The conference room of the Crescent Moon Pack house currently resembles a magical war room...only instead of weapons, it's stocked with prenatal tea, enchanted snack trays, and folders labelled in neon ink.
Michael has fully transitioned from Beta to "Beta Dad Mode," hunched over the long table with five scrolls unspooled across it. Each is color-coded, titled things like "Emergency Birth Protocol: Fire Elemental Interference" and "Plan Z: Rogue Vampire Midwife Contingency." He mutters to himself while scribbling symbols in the margins with the same manic energy of someone prepping for battle.
Aidan has long given up trying to understand the logic behind the chaos. He's propped against the door, chewing on jerky and mumbling, "We're all doomed," like it's a sacred mantra. Between bites, he tosses questioning glances at his mate, as if to ask, Are we cursed? Or just extremely unlucky?
Lexie, meanwhile, is lounging in her robe like royalty. Her glow could rival the Moon outside...whether it's from pregnancy hormones or the fact that she just claimed the last cinnamon roll remains uncertain. She gives anyone eyeing the pastry a death glare that screams: Try me and perish.
Sasha reclines beside her, legs on the table, happily dipping pickles into strawberry jam with zero shame and full appetite. She hums a tune that no one recognizes but somehow makes everyone vaguely uneasy.
Cassandra sits stiffly at the far end, water glass clutched in hand like it's a holy talisman. Her expression hovers somewhere between awe and existential crisis. She watches the scene unfold like someone who's stumbled into a fantasy sitcom midseason.
"I feel like I've walked into a prophecy I never agreed to," she murmurs.
Darius, leaning against the wall, at the far end of the room, with a brooding frown and crossed arms, gives a low grunt. "Welcome to the club. We've got snacks and seasonal mental breakdowns."
"You're next," Lexie chimes, sing-song and terrifyingly smug.
Cassandra nearly chokes on her water. "Absolutely not. I just got here. I'm still under warranty."
Before anyone can retort, Grace enters like a vision...elegant, radiant, and carrying a tray of steaming Moonberry Scones for Soothing Hormones. No one dares ask if they're enchanted. The odds of sudden magical enlightenment or accidental pregnancy are just too high.
Luke trails behind her, blueprint in hand, muttering about doubling the size of the den and creating a backup baby pantry that could survive an apocalypse.
"Three pregnancies," Darius says for the third time, as if repetition will make it make sense. "At once. Seriously?"
"Statistically improbable," Michael offers without looking up, "but cosmically? Oh, absolutely." He points a pen at the chart. "Fertile Moon, legacy bloodlines, heightened magic surge from Cassandra's arrival, and a Luna joke made at midnight? It was inevitable."
Grace shrugs serenely. "The Moon Goddess has a taste for irony and dramatic timing."
"So basically it's our fault," Sasha says with a dry snort.
"I'm saying," Grace replies smoothly, "maybe don't tempt fate while ovulating."
Everyone winces.
Just as Sasha prepares to suggest turning the nursery into a spa for hormone rehab, a sharp knock sounds at the door. Silence falls like a dropped potion.
An omega appears, clutching a letter sealed with crimson wax, bearing a foreign crest...the unmistakable sigil of the High Moon Pack.
The tray tilts slightly in Grace's hands, her features tightening just enough to make Darius straighten.
She breaks the seal with precise fingers. Her eyes scan the short letter. Then slowly, she lifts her gaze. The temperature in the room shifts.
"It's from Alpha Elijah," she says. "He's inquiring about Cassandra's safety...and your mating status."
The words slam into Cassandra like a charging beast.
Her fingers tighten around the glass. The water inside begins to ripple.
"He shouldn't know I'm here," she breathes. "No one was supposed to know."
Grace's lips press into a line. "Somehow, he found out."
Lexie stands up so fast her chair skids. Her power hums around her like static. "What does that sick old bastard want?"
Cassandra swallows. "I thought he'd let it go. His precious son rejected me. Then chose someone else."
Aidan narrows his eyes. "Wait. That Alpha? The one who tried to force you into a bond with his heir?"
Cassandra nods. "Andrew. The golden boy. The future Alpha. I was supposed to be his Luna. Tie our bloodlines. Fulfil his version of a twisted little prophecy."
Her voice shakes with remembered humiliation. "But Andrew made his choice. Rejected me in front of everyone. Weeks later, he came crawling back, saying he his father, the Alpha, was ordering him to do it. That we could still fix it."
Lexie makes a gagging sound. "The only thing broken is his spine if he tries anything."
Cassandra exhales, steadying herself. "That's when Abby and John stepped in. They've been like family since my parents passed. They helped me disappear."
Grace nods. "And that's when I sent Michael, Sasha, and Aidan to collect her."
"They made it look like she was still there," Sasha adds. "Mirrors. Scent trails. Abby and John covered her tracks."
"They stayed behind," Cassandra whispers. "To keep the illusion alive. I don't even know if they're safe."
"They are," Grace says firmly. "But Elijah is fishing. He suspects. And now he's asking."
Michael picks up the letter and reads it aloud, tone cold. "'We hope Crescent Moon is extending its usual hospitality. Our interest lies only in ensuring the safety of a valued daughter of our line.'"
"Bullshit," Aidan spits.
"He's not asking," Michael says. "He's warning. Taunting."
"He wants her back," Lexie growls. "For breeding stock. Status. Leverage."
Darius steps forward, his voice low, final. "He's not getting her. Not now. Not ever."
Cassandra's voice is quiet. "If he learns I'm your mate..."
"Then he'll know he already lost," Darius cuts in, eyes blazing.
Lexie is already moving. "We double perimeter spells. Triple if we must."
Michael snaps his fingers. "I'll install an illusionary ward matrix. Decoy huts. One with fake hormonal she-wolves for maximum confusion."
Aidan groans. "Why do I feel like I'm going to end up guarding that thing?"
Cassandra draws a slow breath, gaze flicking to Grace. "What do we do now?"
"We prepare," Grace says. "We ward. We wait. And if Elijah crosses into our territory...he learns what a Crescent Moon retaliation looks like."
Plans ignite like sparks on dry kindling. Defences rise, charts unfurl, whispers turn to orders.
But later, under the stars, the house quiet and the magic simmering low, Cassandra stands alone outside, looking up at the Moon.
Her hands are cold.
She misses Abby's brisk scolding. John's calm stories. Her parents...taken from her far too young, shadows of them drifting in her memory like faded lullabies.
She's safe.
But not free.
Not yet.
She hears Darius before she sees him, his presence anchoring her like gravity.
"You okay?" he asks, voice soft.
"No," she replies honestly. "But I will be."
He steps beside her, not touching, just there. Solid. Steady.
She doesn't need to look to know his eyes are on the stars too.
"Do you ever feel like the past is waiting to pull you back?" she asks.
"Every day," he says. "Until I met you. Now the past looks...small."
She turns to him, her eyes wet and shining. "I'm scared."
"You can be." His voice is a promise. "I'm not going anywhere. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not even if the whole High Moon Pack shows up on our doorstep in matching cloaks."
A small laugh escapes her. Her head leans against his shoulder.
The future may be dangerous.
But for the first time in a long time...it feels like hers again.
And she's not facing it alone.