The Weak Alpha Heir

Kaelen POV

I stood before the mirror, struggling to recognize the boy staring back at me. The tuxedo hung loose on my shoulders, the fabric sagging where it should have fit, even the clothes had given up trying to cling to me. My collarbone jutted sharply beneath the black cloth, pale skin stark against the dark material. This was supposed to be a day of celebration—my sister’s mating ceremony—and she deserved perfection. Not a brother who looked as though he was unraveling thread by thread.

She was two years younger, yet she had always been the one to protect me. I was the son of Alpha Alexander of the Howlborne Pack—heir to a legacy carved from strength, dominance, and unbreakable will. But I had never shifted. Where my wolf should have been, there was only silence. A hollow ache beneath my ribs, reminding me with every breath that something essential was missing. That I was missing.

I was born too soon, dragged into the world beneath the Blood Moon. My first breath was never meant to come. My parents were ambushed that night by rogues. They fought like warriors, cutting down every last one, but not before a blow struck my mother’s stomach. She bled, and there, in the forest beneath the crimson glow of the Blood Moon, I was born—surrounded by fallen bodies, my parents slick with rogue blood.

The air had reeked of iron and smoke. My mother’s cries still echoed through the trees when I drew my first breath, thin and ragged, as if the world itself resisted letting me in. No one thought I would survive. Yet I did.

But survival is not the same as living.

Pain has always lived inside me. Whenever the Blood Moon rose, it tore through my body until all I could do was scream. At twelve, I overheard my mother whisper that she could not bear to hear me scream anymore. From that day on, I swallowed the agony and hid it, burying every sound deep inside so she would not have to.

The only one who truly knew was my father’s Beta, Darian. Sixteen years ago, his father died, they attacked the pack—searching not for the Alpha, but for the heir, their eyes burning with a promise of death. I was ten, too weak to run, and Darian—barely twenty—lifted me into his arms, while his father stood his ground. His father died protecting me, and from that night on, Darian carried more than the title of Beta. He carried me.

Year after year, as my illness worsened, he was the one who lifted me when my legs gave out, the one who found me crawling across the floor, biting back screams. He never looked at me with pity—only with a steady patience that made me believe, if only for a moment, that I was not broken. For twenty-six years, he has stood beside me. And for the last fourteen, he has kept my secret from my parents, because I could not bear the pain in their eyes.

A knock at the door pulled me back. I slipped off the tuxedo jacket, hoping the fabric wouldn’t betray how much weight I’d lost. When I opened it, Darian stood there, smiling softly.

“Need help?” he asked. He knew the Blood Moon was only days away, and that the pain would soon sharpen its claws.

“Not really,” I tried to smile. “But I do need a new jacket. This one doesn’t fit anymore.”

Darian’s eyes lingered on me, and I knew he was thinking the same thing I was: if I kept wasting away, there would soon be nothing left to hold me in this world.

We went into town with Darian driving. I hated it there. The streets bustled with people carrying baskets, shop doors chiming as they opened and closed, voices rising and falling in the air. Yet when they saw me, the rhythm shifted. Conversations hushed. Most looked at me with pity; some whispered when they thought I couldn’t hear. Their eyes slid over me like a cold draft slipping under my skin.

I had already spoken to my father. I told him I couldn’t take over, that I was too weak, and I knew I would be dead before the time came for me to lead. The words had burned in my throat, but I forced them out, hoping he would finally see me for what I was.

But it was as if he never truly saw how weak I was. His eyes, steady and unyielding, looked at me as though I were still the heir he wanted me to be, as if sheer belief could carve strength into my bones. He nodded. He listened. But I knew he did not hear me. To him, I was still Kaelen, son of Alpha Alexander. To me, I was already fading.

The council was already searching for someone else. My sister, Lyra, could have taken the role. She was a strong warrior, but she refused. Her mate, Ronan, was an omega, and she had decided the Alpha’s mantle was not meant for them.

Darian parked in front of the tailor. Across the road, three men smirked—my old tormentors. I had never told anyone about them. The only reason they stopped was Lyra. She taught them a lesson they would not forget, even though she was younger. That was when I knew she would become a great warrior, just like our parents.

Inside, the tailor’s eyes flicked over my frame as though measuring more than fabric. Darian murmured something I could not hear, and the man nodded before busying himself with the jacket. That was it. We went home again, and when we arrived, I let out a breath I had not realized I was holding.

We met my father in the hall. “Where have you two been?” he asked, eyebrows lifted. Before I could answer, Darian spoke.

“We had to get a new jacket; there was a tear in the other.” He smiled as he said it. Lying came easily to him when it involved me.

He once told me he would keep my father happy for as long as he could, and when I was gone, he would tell him everything. He did not like lying, but he believed a happy Alpha was a good Alpha.

I went up the stairs. Lyra’s door was cracked open, and through it I caught a glimpse of her. She stood before her mirror, radiant in her gown, silver threads woven through her dark hair. For a moment, I simply watched, hoping with everything in me that her life would be filled with the happiness I could never hold.

She noticed me in the reflection and smiled, fierce and bright.

“Will you stand with me tonight?” she asked.

“I always will,” I said, forcing strength into my voice and praying she could not hear how much it cost me just to stand there.

I went to my room; I needed to rest if I was going to make it through the ceremony. I sat on the bed, and the pain struck instantly. It tore through my chest so sharply that I slid to the floor, too weak even to sit upright. The world blurred, and I must have blacked out.

Darkness swallowed me whole.

When I came to, I was slumped against the side of the bed, breath shallow, limbs trembling. The clock glowed faintly: one hour. That was all I had before I had to be downstairs.

I dragged myself into the shower, letting the water wash over me until I could stand again. The heat stung against my skin, but I welcomed it—the only proof I was still alive. Droplets slid down my shoulders, tracing the sharp edges of bone where muscle should have been. I braced my hands against the tile, head bowed, listening to the hollow echo of my own breath in the steam.

When I finally dressed, the new tuxedo jacket fit better, but it did not matter. The fabric hung on me like borrowed strength, a costume meant for someone else. I was not the heir an Alpha should have, not the son of a man as great as my father. He deserved someone stronger. Someone better. Someone whole.

A knock at the door. I didn’t need to ask who it was.

“Come in.”

The door opened, and there stood Darian.

“I’ll stay close to you tonight. If you need anything, I’ll be there,” he said. He knew I could not mind-link, and we had a system for when the pain became too much.

I nodded, though my throat felt tight. Part of me hated that he had to watch over me like a child, hated that I could not stand on my own. But another part—the part that was tired of fighting alone—was grateful beyond words.

“I… it happened again,” I admitted quietly. “The pain… it’s coming more often now.”

His jaw tightened, but he only nodded. “I’ll stay even closer tonight.”

He settled into the chair by my bed, his presence steady, silent, a shield against the emptiness pressing in on me.

A sharp ache tore through my chest. I clutched at it, breath faltering, certain it would drag me under. Slowly, it eased, leaving me trembling.

“Kaelen.”

I looked up. Darian’s eyes were steady, his hand poised as if ready to catch me.

“It’s time,” he said quietly. “We need to go.”

I nodded. My legs shook beneath the jacket, but when his hand brushed my shoulder—firm, grounding—I let myself lean into it before straightening. For one weak heartbeat, I wanted to ask him to stay. I wanted to tell him I was afraid that if I walked downstairs, everyone would see the truth: not the Alpha’s heir, not Lyra’s proud brother, but a dying son wearing strength like a borrowed coat.

The thought shamed me. Lyra deserved joy tonight, not my fear. My parents deserved one evening untouched by the shadow of what I was becoming. So I swallowed the plea, locked it behind my teeth, and forced my spine straight.

Together, we stepped toward the voices rising from below. Each step felt borrowed, as if the floor itself might give way beneath me.

And yet I walked—not the boy in the mirror, but something else. Something stirring beneath my skin, waiting for the Blood Moon to rise.