Ava's kitchen table looked like a crime scene by midnight. Newspaper clippings, old maps, and the two lockets—Eleanor's and the one from the creek—spread across the wood, held down by coffee mugs and a half-eaten granola bar. She'd spent three hours cross-referencing dates, noting that every attack, past and present, aligned with the full moon.
Coincidence my ass.
She picked up Eleanor's locket, prying open the back with a butter knife. A scrap of paper fluttered out, yellowed and brittle. Ava smoothed it flat, squinting at the handwriting—flowery, almost elegant.
"The moon calls, but I will not answer. Not while he watches. Not while the blood binds us."
"Blood binds us," Ava murmured. She pulled up a genealogy site, typing in "Eleanor Blackwood + Thompson." The screen loaded slowly, then—
Eleanor Blackwood (1899–1927) married Thomas Thompson (1895–1940) in 1925. No known children.
Ava's breath hitched. Thomas Thompson. Her great-grandfather.
She grabbed her phone, hands shaking, and dialed her aunt Mabel. It rang three times before Mabel picked up, voice groggy. "Ava? It's two a.m."
"Did Thomas Thompson ever mention a wife named Eleanor?"
Silence. Then, "Where'd you hear that name?"
"Just tell me."
Mabel sighed. "He never talked about his first wife. Said she died in a fire. But… when I was a kid, I found a photo in his attic. A woman with black hair, smiling. He took it away and locked it up. Never spoke of her again."
Ava closed her eyes. Eleanor was her great-grandmother. Alexander's great-grandmother.
They were related.
"Thanks, Mabel."
"Whatever you're digging into, Avie—stop. Some stories are better left buried."
The line went dead.
Ava stared at the screen, Eleanor's words echoing in her head. The blood binds us.
A knock at the door made her jump.
She grabbed the pepper spray, tiptoeing to the peephole.
Lorenzo stood in the hallway, leaning against the wall, holding a bottle of wine. He winked when he saw her shadow.
Ava unlocked the door, keeping the chain on. "It's two a.m. What do you want?"
"To apologize. For scaring you in the woods." He held up the wine. "Vintage. Alexander's favorite. Thought we could… chat."
"About what? How you tracked my car? Or how your cousin turns into a wolf?"
Lorenzo's smile slipped. "Clever girl. Let me in, Ava. You'll want to hear this."
She hesitated, then unhooked the chain. He stepped inside, eyes roaming over her kitchen table. "Busy night?"
"Just researching my family tree." She shut the door, blocking his exit. "Why lie about Eleanor? She was married to my great-grandfather. We're related."
Lorenzo's brows rose. "Well, isn't that a twist. Alexander must be thrilled."
"Cut the shit. What's going on with the attacks? Who's behind them?"
He poured himself a glass of wine, sipping slowly. "You really want to know? Fine. But first—" He stepped closer, hand brushing her cheek. "Tell me, does he kiss you like that often? Like he's afraid you'll break if he lets go?"
Ava slapped his hand away. "Don't touch me."
Lorenzo laughed, low and dangerous. "He's terrified, you know. Of what you are. Of what you could do to him."
"Enlighten me."
"On the full moon, werewolves lose control. But your blood… it calms us. Grounds us. Imagine that—" he leaned in, voice dropping to a purr "—a human who can make an Alpha kneel. People would kill for that kind of power. Including him."
The door flew open.
Alexander stood in the frame, chest heaving, pupils slit like a cat's. He didn't speak—just launched himself at Lorenzo, slamming him into the wall with a thud that shook the pictures.
"Say that again," he snarled, fist tight around Lorenzo's throat.
Lorenzo choked, grinning through the pain. "Hit a nerve? You always were a hypocrite, Alex. Preaching control while you're hard for a human who could snap your neck."
Ava grabbed Alexander's arm. "Stop! You'll get us arrested!"
He wrenched free, but the second of distraction let Lorenzo knee him in the gut. Alexander doubled over, and Lorenzo stumbled back, wiping blood from his lip.
"Enjoy your little pet," he sneered. "When the council finds out, she'll be dead before sunrise."
He stalked out, slamming the door so hard the windows rattled.
Alexander straightened, jaw locked. "He's bluffing."
"Is he?" Ava crossed her arms. "Who's the council? And why would they care about me?"
He ran a hand through his hair, chest still heaving. "The council regulates our kind. Keeps us hidden. If they learn about your bloodline… they'll either weaponize you or kill you. There's no in-between."
"Great." She picked up Eleanor's locket, turning it over. "So what now? I just hide in my apartment forever?"
"No." He met her eyes, voice rough. "I'm not letting anything happen to you."
Something in his tone made her pulse race. "Why? Because we're related? Or because of this… blood bond?"
Alexander stepped closer, so close she could smell pine and leather on his skin. "Does it matter?"
"Yes."
He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his thumb grazing her lower lip. "Because when I look at you, I don't see Eleanor. I don't see a weapon. I see you."
Ava's breath caught. She wanted to pull away, to scream at him for lying, for keeping secrets—but his touch was warm, his gaze raw, and for a second, she believed him.
Then her phone buzzed. A notification from the news app: Third Hiker Attacked Near Blackwood Reserve. Condition Critical.
She showed him the screen. "Your council doing this? Or is it Lorenzo?"
He frowned. "Neither. Lorenzo's an asshole, but he doesn't kill for fun. And the council wouldn't risk exposure like this."
"Then who?"
He grabbed his jacket. "We're gonna find out."
"Wait—now?"
"Before the sun comes up." He tossed her a flashlight from his pocket. "Put on boots. And bring the lockets."
Ava hesitated. This was crazy. Following a werewolf into the woods at night, hunting whatever was killing people? She should call the police, pack a bag, get the hell out of town.
But she thought of Eleanor, dead in that cabin. Of the hikers, fighting for their lives. Of Alexander, standing in her kitchen with blood on his knuckles, and how for the first time in years, she didn't feel alone.
She grabbed her boots. "Let's go."
Alexander's lips curved into a half-smile. "Told you you'd need me."
Outside, the moon hung low, a sliver of silver in the sky. Ava shivered, not from cold, but from the thrill of it—the danger, the secrets, the man beside her who was equal parts monster and… something else.
Whatever was out there, she wasn't running.
Not anymore.