Chapter 11

AURORA

“Mommy, are you coming home?” my son, Tristan, asked. He looked so much like his father.

My heart ached with the sadness in his voice. “Not yet, sweetheart.”

Next to me in the car, Holden reached over and patted my knee with one hand as he steered us over the winding roads with the other. I squeezed his fingers for comfort.

“But Mommy, we miss you!” said Seraphina, my little girl, calling my attention back to the bright screen.

“Yeah, we miss you!” Tristan echoed.

Tristan had his father’s dark eyes, but he was blond—though his blond was gold where mine was silver. He was a strong, sturdy boy who cared about protecting me and his sister more than anything.

Seraphina was more petite than her brother and quieter, but just as brave and smart. She had my moon-pale skin and lilac eyes, but her father’s dark hair.

I’d only been away from them two days, but it felt like too long. I might be in Atlanta for months, and I hated that. But if I became Luna of High Alpine, no one would hurt us again. I’d be in control of my own destiny. We’d be safe.

“I miss you, too,” I said. “But you’re being good for Mrs. Melville and Cousin Evander, right?”

Mrs. Melville was their nanny, and Evander DeVere was my twenty-three-year-old cousin who had become like a brother since rediscovering my true family.

Tristan sighed sadly, and Seraphina said, “We’re being good.”

I heard a low voice in the background, and Tristan tilted the phone so I saw Evander. He sat next to the twins on the couch in my little cottage back home. He had deep bronze skin, a tousled sweep of black hair, and lilac eyes like mine.

I’d heard my grandmother’s maids whisper how handsome he was with his finely sculpted face and those light eyes fringed by black lashes, but to me, he was just Evander.

“They’re angels,” he said in his lightly accented English, winking at me. “As always. Mrs. Melville is spoiling them rotten and making sure they eat all their vegetables.”

Mrs. Melville had taken care of both me and the twins practically since they were born, and Evander was a more than adequate protector.

That didn’t make being away from my babies any easier.

“Mommy…” Tristan trailed off. He and Seraphina exchanged glances, then didn’t say anything.

“What?” I asked.

Sometimes I couldn’t get over how much their expressions looked like Dane’s. So serious.

“It’s nothing,” Tristan said.

I heard Evander’s voice again as he told the kids it was bedtime and to say goodnight. They did, blowing kisses through the phone. Then Mrs. Melville called them to brush their teeth.

When the twins were gone, Evander lifted the phone.

He looked worried, and I felt unease in the pit of my stomach. “They haven’t been sleeping since you left. Mrs. Melville thinks they’ll adjust, but I don’t know.”

“I don’t like when you’re worried, Evander. It makes me worried, too.” My cousin had an uncanny instinct for danger. It was what made him one of the best warriors in the pack after Trajan.

Evander was usually quick with a joke, but he didn’t smile. “It might be nothing.”

“Trust your gut,” I told him. “Don’t let anything happen to the twins. Or to you or Mrs. Melville.”

Finally, he did smile a little. “No worries. Just focus on becoming Luna. I’ll make sure the little monsters are safe.”

“Thank you.”

We hung up, and not long after that, Holden pulled into the driveway of my house. Trajan pulled in behind us.

“Do you want me to come in? I’d hate to leave my fiancé alone when she might want company.” Holden grinned.

I laughed as Trajan opened my door and I took his hand to pull myself from the low sports car. “Thanks, Holden. But no. It’s been a long night.”

Was that genuine disappointment on his face? It couldn’t be. Holden and I were just friends.

“No problem,” he said, his voice going warm and dark. “But I’m always available if there’s… anything… you need.”

Before I could respond, Trajan closed the car door. Holden drove away.

Trajan grumbled as we walked toward the house. His grumpy mood made me laugh.

“What are you complaining about now, old man?” I teased. At thirty-two, Trajan was only three years older than me.

“Coleridge,” Trajan muttered.

“He’s harmless,” I laughed as Trajan unlocked the door and we went inside.

“He’s an ass,” Trajan retorted.

I waited by the door as he did a brief sweep, scenting the air and walking around to make sure no one snuck in while we were gone. When he was satisfied, he signaled that everything was clear.

“Go for a run,” I said. “We’ve both had a long night.”

Trajan considered this, then nodded. “I’ll stay close to the house so I can hear you if you need me.”

We walked to the back deck, and he shifted into his massive steel-gray wolf and ran into the woods.

I watched, feeling sad like I always did. I’d had my wolf, then lost her. The pain of that never went away.

The leaves rustled. I looked to the tree line, only about thirty feet away, thinking Trajan was back.

The wolf who stepped from the trees wasn’t Trajan. He was lanky, with pale fur stained a dirty orange with the red Georgia soil. His tongue lolled out, and he looked at me with eyes a sickly color of green.

A scream froze in my throat as he grew and transformed into a monstrous lycan version of the wolf and snarled in a Southern drawl, “Hey, little sister. So good of you to finally come home.”

He lunged at me. Before I could make a sound, my abusive former “brother,” Remington Reed, wrapped his claws around my throat and squeezed.