Echoes of the Moon
The travel from Winslow Productions executive office and penthouse to Starfall Motel, rural outskirts of Silverpine consumed the next hour. Headlights cut cold through the gathering dusk.
The Starfall Motel sat at the edge of Silverpine like a forgotten afterthought, its neon sign buzzing with a fractured glow that read only “STARFALL MO—L” in flickering amber. The vacancy placard swung on a rusted chain, knocking rhythmically against the office door as the wind pushed through the mountain pass.
Cassidy stood at the window of Room 7, her fingers pressed against the cheap curtain fabric, watching the treeline. The pine forest climbed the ridgeline in staggered tiers, dark and dense, swallowing the last light of dusk whole. Behind her, the bathroom faucet dripped—*click-drip, click-drip*—a timer counting down to something she couldn’t name.
“You’re doing it again,” Isadora said from the edge of the twin bed. She had her legs crossed beneath her, a paperback romance splayed open on her lap. Her reading glasses—round, tortoiseshell frames she’d worn since college—sat crooked on her nose. “The thousand-yard stare. You’ve been doing it since we crossed the county line.”
Cassidy let the curtain fall. “I’m checking.”
“Checking for what? The Boogeyman? Because I’m pretty sure we left him back at that warehouse with the James Bond security chief.”
“Reid Blackthorn isn’t the Boogeyman, Iz. He’s worse. The Boogeyman just hides under beds. Reid owns the bed, the mattress factory, and the union that builds them.” Cassidy turned from the window and crossed to where Eli sat on the floor, his back against the second bed. He had a cheap spiral notebook open on his knees, a stubby pencil clutched in his small hand as he drew.
She knelt beside him. “Hey, buddy. How’s your head?”
Eli looked up, and for a moment, Cassidy’s heart seized. His eyes caught the dim overhead light and reflected it back at her—gold. Not the soft honey brown she’d known for eight years, but a metallic, molten amber that flickered like candle flame before settling back to its natural color.
“Funny,” Eli said, rubbing his temple. “It’s like… there’s a radio in my teeth. I keep hearing things that aren’t there. Like someone’s whispering at the edge of a tunnel.”
Isadora’s paperback sank to her lap. “That’s not normal, right? That’s not just a fever?”
“It’s the blood,” Cassidy said, keeping her voice steady, though her hands trembled as she brushed hair from Eli’s forehead. His skin burned. “His father’s blood is waking up.”
“Kid’s eight,” Isadora said, her voice cracking. “I thought you said—”
“The first shift is twelve to fourteen. This isn’t the shift. This is… tuning.” Cassidy pressed her palm flat against Eli’s forehead, and the heat sank through her skin, crawled up her arm. “His body is getting ready. The antennae are coming up before the broadcast starts. Beckett said it can happen. Sometimes. With strong bloodlines.”
“Great. So my godson is a supernatural radio tower, and the Blackthorns have the frequency.” Isadora tossed the book aside and slid off the bed, crossing to the minifridge. She pulled out a bottle of water and twisted the cap off, her hands shaking enough that water sloshed over the rim. “Okay. Okay, we can handle this. We hole up here, Beckett does his whole tactical genius thing, Valentin shows up, we figure out how to keep Eli safe, and then—”
The lights flickered.
All three of them froze.
Eli’s pencil stopped moving, the tip pressed against the paper, the graphite leaving a dark, growing circle as the pressure increased.
“They’re close,” Eli whispered. “Five of them. Two at the front office, three coming up the back treeline. One of them smells like cigars and old money.”
Isadora’s face drained of color. “He’s psychic now?!”
“Heightened senses,” Cassidy corrected, though her voice was thin wire stretched taut. She grabbed Eli’s shoulders, pulling him to his feet. “He can hear them. Smell them. That’s—that’s good. That’s an early warning system. We need to move.”
The motel room door swung open before Cassidy could take a step. She yanked Eli behind her, shoving him toward the bathroom, her body going rigid—and then she registered the silhouette in the doorway.
Six-foot-two. Broad shoulders cut against the dim parking lot lights. Dark hair wind-tossed, stubble darkening a jaw that looked like it belonged on a wanted poster.
Valentin Winslow stepped inside and closed the door behind him with a soft click.
“You’re early,” Cassidy breathed.
“Reid moved faster than I anticipated.” Valentin’s voice was gravel dragged over rust. Dark circles carved hollows under his eyes. His black henley was smudged with something that looked like ash. “Beckett rerouted surveillance to the eastern corridor. We have maybe twelve minutes before they triangulate, but—” He stopped. His eyes found Eli.
The boy stared back, clutching his spiral notebook to his chest, his small body pressed against the bathroom doorframe.
Valentin dropped into a crouch. He didn’t move closer, didn’t reach out. He just lowered himself to eye level and stayed there, his hands resting on his knees, palms open.
“Hey,” he said. Quiet. Rough. “I’m your dad.”
Eli looked from Valentin to Cassidy, then back. “I know. I heard you on the phone. The night Mom hid me.”
Valentin’s jaw went tight—then he caught himself, deliberately loosened his shoulders. He let out a breath that fogged in the cold motel air. “I should’ve been there. For all of it. I can’t go back and fix that, but I’m here now. And I’m not leaving.”
“Promise?” Eli’s voice was small. Eight years old, trying to sound brave, failing.
“On the moon,” Valentin said. “That’s how my people swear. On the moon and the cycle. I promise you, Eli. I’m not going anywhere.”
Isadora made a sound—half sob, half laugh—from where she stood frozen by the minifridge. “This is really happening. This is my life now. I’m in a werewolf family drama.”
“Get your bag,” Cassidy said, snapping into motion. “Valentin, what’s the extraction route?”
“Back window, through the treeline to mile marker twelve. Beckett’s got a secondary vehicle parked at the ranger station. We move fast, we stay low, we don’t stop for anything.” He straightened, crossing to the window and peeling the curtain back a quarter inch. His eyes scanned the tree line. “They’re using heat drones. Two of them, running an overlapping grid pattern. We wait for a gap in the cycle, and we—”
The motel’s front office exploded.
The blast punched through the night, a bloom of orange and red that threw shrapnel through the thin walls. Glass shattered. The floor lurched. Cassidy hit the ground, covering Eli’s body with her own as debris rained down around them.
When she looked up, the front half of the motel was gone. The wall that had separated Room 7 from the office was a jagged wound of splintered wood and screaming insulation. The fire spread fast, crawling up the curtains, leaping across the ceiling tiles like something hungry.
“ISADORA!” Cassidy screamed.
Her friend was on the floor, curled near the minifridge, her arm shielding her face. She was conscious. She was moving. Thank God.
Valentin was already at the back window, forcing it open with a shove that bent the aluminum frame. “Go! Now!”
Cassidy dragged Eli up, pushed him toward Isadora. “Take him. Get to the treeline. I’m right behind you.”
Isadora grabbed Eli’s hand, her knuckles white, her legs shaking as she scrambled toward the window. “Come on, little wolf. We’re going on an adventure. An extremely dangerous, insurance-definitely-doesn’t-cover-this adventure.”
Eli looked back at Cassidy, his eyes wide, flickering gold.
“I’m coming,” Cassidy said. “I promise. Go.”
He went. Isadora lifted her through the window, dropping her onto the gravel outside, then hauled herself up and over. Cassidy moved to follow—
And the back door splintered inward.
Jasper Blackthorn stepped through the wreckage like he was walking onto a stage. Twenty-seven years old, tailored charcoal suit even in the middle of nowhere, his hair swept back with the kind of polish that came from generations of old money. His eyes were pale blue, almost colorless, and they found Cassidy with the precision of a predator locking onto prey.
“Mrs. Reyes,” he said, and his smile was a blade. “My father sends his regards.”
Valentin moved. Fast. Too fast for human. He crossed the room in three strides, his fist connecting with Jasper’s chest in a blow that should have collapsed a lung.
Jasper didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.
Instead, his body dissolved into shadow and smoke, reforming six feet to the left, his smile never wavering.
“Please,” Jasper said, brushing dust from his lapel. “Did you think we didn’t adjust? Reid has been preparing for your return for eight years. You’re predictable, Winslow. You always come back to the people you love. It’s your only weakness.”
Valentin’s eyes shifted. Solid amber. The veins in his forearms darkened, thickened. His voice dropped to something that wasn’t entirely human. “Touch them, and I will scatter your ashes across every county in this state.”
“Bold words for a man whose son is currently standing in a burning field while his civilian friend hyperventilates.” Jasper tilted his head. “But I didn’t come here for you. I came to deliver a message.”
The fire roared. The ceiling groaned. Cassidy could hear Isadora screaming Eli’s name from outside, her voice ragged with terror.
“Reid wants you to know,” Jasper said, “that the contract you broke is nothing compared to the blood contract you made the night you marked her. The Moon Court has been watching, Valentin. They’ve been waiting. And when they find out there’s a child—an unregistered heir—walking around without their sanction?”
He stepped backward into the flames, his body dissolving at the edges, becoming heat and shadow.
“You’re not just fighting my father anymore. You’re fighting every law the old blood holds sacred. Good luck.”
And he was gone.
Valentin lunged for Cassidy, grabbing her arm and pulling her toward the window. The fire had swallowed the front of the room; the heat was suffocating, the smoke curling black and thick.
They hit the gravel together, rolling, coughing. Cassidy’s lungs burned. Her eyes streamed. She could barely see through the smoke haze as she pushed herself up, searching—
“There. The treeline.” Isadora’s voice, hoarse and breaking.
Cassidy turned.
Eli was there, standing at the edge of the parking lot, his notebook clutched to his chest, his eyes solid gold.
And Isadora was on the ground. Face down. Not moving.
Smoke curled around her body. The fire from the motel cast her in flickering orange light, and Cassidy saw—she saw Isadora’s back rise, fall. Barely. A thread of breath.
“Isadora!” Cassidy ran. She dropped to her knees beside her friend, rolling her over. Isadora’s face was pale, her lips blue, her chest struggling for air. The ceiling had collapsed in Room 7. The smoke had poured through the window before Isadora could get clear.
“Isadora isn’t breathing!” Cassidy screamed as Jasper’s laughter echoed through the flames. Valentin’s eyes turned solid amber. “Run, Cassidy. Take Eli. I’ll handle this.”