The Beta's Decision
1419 Words
Back at BloodFall Pack…
A guard hurried down the stone corridor and stopped before Beta Devon’s temporary study, knocking sharply before pushing the door open.
Inside, Devon sat behind a wide oak desk same with Draven’s desk—though the Alpha’s own study remained sealed and untouched until his return. Beside him, Gamma Phil stood near the window, quill in hand, carefully filling out the pack’s latest security report, his expression focused and severe.
“Beta Devon,” the guard greeted, bowing deeply. “Gamma Phil.”
Devon gave a brief nod in acknowledgment. Phil barely spared him a glance, only inclining his head slightly, unwilling to lose his concentration.
“A letter has arrived,” the guard continued, stepping forward to present a sealed parchment. “From Crestmoon Pack.”
Devon accepted it at once.
The moment his eyes landed on the familiar Crestmoon seal, his expression darkened.
“From Alpha Kadel,” he muttered.
Phil paused mid-sentence, the tip of his quill hovering just above the parchment.
“…Crestmoon?” he echoed slowly.
Devon nodded. “Seems he has made up his mind.”
He broke the seal and began to read.
At first, the room was silent except for the faint crackling of the fire and the soft rustle of parchment.
Then Devon’s brows drew together.
The longer he read, the deeper his frown became.
Phil watched him closely, unease creeping into his sharp features. Finally, unable to contain himself, he turned fully toward Devon.
“Well?” Phil demanded. “What foolishness has Kadel decided on now?”
Devon exhaled through his nose but continued reading aloud.
“They agree to hand over a third of their land,” he said evenly. “However… they propose reducing the tribute from forty thousand harvested crops to two thousand.”
Phil’s eyes flashed.“Two thousand?” he snapped. “Is this a joke?”
Devon continued, his tone tightening.“And in addition… Crestmoon wishes to offer something they believe will be more… enticing.”
Phil’s frown deepened. “Enticing how?”
Devon hesitated for half a second—then read the last part.“They are offering Draven a mate.”
Silence slammed into the room.
Phil’s quill snapped cleanly in half between his fingers.
“What?” he growled.
He took a sharp step forward, disbelief and anger burning in his eyes.
“A mate?” Phil repeated coldly. “Did Draven ever ask for one?”
Devon slowly lowered the letter.“No,” he replied quietly.
Phil let out a harsh laugh, devoid of humor.
“Two thousand crops instead of forty thousand,” he said bitterly, “and they think throwing a woman at him will make up the difference?”
His aura flared, filling the room with pressure.“This is an insult,” Phil said, jaw tightening. “Draven will never tolerate this. Offering him scraps and a bride like he’s some desperate Alpha?”
Devon remained silent, his gaze fixed on the letter.
Phil turned on him sharply.“You’re not saying anything?” he snapped. “Devon?”
Devon finally looked up, his expression unreadable. “I’m thinking,” he said slowly.
Phil scoffed. “Thinking about what? How offended Draven will be? Or how quickly he’ll burn Crestmoon to the ground for this audacity?”
Devon leaned back in the chair, fingers tapping thoughtfully against the desk. “I’m thinking,” he said carefully, “that Crestmoon is desperate.”
Phil folded his arms, eyes narrowing. “Desperation doesn’t excuse stupidity.”
“No,” Devon agreed. “But it explains why they would gamble everything on something like this.”
Phil’s voice dropped dangerously low. “Draven will reject this outright.”
Devon glanced once more at the letter. “…Perhaps,” he said. “But knowing Draven, he won’t ignore it either.”
Phil stiffened. “What do you mean?”
Devon’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. “I mean,” he said quietly, “this letter won’t anger him.”
Phil’s eyes widened slightly.
“It will amuse him.” Devon said.
Seeing Devon’s faint smile, Phil felt a ripple of confusion pass through him. That expression—calm, calculating, almost amused—never meant anything good.
He studied Devon closely, suspicion creeping into his sharp eyes.
“Devon…” Phil said slowly, his voice low and guarded. “What are you up to now?”
Devon chuckled, the sound light, almost careless, before quickly composing himself. He straightened in his chair and let out a tired breath.
“You and I both know,” Devon began, rubbing his eyes as though the weight of the situation had finally settled on him, “that Draven’s demand for forty thousand harvested crops is impossible for Crestmoon Pack to meet.”
Phil raised one brow slightly, unimpressed.
“And how does that concern Draven?” he interrupted coolly. “He set those terms knowing they would struggle.”
Devon sighed again, deeper this time, and leaned forward.
“You still don’t understand what I’m getting at,” he said.
Phil frowned. “Then say it plainly.”
Devon hesitated, choosing his words carefully.
“I’m worried about Draven,” he admitted quietly. “About his… mateless state.”
Phil’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief.
“…What?”
Devon continued, his tone serious now.
“The rumors spreading across the entire northern region are getting worse. They paint him as a monster incapable of bonding, cursed by the Moon Goddess herself. I know they are just cruel whispers, but rumors have power—especially among Alphas.”
Phil scoffed sharply.
“And since when do we care what cowards whisper behind closed doors?” he snapped. “They can say whatever they want. It doesn’t change who our Alpha is.”
Devon nodded faintly.
“I know,” he said. “But the truth remains—an Alpha needs his Luna. Balance. Stability. And perhaps…” he paused, “…Draven might not reject this offer as easily as we think.”
Phil stared at him in disbelief.
“You think he’ll accept a mate sent as a bargaining chip?” Phil asked coldly. “An offered woman meant to chain him?”
Devon spread his hands slightly.
“She’s Alpha-born,” he said. “And by all accounts, Kadel’s daughter is intelligent and strong.”
Phil shook his head slowly.
“No,” he said firmly. “Draven made his position clear. He does not want a mate. And even if he ever changes his mind, it will never be one handed to him as leverage. Such a mate would be poison.”
His gaze hardened. “I won’t go against Draven’s wishes,” Phil continued. “You know what happens to those who do. And I, for one, am not eager to die by his hand.”
Devon burst into laughter at that, the tension cracking for a brief moment.
“Relax,” he teased. “You make it sound like I’m planning a public execution.”
Phil didn’t laugh.
Devon’s smile slowly faded as he leaned closer and lowered his voice.
“I’m going to reply to Kadel,” he said. “I’ll agree to his revised terms.”
Phil stiffened.
“…What?”
“But,” Devon added calmly, “I won’t include this letter with the report being sent to Draven.”
Phil’s eyes widened in shock.
“Devon,” he warned, his voice sharp, “this is dangerous. I don’t support this. When the truth comes out—and it will—you will bear the full consequences of your actions.”
Devon met his gaze without flinching.
“I know,” he said simply. “And I’m prepared for it.”
Then he gave a crooked smile.
“Just don’t rat me out yet.”
Phil stared at him for a long moment, torn between anger and reluctant understanding. Finally, he let out a long, heavy sigh.
“…You’re insane,” he muttered.
But he nodded.
“Fine,” Phil said. “But don’t expect me to save you when Draven finds out.”
Devon smiled faintly.
Phil turned back to his work, picking up a fresh quill and continuing the security report. The scratching of ink soon filled the room once more as Devon began drafting his reply—two letters now taking shape side by side, each carrying consequences that would shake more than just packs.
- Writer
