Blood on the Moonstone
The travel from Blackthorn Construction Site & Diner across the street to Moonstone Auction House Ballroom consumed the next hour. Headlights cut cold through the gathering dusk.
The Moonstone Auction House ballroom glittered under a thousand crystal drops, each one catching the light and scattering it like frozen tears. Crystal chandeliers hung above a sea of tuxedos and evening gowns, the city’s elite mingling with champagne flutes and catalogues for prime coastal properties. Lucas stood at the edge of the crowd, a phantom in their midst.
His eyes never stopped moving.
The stage at the far end featured a polished walnut podium, where an auctioneer in a charcoal suit was warming up the room with anecdotes about vineyard estates. To the left, a wide hallway led to the private viewing rooms. To the right, a set of gold-trimmed doors opened onto a terrace where couples smoked and laughed, unaware of the predator in their midst.
Lucas checked his watch. Twenty minutes until the auction started.
He’d left Cassidy and Eli in the designated family area—a converted conference room two floors up, outfitted with crayons and coloring books and a television playing a nature documentary. Celia had volunteered to stay with them, her handbag over one shoulder and a determined set to her jaw. “I’ve got this,” she’d said. “Go do the thing where you look terrifying and bid on things.”
Cole was stationed in the service corridor, running tactical overwatch through a single earpiece. His voice came through now, low and clipped. “Perimeter’s crawling with Blackthorn security. Eight visible. Probably twelve more off-grid.”
“They’re not here for the auction,” Lucas murmured into his lapel microphone, turning it into a casual adjustment of his tie.
“No. They’re here for you.”
Lucas felt the weight of the next forty-eight hours pressing down on his shoulders. Beckett’s ultimatum had carved a timer into his skull, counting down the seconds until—
A hand clamped onto his shoulder.
Lucas turned, muscles coiled, and found himself staring into the winter-pale eyes of Beckett Blackthorn himself. The old man wore a three-piece suit the color of slate, a pocket square folded into an exact geometric peak. His smile was a razor blade wrapped in silk.
“Mr. Mercer,” Beckett said, his voice carrying the oily warmth of a funeral director. “I didn’t expect to see you here. I thought you’d be… preparing.”
“I don’t need to prepare for cowards who threaten children.”
Beckett’s smile didn’t flicker. “Threaten? I’m protecting pack heritage. That boy carries bloodlines that haven’t mixed in three generations. He’s a walking historical artifact.”
“He’s eight years old.”
“And in eight years, he’ll be a weapon.” Beckett stepped closer, his breath carrying the faint tang of whiskey and mouthwash. “You think you can raise him to be tame? To play soccer and do homework and forget what he is? The wolf doesn’t sleep forever, Mercer. When he shifts, he’ll need a pack that knows how to control him.”
Lucas felt the rage building, a cold fire in his chest. He kept his voice flat. “You don’t know anything about him.”
“I know his grandfather. I know what that blood produces.” Beckett’s eyes drifted past Lucas, toward the staircase leading to the family area. “I know that in forty-seven hours, you’re going to make the smartest decision of your life. Or I’m going to make it for you.”
He turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd like a shark sinking beneath dark water.
Lucas stood frozen for a long moment, his fists clenched at his sides. The chandeliers hummed overhead. A woman laughed somewhere to his left, bright and careless.
Cole’s voice crackled in his ear. “He’s heading toward the west wing. You want me to follow?”
“No. Stay on the family area.” Lucas turned his back on the auction floor. “Something’s wrong. He’s too confident.”
—
Two floors up, the family room smelled of glue sticks and orange slices.
Eli sat cross-legged on the carpet, constructing a tower out of wooden blocks. His tongue poked out the corner of his mouth as he carefully placed a roof piece on top of a wobbly third floor.
Cassidy watched from the corner, her phone in her hand but her attention locked on the door. Celia sat beside her, flipping through a fashion magazine with the concentration of a scholar studying ancient texts.
“You can stop doing that,” Celia said without looking up.
“Doing what?”
“Listening for footsteps. You’ve checked the door seventeen times in the last ten minutes.”
Cassidy forced her shoulders to relax. “I’m not checking for footsteps. I’m checking for… anything.”
“That’s the definition of checking for footsteps.”
Below them, the auctioneer’s voice echoed through the building’s vents, a muffled cadence of numbers and increments. Cassidy pictured Lucas standing among the wealthy bidders, his jaw set, his eyes scanning for threats. She hated that he was down there alone.
“Mom?” Eli’s voice pulled her back. He was holding up a block, his small face scrunched in concentration. “Do wolves have other wolves that they don’t like?”
Cassidy’s breath caught. “Why do you ask that?”
“Because the man with the cold eyes was talking to Dad downstairs. I saw him through the window.” Eli pointed at the room’s small decorative window, which overlooked the ballroom’s mezzanine. “He looked mean.”
Celia set down her magazine. “You saw a man talking to your dad?”
“Yeah. Old man. Gray suit.” Eli shrugged and went back to his blocks. “Dad didn’t look happy.”
Cassidy stood up, her heart hammering. She crossed to the window and peered down. The ballroom spread out below her like a glittering map, dotted with dark suits and bright dresses. She scanned the crowd, searching for—
A hand grabbed her arm.
She spun, but it was only Celia, her face pale. “Don’t,” Celia whispered. “If you go down there, you’re exactly where he wants you. Lucas has this. Trust him.”
“I do trust him. I don’t trust Beckett.”
“Then be smart. Stay here. Keep Eli safe.”
Cassidy wanted to argue. Every instinct screamed at her to find Lucas, to stand beside him, to face whatever was coming together. But Celia was right. She was a civilian. She couldn’t fight. She couldn’t protect anyone with her fists.
But she could protect Eli with her presence.
She turned back to the room—
And the fire alarm went off.
The sound ripped through the building like a physical force, a shrill, pulsing shriek that shattered the ambient hum of conversation. Below, the auctioneer’s voice cut off mid-number. Chairs scraped. Voices rose in confusion and alarm.
Eli dropped his blocks and clapped his hands over his ears. “I didn’t mean to!”
Cassidy’s stomach dropped. “What did you do?”
“I was just looking at the red box! I pulled the handle by accident!”
Celia was already at the door, peering into the hallway. “The sprinklers aren’t going. It might be a false alarm, but everyone’s going to evacuate. We need to move.”
Cassidy grabbed Eli’s hand and pulled him to his feet. “Stay close to me. Don’t let go for any reason.”
They stepped into the hallway just as the evacuation stream hit them. People poured out of conference rooms and offices, a current of bodies in formalwear, pushing toward the emergency exits. Cassidy held Eli’s hand in a death grip, her other arm extended to shield him from the crush.
“This way!” Celia shouted, pointing toward a side stairwell marked with a green exit sign.
They fought against the tide, pushing through the crowd. Eli’s small body pressed against Cassidy’s legs, his face buried in her coat. She could feel him trembling.
They reached the stairwell door—
And Grant Blackthorn stepped out in front of them.
He was younger than Beckett, maybe thirty, with the same pale eyes and a cruel mouth twisted into a smile. He wore a black suit with a red pocket square, and in his hand, he held a taser.
“Mrs. Caldwell,” he said, his voice carrying over the alarm. “My father thought you might take the service exit. He’s very thorough.”
Cassidy pulled Eli behind her. “Stay back.”
“I’m not going to hurt the boy. That would be… wasteful.” Grant took a step forward, the taser humming as he pressed the trigger. Electricity crackled between the prongs. “But you? You’re a liability. My father wants the heir. He doesn’t need the mother.”
Celia stepped in front of Cassidy. “You will not touch her.”
Grant’s smile widened. “And you are?”
“Someone who will scream loud enough to bring every cop in this building down on your head.”
“Go ahead. By the time they get here, I’ll be gone. With the boy.” He lunged—
And Lucas appeared.
He came out of nowhere, a blur of motion and fury. His jacket was torn, his collar askew, and there was blood on his knuckles—dark, wet, still fresh. He had clearly fought his way through something violent to get here.
He didn’t slow down.
Grant saw him at the last second, pivoting with the taser raised. The prongs fired, trailing wires through the air—
Lucas stepped directly into the path.
The taser hit him square in the chest. Electricity arced across his body, and he convulsed, his muscles locking as he fell to his knees. A sound escaped his throat—not a scream, but a growl of pure, animal pain.
“Lucas!” Cassidy lunged forward, but Celia held her back.
Grant stared down at Lucas, a look of contemptuous satisfaction on his face. “Noble. Pointless, but noble.”
Lucas’s head lifted. His eyes were gold.
Not flickering. Burning.
“You—” His voice was raw, scraped from the voltage. “Should have—stayed in the shadows.”
He reached up, grabbed the taser wires, and ripped them from his chest.
Grant’s expression shifted. The satisfaction curdled into something like fear.
From down the hallway, a sound of running footsteps. Cole rounded the corner, a bruise forming on his cheekbone and a fire extinguisher in his hands. He didn’t hesitate—he swung the extinguisher in a wide arc, catching Grant across the side of the head.
Grant crumpled.
The taser clattered to the floor.
Cole stood over him, breathing hard. “I’d say ‘sorry for the delay,’ but I had to fight four guys to get here. So I’m not sorry.”
Lucas pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly. Cassidy rushed to him, her hands finding his face, checking his eyes, his pulse.
“I’m fine,” he said, but his voice was hoarse and his hands were shaking.
“You’re not fine. You took a taser to the chest.”
“I’d do it again.” He looked down at Grant’s unconscious form, then at Eli, who was peeking out from behind Cassidy’s legs. “Is he okay?”
“He’s scared. But he’s okay.”
Eli looked up at Lucas, his small face pale but his eyes steady. “You got zapped, Dad.”
Lucas let out a broken laugh. “Yeah. I got zapped.”
Downstairs, the fire alarm finally cut off. The silence that followed was deafening.
And then came the sound of sirens.
—
Beckett Blackthorn stood in the center of the ballroom, surrounded by police officers in crisp blue uniforms.
The auction had been cancelled. The guests had been evacuated. The chandeliers still glittered, but now they illuminated a scene of controlled chaos. Officers were taking statements. Paramedics were checking over the guests who had been caught in the stampede.
And Beckett was being handcuffed.
His pale eyes found Lucas across the room, and the hatred in them was absolute. “This is a misunderstanding,” he said, his voice calm and measured. “I am Beckett Blackthorn. I have diplomatic immunity through the North American Pack Council.”
The officer cuffing him didn’t look up. “Sir, you were caught on three separate security cameras ordering your son to assault a woman and child. The only ‘misunderstanding’ here is yours.”
Beckett’s composure cracked. Just for a second—a flicker of raw, unguarded rage. “This isn’t over, Mercer. You’ve bought yourself a week. Maybe two. But the Council will hear about this. And when they do, they’ll come for the boy.”
Lucas stepped closer, Eli’s hand in his. The child pressed against his leg, watching the old man with wide, unblinking eyes.
“The Council can come,” Lucas said. “I’ll tell them the truth. That you tried to kidnap a child. That you sent your son to assault an unarmed woman. That you hide behind tradition to justify cruelty.”
“Tradition is all that keeps us alive.”
“No.” Lucas looked down at Eli, then back at Beckett. “Love is what keeps us alive. You forgot that somewhere along the way.”
Beckett’s face twisted. As they led him away in handcuffs, he sneered over his shoulder, his voice carrying through the empty ballroom: “You think you’ve won? That boy’s first shift will tear your pack apart. He’s a monster, just like his grandfather.”
The doors closed behind him.
Lucas knelt, bringing himself to eye level with Eli. The boy’s golden-flecked eyes stared back at him, full of questions and fear and trust.
Lucas whispered to Eli: “No. He’s my son. And I’ll teach him how to be a man first.”