Chapter 36: An Impossible Choice...

"Alpha Leopold," Della breathed as she stood in front of him.

They were both standing in a part of the castle that was scarce of workers. She kept a considerable amount of distance from him, partly because this was their first time speaking since she arrived here, and also because he was seriously emitting dark, murderous vibes.

Even his facial expression looked vicious...and disturbed. No, he was worried. Like, he was... freaking out.

"Rotblood," He lashed with his tongue so hard she flinched back a little. What had she done this time?!

"D...did I do something wrong?!"

"It doesn’t matter if you did, huh?" He scoffed, laughing maniacally as he dragged a hand roughly through his hair, "Bad things always happen when a rotblood like you is around, and that’s exactly what’s been happening to this Pack since you arrived," He stepped forward dangerously, and she sucked in a breath, "Tearing banners, assassinated people, rogues gathering around..."

Della swallowed tightly.

"You are a living curse upon everyone in this kingdom," He then lowered his voice and pointed at her, "And that is exactly why no one would ever take your side. What the hell is even Cassian’s problem? Why would he—" Leopold burst into another mindless laughter.

Della kept waiting for him to get to the point, because she didn’t believe he had just come over to simply trample on her. He had better things to do than this.

"Fuck!!" He cursed loudly, "And it’s all because of you, you know that right?" He jumped into her space, and grabbed her arm before she could move away, "It’s all because of you!!" He spat into her face, "It’s all because of you that my beloved wife is trapped inside that horrible, suffocating room with the Alpha! Do you have the slightest idea how hard it is to stay in the same room for even a minute with someone like Malachi? But she’s been in there for hours!!"

Beatrice and Malachi? Della blinked.

He saw the confused look in her eyes, "Your precious mate took my wife for questioning this morning, regarding your nonsense, Rotblood!" His grip tightened, and she braced herself for pain, "But Beatrice...," Leo shook his head again, "She’s not that kind of person, she might just have been confused at that moment. There’s no way she would—"

Della looked up at him, eyes narrowing.

She’s not...that kind of person?! She didn’t get it. Does he know that his wife was responsible for the banner that tore that night?

"What...are you saying?" She asked quietly, hoping he doesn’t completely snap from hearing her voice and send her flying.

"I’m saying that it doesn’t fucking matter who messed with the stupid banner that night. It doesn’t matter if it wasn’t sewn correctly, or—" He lowered his voice again, "If it was my wife that did it, all that matters is that you were the one, because everything goes wrong whenever you’re present!!"

Della could hardly believe her ears. The man looked like he hadn’t slept in a few days, and was definitely more aggressive than usual. And from what he’s been saying, and how he was being cautious, he probably knew Beatrice was responsible and was still trying to use her status instead to blame her.

"So, this is what is going to happen, you filth!" He grabbed the front of her shirt and yanked her closer to his scornful face, forcing her to stand on the tip of her toes, "You’re going to march down to that room, right now, and you’re going to tell your goddamn husband that you’re the one who planned everything! That you’re the one who tore the banner, and you were responsible for the attack on the woman that was killed this morning,"

Della was stunned. How was she supposed to...?

But Alpha looked so menacing and it had her shaking in her new boots, "B... but Alpha, I...I... didn’t—"

"It doesn’t fucking matter, you wench!" He spat, "Or didn’t you hear what I’ve been saying all this time? Whether you did it or not, it’s still your fault. It’s who you are. It’s in your veins, so fucking own up to it,"

Della wanted to squirm and nod quickly so he would let her go. But this matter — what he wanted her to do, wasn’t that simple. The moment she admits anything, there’s no doubt that she would be thrown into the rogues pit and Malachi would despise her more than he already does.

Plus, all of Cassian’s efforts that night would go to waste.

"I...I can’t," Della forced out instead, her heart hammering inside her chest.

"You what?!" Leopold exploded, and the very next second, he had her by the wall with his fingers wrapped around her neck, squeezing the life out of her, "How dare you refuse me? My wife is in there with that demon, and you refuse me??!"

Della drew in quick breaths, but not even a single breath made it to her lungs. Her face flushed red and she struggled against his hold as he continued to crush her windpipe.

"It’s my wife we are talking about here!! Your own goddamn sister that loves you so much!"

She doesn’t love me!

She wants me gone, and she wants me gone in the most horrible way possible!

"She always talks about how much she loves you, how you grew up together! This is your chance to save her, and you dare to refuse?!"

Soon enough, Della began to feel that agonising need for air in her lungs. Her chest burned wickedly, and she desperately brought her fists down on his arm but he was too strong for her.

"Does this hurt, you filth? Do you feel like you’re gonna pass out?"

"S...stopp..." She sounded so shallow.

"Oh, I wish I could stop, but I won’t," He enforced more strength to his grip, and lifted her till her toes left the door, "Not until she’s out of that room and back to the safety of my arms!"

The pain was so sharp that it exploded all through her body, and her lungs cried for air but nothing came. Her strength began to fail her, her face grew even more pale, and both hands finally fell to her sides.

Her vision turned blurry too. Was she...

"You will help her!" He yelled again.

"No," Her eyes began to close.

Looks like this might be it for her.

Leopold began silent for a moment, watching as life was quickly slipping from her eyes. The sound of her heartbeat was getting duller, and unfortunately, still, she wasn’t going to give him the answer he wanted to hear.

"Fuckkk!!!" He thundered, a growl following too, then he added out of nowhere, "Save her, and I’ll save that cousin of yours,"

Della’s eyes snapped open, and Leopold saw the look he had been waiting for. His grip loosened completely and he finally let her go.

Her body crumpled to the floor, drawing in long and hard intakes of breath as she coughed too, pain still searing up her neck and through her body.

Leopold stood over her without a care, "Save her, and I’ll help you with your cousin,"

Holding her neck, she looked up at him.

One of his eyes was twitching.

"I’ll secretly send some guards to retrieve him from IronRidge. If you successfully take all the blame, I will not only save him but I’ll make sure he’s properly taken care of...for as long as he lives,"

"You’re lying." The words left Della’s mouth hoarse, her throat still burning from where his fingers had crushed it.

Leopold didn’t even look offended, "No," he answered simply.

"You hate me."

"I do."

"You’d never help Lian."

"I wouldn’t help you." His expression didn’t soften, and the distinction made her stomach twist, "I said I’d help him."

Della’s breathing was finally beginning to steady, though every swallow still felt like dragging broken glass down her throat. She pushed herself up into a sitting position, one hand still wrapped protectively around her neck.

"...Why?"

Leopold stared down at her as though the answer should have been obvious, "Because I would do anything to get my wife out of that room." His jaw tightened so hard she thought his teeth might crack, "So yes," he continued coldly, "I’ll save him."

Della searched his face.

She wanted to find the lie.

Anything.

A twitch.

A hesitation.

Anything that told her this was another trap.

Instead she found only desperation. The frightening kind.

"...I don’t believe you." She finally said.

"I expected that."

Leopold slipped something from beneath his sleeve, pulling out a small, sharp knife. Its silver edge caught the fading light filtering through the corridor.

Della’s breathing caught again watching as he dragged the blade across the centre of his palm without so much as a flinch.

Blood welled immediately, rolling over his fingers before dripping slowly onto the polished stone floor.

"No..."

He then crouched before her, "We’ll make a blood pact."

The world seemed to stop.

"A blood..." she whispered.

"...Pact." He finished for her, his voice now terrifyingly calm now, "No lies, no tricks, no blood promises. You will confess, take every accusation and tell Malachi the banner was your doing. And in return," He looked directly into her eyes, "I retrieve Lian from IronRidge, and I’ll give him a good place to stay in this Pack. He will have dedicated servants working for him, fetching his medicine. He will have friends his age to laugh with. I will make sure he never knows pain again, and if he does eventually die, you shall be ready assured wherever you are, he didn’t die alone like you will,"

Della stared at him.

A blood pact...

Everyone knew what one meant.

It wasn’t merely a promise. It was older than every kingdom, some even say it’s even older than the Moon Goddess herself because it was a ritual of lives that connected directly to the Moon itself!

Once both parties offered blood, the promise became law. The Moon’s law.

Break it, and death would come.

No wolf had ever survived breaking one.

Her hands began trembling, because now she believed him.

Leopold stretched his bleeding hand toward her, "Choose."

She looked at the blood.

Then at him.

Then, Lian’s face appeared inside her mind. Thin and pale, trying to smile through fever, trying to tell her he wasn’t hungry or trying to convince her he’d be fine.

"I’m okay, Della."

He had lied every single time.

Because he didn’t want her worrying.

Her chest tightened so violently she almost doubled over.

She has imagined him lying alone inside that filthy room, or inside a dungeon with no medicine, no food, and no blanket thick enough for winter.

She had imagined him calling her name, praying she would come for him like she had promised that night.

Then another face appeared.

Malachi.

Those impossible blue eyes.

His hand brushing through her hair that morning, "Sleep."

His voice had been so quiet and gentle that she almost thought she had imagined it too. She remembered how he had stroked her hair, and how he had carefully pulled the blanket over her.

Remembered the way he’d looked at her when he thought she wasn’t awake.

Her eyes burned.

If she confessed, everything would disappear.

Cassian would look at her with disappointment.

Rowan would probably drag her himself.

Annelise would regret ever speaking kindly to her.

Mara would know she’d wasted her effort.

And Malachi’s hate, would become unfathomable.

The tiny bit of trust, or whatever tiny hope of something good, that had started growing between them would wither immediately and die.

And after the confession, there would only be one destination left.

The rogues’ pit.

A tear finally escaped before she could stop it, "...Why?" Her voice cracked, "Why does it always have to be me?"

Leopold didn’t answer immediately. When he finally did, his words were almost emotionless, "Because your life is worthless. You are worthless,"

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