No More Running
The travel from public coffee spot to office desk consumed the next hour. Headlights cut cold through the gathering dusk.
She was tired too. Tired of running. Tired of hiding. Tired of the weight of a secret she’d carried alone for six years. Adrian closed the distance and dropped his voice so only she could hear: “He has my gold eyes, Seraphina. The wolf inside him already knows me. You can run to the end of the city—I will only follow.”
Her breath caught. Not at the words—at the certainty in them. Six years of careful distance, of building walls high enough to block out any memory of him, and he’d dismantled them in a single sentence. Her throat worked, but no sound came out. The office around them seemed to shrink, the floor-to-ceiling windows showing a city that had suddenly become too small.
Adrian didn’t move. He stood there, a wall of tailored black wool and restrained power, waiting. The famous Blackwood patience—the kind that had built an empire from nothing—stretched out between them like a held breath.
“Owen,” he said, without looking away from her. “Lock the floor.”
The security chief, who had been a silent shadow near the door, nodded once and slipped out. The click of the lock engaging was unnaturally loud in the sudden quiet.
Seraphina’s hands found the edge of the visitor’s chair, her knuckles whitening. “You don’t understand what you’re asking.”
“I’m not asking.” Adrian moved to the other side of the massive desk, but he didn’t sit. Instead, he placed his palms flat on the polished surface, leaning forward just enough to make the power in the room shift toward him. “I’m telling you that whatever you’re running from, it ends here.”
The clock on the wall—a vintage piece she remembered from the old office, the one thing he’d kept when he rebuilt the company—ticked through the silence. Seven seconds. Eight. She counted each one, using the mechanical rhythm to steady herself.
“Eli doesn’t know why we move so much,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “He thinks it’s an adventure. New apartments, new schools, new everything.” A bitter laugh escaped her. “He asked me last week if we could stay somewhere long enough to plant a garden.”
Adrian’s jaw went still. Not the cliché tightening she’d seen in the tabloids, but a profound stillness that made his entire face look carved from stone. “How long?”
“Since he was born.” She forced herself to meet his gaze. “I left Silverwood the week after I found out. You were in Europe, closing the Meridian deal. I couldn’t reach you, and by the time you were back—” She shook her head. “I’d already made the decision.”
“Without asking me.”
“Without being able to ask you.” Her voice cracked on the last word, and she hated herself for it. “Do you know what it’s like, carrying a secret that could get your entire family killed? Do you know what it costs to look at your child every day and know that the man who murdered your father would do the same to him?”
Adrian straightened slowly. The movement was deliberate, controlled, the kind of economy of motion that spoke of a predator who didn’t waste energy. “Reid Aldridge.”
The name hung in the air like smoke from a gun.
“Yes.” Seraphina forced the word out. “He killed my father six years ago. Made it look like a heart attack.” Her fingers dug into the chair’s leather armrest. “And then he left a rose on my doorstep. A single white rose, with a note that said, ‘Grief is a difficult burden. Perhaps you should travel.'”
“Travel,” Adrian repeated flatly.
“It was a warning. Get out of the city, or become the next victim.” She swallowed hard. “I didn’t know why he was targeting my family. I still don’t, not fully. But I wasn’t going to risk—” She broke off, her gaze involuntarily drifting toward the door where Eli sat with Celia in the waiting area.
“You weren’t going to risk the baby,” Adrian finished for her. “Our baby.”
“The Aldridge family has been circling the Harrington holdings for years,” she admitted. “My father refused to sell. Said there were things buried in their paperwork that would bring the whole empire down if they ever came to light.” A dry, humorless laugh escaped her. “I never knew what he meant. I still don’t. But Reid believed it. And he believed my father was going to expose something.”
“So he had him killed.”
“He had him killed,” she echoed. “And I ran. I ran because I had nothing left.” Her voice dropped. “No family. No inheritance I could access without a traceable paper trail. No one I could trust.”
Adrian’s eyes darkened. “You could have trusted me.”
“Could I?” She looked at him directly, letting him see the pain she’d carried for half a decade. “You were Adrian Blackwood, the golden wolf of the Silverwood pack. You had your own war to fight, your own enemies to manage. What was I supposed to do, show up at your door and say, ‘Congratulations, you have a son, and by the way, the Aldridges are trying to kill him’?”
“Yes.” The word was simple. Absolute. “That is exactly what you were supposed to do.”
The silence stretched again. This time, Seraphina was the one to break it, her voice trembling. “I was so frightened, Adrian. I’d just watched my father’s coffin go into the ground. I had nothing but a condo full of memories and a positive pregnancy test I didn’t know how to read.”
Adrian moved around the desk. He didn’t touch her—but he came close enough that she could smell him, that familiar scent of cedar and something wilder, the thing she’d never been able to forget. “You carried my child alone for six years. You kept him safe. You gave him a mother who loves him enough to sacrifice everything.” His voice was low, rough. “That’s not a failure, Seraphina. That’s a miracle.”
She blinked back the sting in her eyes. “I didn’t know if you’d want—”
“Don’t.” His hand came up, hovering near her face, not quite touching. “Don’t finish that sentence. There is nothing in this world I could want more than a child with you.”
The clock ticked. Five seconds. Six. Seraphina let out a shaky breath and nodded.
Adrian’s hand finally fell to his side. He moved to the desk and pressed a button on the console. A moment later, Owen’s voice crackled through the intercom.
“Adrian.”
“Bring the file. The Aldridge dossier.”
A pause. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
The door unlocked from the outside. Owen entered carrying a black leather folio, and the shift in his posture was immediate—all business, but with an edge of something harder. He placed the folio on the desk and stepped back.
“Full surveillance package, as of this morning,” Owen said. “The Aldridge heir has been making weekly trips to the Pine Creek Elementary district.”
Seraphina’s blood turned to ice. “What?”
Adrian opened the folio and withdrew a series of photographs. The first showed a silver sedan parked on a residential street, a familiar emblem on the license plate frame. The second was zoomed in on a man—late twenties, sandy hair, an expensive coat—standing outside a chain-link fence. The third made Seraphina’s stomach drop.
It was Eli. Her son, small and golden-haired, playing in the schoolyard with a cluster of other children. The photo was taken from a distance, through the fence, but the detail was unmistakable.
“Grant Aldridge,” Adrian said, tapping the second photo. “Reid’s son. He’s been making the rounds of the elementary schools within a twenty-mile radius of your last address.” His voice was quiet, but there was a razor edge beneath it. “He’s looking for something.”
Seraphina’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh God.”
“He found it.” Adrian’s tone was flat. “Three weeks ago, he spent an hour parked across from the school yard. He got a clear photo of Eli playing during recess.” He slid another photograph across the desk—this one closer, more detailed. Eli’s face was visible, laughing at something off-camera. “Reid now knows your son exists. He doesn’t know yet that Eli is mine.”
“Thank God,” Seraphina breathed.
“Don’t thank him yet.” Adrian’s eyes were hard. “He doesn’t know about the paternity, but he doesn’t need to. He knows you have a son, and that makes you vulnerable. And vulnerable Harringtons are useful to him.”
Seraphina’s knees buckled. She caught herself on the chair, her hand gripping the back until the leather creaked. “I thought the names would be enough. I’ve been using my mother’s maiden name. Ellis. No record of Seraphina Harrington anywhere.”
“You’ve been careful,” Adrian acknowledged. “But he’s been patient.” He pulled out a final photograph—a white rose, lying on a preschool parking lot. “He left this three days ago.”
The air left her lungs. “He knows.”
“He knows,” Adrian confirmed. “And he’s waiting for you to break.” He moved to stand beside her, close enough that his arm brushed hers. “But he’s made one mistake.”
“What?”
“He doesn’t know about me.”
Seraphina looked up at him, her eyes shining. “Adrian, I can’t put you in this position. If Reid discovers—”
“He’ll discover soon enough.” Adrian’s voice was calm, but there was iron beneath it. “And when he does, he’ll understand that he’s made the worst mistake of his life.”
“How can you be so sure?”
Adrian turned to look at the door. Through the frosted glass, she could just make out the small shape of Eli, sitting in one of the waiting chairs, his legs swinging. Celia sat beside her, murmuring something that made her smile.
“Because the wolf inside him already knows me,” Adrian said quietly. “And the wolf inside me has already claimed him.” He looked back at Seraphina. “You’re not going to get rid of us, Seraphina. Not you, not Eli. I’ve been waiting six years to be a father. I’m not going to waste another minute being a bystander.”
She wanted to argue. She wanted to protect him, to keep him out of the crossfire. But the photograph of her son in that schoolyard, the white rose gleaming on the asphalt, the memory of her father’s coffin—it all crashed over her like a wave, and for the first time in six years, she let herself breathe.
“Okay,” she said. “Okay. We’ll accept the pack’s protection.”
Adrian’s face softened, just slightly. “I’ll have a detail on you and Eli around the clock. Owen will coordinate. We’ll set you up in a safe house with proper security—”
“No.” The word came out firmer than she’d intended. “Eli has to finish the school year. It’s all he’s had that’s stable. If I pull him out now, he’ll know something’s wrong.”
Adrian studied her for a long moment. “Then we bring the school under our security umbrella. Private guards on the grounds, monitored entry points, a dedicated driver for you both.” He reached for the folio and closed it. “And you’ll be staying in one of my properties until we handle Reid.”
“The Bellhaven penthouse,” Owen interjected. “Hardened exterior, secure garage, but it’s close enough to the school for a five-minute commute. We can have it ready by tonight.”
Adrian nodded. “Make it happen.”
Owen left without another word. The door clicked shut behind him, and the office fell quiet again. Seraphina stood there, her hands clasped in front of her, trying to process the shift that had just occurred in her carefully constructed life.
“I’m scared,” she admitted. “Not for myself. For Eli.”
“I know.” Adrian’s voice dropped. “I was scared to death when I took over the pack. I thought I’d fail everyone who was counting on me. But the fear’s the cost of loving something more than you love yourself.” He reached out, finally, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You’ve been carrying this burden alone for so long, you forgot what it felt like to put it down.”
She didn’t respond. She couldn’t. But she didn’t pull away either.
A soft knock on the door broke the moment. Adrian stepped back, his expression smoothing into something more neutral. “Yes?”
The door cracked open. Eli’s head appeared, his dark hair a mess from the ride over, his golden eyes bright with curiosity.
“Mama? Celia says we can get ice cream if you’re done with your meeting.” His gaze flicked to Adrian, and something shifted in his small face—recognition, maybe, or the first stirring of something deeper than a six-year-old could name. “Hi, Mr. Blackwood.”
Adrian’s throat worked. He cleared it once, then crouched down to Eli’s level. “Hello, Eli. You can call me Adrian.”
Eli considered this for a moment, then nodded seriously. “Okay. Adrian.” He looked at Seraphina. “Can we get ice cream now?”
“In a minute, sweetheart.” Seraphina’s voice was thick. “Adrian and I just need to wrap one more thing up.”
“Okay.” Eli lingered at the threshold, and then, to her surprise, he walked over to Adrian. He didn’t say anything. He simply slipped his small hand into Adrian’s and squeezed.
Adrian went very still. When he looked down at the boy, there was something raw in his expression, a vulnerability she’d never seen in him before.
“Good handshake,” Eli said, matter-of-factly. “My dad would’ve liked you.”
Seraphina’s heart stopped. “Eli—”
“It’s okay, Mama.” Eli looked up at Adrian. “I know my dad’s in the stars. But I think he sent you.” He gave Adrian’s hand one more squeeze, then pulled away and trotted back to the door. “Celia’s timing the ice cream. Don’t take too long.”
He slipped out. The door closed behind him.
Adrian remained crouched for a long moment, staring at his hand as if it had just performed a miracle. When he straightened, his eyes were gleaming, but his voice was steady.
“That boy,” he said, “is going to be something extraordinary.”
Seraphina’s smile trembled. “He’s already extraordinary. He just doesn’t know it yet.”
Adrian turned to the folio on his desk. The photographs inside were spread out like a chess board, each one a piece of a puzzle she still didn’t fully understand. Reid Aldridge, Grant Aldridge, the white rose, her father’s cryptic warnings. And buried among them, a ledger note she’d uncovered years ago but never fully decoded.
“Your father was right,” Adrian said, pulling out a page with financial entries scrawled in a hand she recognized. “There’s something buried in the Aldridge records. A debt that predates both of our families.” He studied the numbers. “And when I find it, I’m going to use it to bury them.”
Seraphina moved to his side, reading over his shoulder. “My father was investigating this. Before he died.”
“I know.” Adrian looked at her, and the gold in his eyes flickered—the wolf stirring beneath his skin. “Which means he died for a reason. And that reason is going to be our way in.”
The clock ticked again. Five seconds. Ten. Seraphina reached down and took his hand, threading her fingers through his.
“Then let’s find it,” she said. “Together.”
Adrian’s hand tightened around hers. He reached over and slid the last photograph across the polished oak—the image of Eli in that schoolyard, so vibrant and alive—and said, quietly, “They know what Eli is. And they’re coming before the full moon.”