faint, wild edge that made my wolf lift her head.
Rylan braced a hand on a boulder, chest heaving a little too fast.
“You good?” I asked quietly.
“I will be,” he said.
He didn’t move to turn back.
He just stood there, staring out over the trees like a man looking at something only he could see.
“You know,” he said after a moment, voice rough, “your father used to drag me up here to lecture me.”
I blinked. “You? Lectured?”
“Oh yes.” A ghost of a smile. “About patrol formations. About resource allocation. About not letting the Council shove their noses into our border disputes.”
That tracked.
“What did you do?” I asked.
“Listened. Argued. Ignored half of it.” His fingers dug into the rock. “Until I started… forgetting which parts I’d agreed to. Which fights I’d already had.”
The words landed like stones in my gut.
“How long?” I asked.
He exhaled. “Too long.”
Silence stretched. Jarek and the other warrior lingered back on the trail, giving us space but not privacy.
“You know I’m not blind,” Rylan said finally. “To what’s happening. To what… she’s doing.”
“Serapha,” I said, because we both knew who he meant.
He nodded once. “She didn’t start like this. None of them did. But power… breeds hunger.”
“So stop letting her feed,” I said. “You’re Alpha.”
His laugh was short and humorless. “An Alpha whose head feels stuffed with fog half the time. Whose hands shake when he signs his own orders. You think that’s my doing?”
I swallowed. “No.”
“You think I haven’t wondered why Eryx’s ‘adjustments’ never quite stabilize me?” His gaze cut to me, sharp for a moment. “Why I can’t hold a thought through a full briefing anymore?”
Heat crawled up my throat. “Then why—”
“Because every time I push back,” he said softly, “the Council reminds me what happens to packs who ignore their ‘guidance.’”
He nodded toward the horizon, where another forest line shimmered faintly.
“Redmere,” he said. “Remember them?”
I frowned. “Old stories. A pack that ‘refused the Moon’s will’ and tore itself apart.”
“That’s the Council’s version,” he said. “What actually happened was they said no to a temple edict. Next thing anyone knew, they were being called ‘unstable,’ ‘corrupted,’ and suddenly every shortage, every fight, every sickness was blamed on their Alpha. Until their own wolves turned on him.”
Ice slid down my spine.
“They can’t do that to us,” I whispered.
“They already are,” he said quietly. “Only this time, they’re going slower. Softer. With herbs and rites instead of open decrees.”
My pulse pounded in my ears.
“Why are you telling me this now?” I asked. “Why not years ago?”
“Because years ago, you would’ve done exactly what I did,” he said. “Trusted they knew better. Trusted the system. Trusted that dying for the pack was the best thing you could do.”
He smiled then, crooked and sad.
“Now?” he went on. “Now you bite.”
A lump formed in my throat.
“You’re not useless,” I said. “We can—”
He staggered.
It was small. A hitch in his knee, a sudden sag in his shoulders as his grip on the rock slipped.
I was under his arm before he hit the ground, my shoulder taking his weight.
“Okay,” I gasped. “That’s it. We’re done. Turn around.”
He tried to straighten. Failed. His breath came in shallow pants.
“I’m… fine,” he lied.
“You’re not,” I snapped. “And if you collapse out here, they’ll say it was your age, your weakness, not their damn herbs.”
His eyes squeezed shut. Sweat beaded at his temple.
“Jarek!” I barked over my shoulder. “Get over here!”
The Gamma jogged up, eyes narrowing as he took in the scene.
“Spell?” he asked quietly.
“Or dosage,” I said. “Help me get him back.”
Between the two of us, we managed to get Rylan upright and moving, his arms over our shoulders. The descent felt three times as long as the climb.
At the base of the trail, he shook us off with a weak growl.
“I can walk,” he muttered.
“Sure,” I said. “Right after you promise to let someone else read your prescriptions from now on.”
A ghost of humor flickered in his eyes.
“Bring me proof, little wolf,” he said. “And I’ll sign whatever war you want to start.”
He didn’t see the way my hands trembled.
Proof.
The word echoed in my skull as we made our slow way back to the house.
That night, when the others slept, I slipped into his room with a small, sterile knife and a glass vial stolen from the infirmary.
“Sorry, Rylan,” I whispered, easing his arm into the lamplight. “You asked for proof.”
My wolf watched, tense but silent, as I nicked the skin just enough to draw a bead of dark blood. It welled, slow and thick, into the vial.
I sealed it, heart pounding.
Somewhere beyond our borders, there had to be someone who could tell me exactly what was in our Alpha’s veins.
And then?
Then I’d stop asking nicely.
- Writer
