Blood of the Moon
The brownstone sat at the end of a cobblestone cul-de-sac, its brick facade weathered by decades of coastal storms. Rowan’s hand pressed against Seraphina’s lower back as they moved up the steps, a pressure that was both directive and protective. Liam walked between them, his small fingers looped through his mother’s purse strap, his eyes wide as he studied the iron grilles over the windows.
The door opened before Rowan could knock. A woman stood in the threshold, her silver-streaked hair pulled back in a severe bun, her eyes the color of sea glass. She wore a tailored suit that cost more than Seraphina’s entire wardrobe. Her gaze swept over them with the precision of someone who catalogued threats for a living.
“Alpha Blackwood.” Her voice carried no warmth, but no hostility either. “The east wing is prepared. Kitchen is stocked. Medical supplies in the bathroom cabinet.”
“Thank you, Mariel.” Rowan stepped aside, gesturing for Seraphina to enter. “This is—”
“I know who she is.” Mariel’s eyes lingered on Seraphina, then dropped to Liam. Something flickered in her expression—curiosity, perhaps, or recognition. “The Shadowmire Pack honors its debts. You have sanctuary here until the Sterling problem is resolved.”
Seraphina’s hand found Liam’s shoulder as they crossed the threshold. The interior was deceptively ordinary: hardwood floors, Persian rugs, a grandfather clock ticking against the far wall. But she noticed the reinforced door frame, the camera lenses hidden in the crown molding, the way the windows were set at angles that made sniper positions impossible.
Rowan moved past her, checking each room with a methodical efficiency that spoke of military training. He opened closets, tested locks, ran his fingers along baseboards. When he returned to the living room, Liam was standing at the window, his breath fogging the glass.
“Mommy.” Liam’s voice was small. “The men in the black cars. Are they going to find us?”
Seraphina’s throat closed. She looked at Rowan, and for the first time in eight years, she let someone else carry the weight of the answer.
Rowan crouched beside Liam, bringing himself to eye level. “Do you know what a safe house is, Liam?”
“Like in the movies. Where the good guys hide.”
“Exactly.” Rowan’s voice was steady, a deep resonance that seemed to settle the air around them. “This house has walls that can stop bullets. Windows that can’t be broken. And there are people outside—good people—who will make sure no one gets close without my permission.”
Liam considered this. His eyes, still carrying that faint gold flicker, studied Rowan’s face. “Are you a good guy?”
Seraphina’s breath caught. She saw the flicker of pain cross Rowan’s features before he masked it.
“I’m trying to be,” he said. “For you. For your mother.”
The clock struck the half-hour. Mariel had disappeared into another part of the house, leaving them alone in the amber glow of a standing lamp. Seraphina watched Rowan rise, watched the way his shoulders squared as if he was preparing for battle.
“We need to talk,” he said, his eyes finding hers. “All of it. No more omissions.”
She nodded, but her gaze went to Liam. “He needs to eat. He needs to sleep.”
“Kitchen’s through there. I’ll make something.” Rowan moved toward the archway, then paused. “When he’s settled. We talk.”
It wasn’t a question.
—
Liam ate two sandwiches and a bowl of soup before his eyelids began to droop. Seraphina tucked him into a queen-sized bed in a room that had no windows, only a ventilation shaft that Rowan had already checked three times. She kissed his forehead, lingered at the door, watched him curl into a fetal position with his stuffed rabbit tucked under his arm.
When she returned to the living room, Rowan was standing by the fireplace. He had removed his jacket, rolled his sleeves to his elbows. The veins in his forearms stood out against his skin, and she could see the fine tremor in his hands that he couldn’t quite suppress.
“Sit down, Seraphina.” His voice was quiet, but it carried command.
She sat in the armchair across from him. The fire had been lit, its warmth pushing against the chill that seemed to have followed them from the street. She watched the flames for a long moment, gathering the pieces of a story she had never told anyone.
“The bonfire was at Crescent Beach,” she said finally. “End of senior year. We were celebrating. Drinking. Stupid teenager things.”
Rowan’s jaw didn’t tighten. He simply waited, his eyes fixed on her face.
“I didn’t know what you were. I thought you were just a guy from another school. We talked for hours. Walked along the water. You kissed me, and I thought—I thought it was just a summer romance.” She pressed her palms against her thighs. “When I woke up the next morning, you were gone. I didn’t even get your last name.”
“I was called back to the pack,” Rowan said. “Emergency. My father had been attacked. I was needed.”
“I didn’t know that.” Her voice cracked. “I didn’t know anything. I went home, finished my finals, and two months later I realized I was pregnant. My father—” She stopped, swallowed. “My father was a history professor. My mother worked in a library. They were good people. They didn’t deserve what happened.”
Rowan leaned forward. “What happened?”
“When Liam was born, he was perfect. Ten fingers, ten toes. But his eyes—they were gold. Not human gold. Wolf gold.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “My father saw it. He knew something was wrong. He started researching, making calls. He found out about packs, about the supernatural world. And then he found out about you.”
“He contacted the Blackwood Pack?”
“He contacted everyone. He was trying to understand what Liam was, what he would become. And someone—I don’t know who—leaked the information to the Sterlings.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Three days later, my parents’ car was found at the bottom of a ravine. The police said it was an accident. But I know. I know they were killed because of Liam. Because of what he is.”
Rowan’s hands stilled. The tremor stopped. His face became stone.
“I ran,” Seraphina continued. “I changed my name, moved to a city where no one knew me. I got a job at a coffee shop, found a cheap apartment. I raised Liam as human. I told myself that if I never told him what he was, if I never let him near the supernatural world, he would be safe.”
“But you knew he wasn’t human.”
“I knew.” Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I saw it every time he got angry and his eyes flickered. Every time he had night terrors about running through the forest. Every time he looked at the moon and his whole body went still, like he was listening to something I couldn’t hear. I knew. But I was so afraid. I thought if I could just keep him hidden, keep him normal—”
“The Sterlings found you anyway.”
“They’ve been watching me for months. I didn’t know. I thought it was just coincidence—the same car parked down the street, the same man at the grocery store. But tonight, at the gala, Dorian Sterling approached me. He told me everything. He knew about Liam. He knew about you. He offered me a deal—work for them, let them study Liam, and they would protect us.”
“Protect you from what?”
“From everyone else.” She laughed, a broken sound. “He made it sound like a favor. Like I should be grateful. And when I refused, he said he would take Liam by force. He said the law wouldn’t help me because in the supernatural world, I have no rights. I’m just the human who carried a pureblood heir.”
Rowan stood. He moved to the window, his back to her, his hands braced against the frame. The firelight cast his shadow across the floor, long and dark and menacing.
“Dorian Sterling is a collector,” he said. “He doesn’t want power for himself—he wants the appearance of power. A pureblood heir, trained to be loyal to the Sterling name, raised as a weapon… that would secure his father’s favor. Grant Sterling controls the largest pack in the eastern seaboard. If Dorian presents him with a trained Blackwood heir, he becomes untouchable.”
“He called me a freak show,” Seraphina whispered. “Said he was going to own the main attraction.”
Rowan turned. His eyes had shifted—not fully wolf, but something between, the gold bleeding into the iris like honey dissolving in tea. “Did he touch you?”
“No. But he knew things. He knew about the safehouses I’ve used. He knew about the fake IDs. He knew what school Liam goes to.” Her voice broke. “Rowan, he knew everything.”
Rowan crossed the room in three strides. He knelt in front of her chair, his hands resting on the armrests, boxing her in. His face was inches from hers, and she could smell cedar and rain and something wild beneath it.
“I’m not going to let him take you,” he said. “I’m not going to let him take our son. Do you understand?”
“You don’t know what he’s capable of.”
“I know exactly what he’s capable of. The Sterlings have been my enemies for a decade. I’ve bled against their borders. I’ve buried pack members they’ve killed.” His voice dropped, low and rough. “And I’ve spent eight years searching for the woman I met on a beach, the woman who carried my child, the woman I would have married if I’d had a choice.”
Seraphina’s breath caught. “What?”
“My father arranged a union. The day after I returned from Crescent Beach, he told me I was betrothed to a Sterling cousin. I refused. I told him I had found someone. I told him I was going back for you.” He looked down at his hands. “He had me confined to pack territory for six months. By the time I escaped, you were gone. Your parents were dead. There was no trace of you anywhere.”
“You looked for me?”
“I never stopped.” His voice cracked. “I hired private investigators. I ran facial recognition. I spent a fortune trying to find you. But you were good, Seraphina. You were so good at hiding. And by the time I picked up your trail, it led to a dead end—a fake death certificate, a burned apartment. I thought you were dead.”
“I faked my death three years ago,” she admitted. “Dorian’s men were getting close. I thought—” She shook her head. “I thought if they believed I was dead, they would stop looking for Liam.”
“They didn’t stop. They just got smarter.” Rowan reached out, his fingers brushing her cheek. She flinched, then stilled, letting his touch rest against her skin. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry you had to do this alone.”
“I was so angry at you,” she whispered. “For so long. I told myself you didn’t deserve to know Liam. That you would have been a danger to him, a part of that world I was trying to escape.” She closed her eyes. “But Liam—he asked about you. Every birthday. Every Christmas. ‘Mommy, where is my daddy?’ I didn’t know what to tell him.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That you were a good man. That you would have loved him if you’d had the chance.” She opened her eyes. “Was I lying?”
Rowan’s hand slid to the back of her neck, his forehead pressing against hers. “No,” he breathed. “You weren’t lying.”
They stayed like that for a long moment, breathing the same air, their heartbeats slowly syncing. Then a small voice broke the silence.
“Mommy?”
They pulled apart. Liam stood in the doorway, his rabbit dragging on the floor, his eyes blinking in the firelight. He looked at Rowan, then at his mother’s tear-streaked face.
“Are you sad?” he asked.
Seraphina started to speak, but Rowan rose first. He crossed to Liam, crouching down, his movements slow and deliberate.
“I need to tell you something,” he said. “And it’s going to sound strange. But I need you to listen, okay?”
Liam nodded, his face serious.
“I’m your father. Your real father. I’ve been looking for you and your mother for a very long time, and I’m so sorry it took me so long to find you.” Rowan’s voice trembled on the last word. “But I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere.”
Liam studied him. His small hand reached out, fingers brushing Rowan’s cheek. The touch was tentative, then firmer, as if testing whether the man was real.
“Are you my dad now?” Liam asked.
Rowan’s composure shattered. His eyes glistened, and a muscle in his throat worked as he swallowed. He took Liam’s hand in his, pressing it gently.
“Yes, son. And I will never let anyone take you.”
Liam’s face crumpled. He threw himself forward, wrapping his arms around Rowan’s neck. Rowan caught him, held him, his broad shoulders shaking as he buried his face in Liam’s hair.
Seraphina watched them, her hand pressed against her mouth. The clock ticked. The fire crackled. And for one suspended moment, the world outside—the black cars, the Sterlings, the hunt—faded into irrelevance.
Then Rowan’s phone vibrated. He disentangled himself, one hand still resting on Liam’s shoulder, and answered.
Beckett’s voice was clipped, professional. “Dorian’s hired a private military firm. Blackstone Security. They’re sweeping the city block by block. Estimated arrival at your location: forty-seven minutes.”
Rowan’s face hardened. “How many?”
“Twelve. Heavily armed. Human. No supernatural assets detected, but they have drones. Thermal imaging.”
“Shadowmire’s perimeter?”
“Holding. But they’re not going to hold a firefight against Blackstone. Mariel wants to know your plan.”
Rowan looked at Seraphina, then at Liam. “Tell her we’re moving. Underground route. The old transit tunnels.”
“Copy.”
The call ended. Rowan knelt again, his hands on Liam’s shoulders. “We have to go. Can you be brave for me?”
Liam nodded, his small jaw set. “Yes, Dad.”
The word hit Rowan like a physical blow. He closed his eyes for a moment, then stood, moving with sudden, sharp purpose. “Seraphina. Grab the bag. Leave everything else.”
She didn’t argue. She moved, her body obeying the command before her mind caught up.
As Rowan guided them toward the basement stairs, Liam paused. He looked back at the window, where a stray dog had wandered into the cul-de-sac. It was scruffy, thin, its coat matted with dirt. The dog looked at the brownstone, its ears pricked forward, its eyes reflecting the moonlight.
Liam’s hand tightened on Rowan’s. “Dad,” he whispered, his voice carrying a strange, hollow quality. “Why do I see a wolf inside it?”
Rowan’s blood ran cold.