Moonvallow

{Balthazar} I stepped out of the backseat of the unmarked SUV, a bevy of thoughts running through my mind as to the reason that I was here tonight. My Beta stood at the rear passenger door, closing it behind me while I took a moment to absorb the monolith standing before us. My stomach churned—a bitter, stinging blow to my pride as it dawned on me that desperation had dragged me to a human orphanage. “You alright, Alpha?” Gideon asked, staring straight ahead. When I didn't answer, his verdant gaze finally shifted to mine. He wouldn't drop it until I did. “Why do you ask?” I murmured. “May I speak candidly?” I rolled my eyes hard enough to ache. Gideon was one of the rare few who could speak candidly without jab to the mouth. Holding his gaze just long enough to let him know his request was granted, I shifted mine back to the building. He stepped closer, voice dropping. “Do you honestly think a human infant is going to pull Helara out of the dark? It’s madness!” My blood spiked. “Madness?” I rounded on him, teeth bared. “You think I don't know what this is? You think I’m blind to what she’ll do to a human child if the bloodlust takes her?” “Then why risk it?” Gideon hissed back. “We’ve never crossed that line, Balthazar. Not with kids.” “I’ve done worse over the centuries, and so have you,” I snapped, voice dropping to a dangerous, low rumble. “If there is even a fraction of a chance it brings my Hela back to me, I don't give a damn about the risk.” Gideon stared at me, jaw tight, before taking a slow step back. “If you’re certain.” I knew that he wasn’t. But I had to be. I turned toward the entrance, jaw set against the self-loathing crawling under my skin. “Madness is what I live through every day without her.” I stopped short of the door, glancing back at him. “If you stay in the car, I understand.” And I truly did. Even inhumans had a soft spot in our dark hearts for human children. Silence stretched between us. Then, Gideon stepped past me, his expression granite, and pushed the door open. ☽☾☽⚸☾☽☾ Making small talk was a moot point. I owned the whole of Virginia’s territory. It was a silent knowledge that my kind as well as other species existed, but that was of no consequence. The only thing that truly mattered was that the humans knew that they were not at the top of the food chain. I was. “M-Master Pierce, Master Savage! Welcome!” the young woman anxiously greeted, her head bowed so as not to meet our gaze, as was customary for humans when addressing Inhumans. Orphanages were one of the few establishments where humans were aware of our kind. It was a necessary evil for a number of reasons. The only thing that mattered was that they knew not to ask too many questions. “Would you follow me, please?” She nervously requested, her eyes carefully darting toward Gideon and me now and again when she thought we weren’t aware. We were used to it. Humans were always vigilant around our kind. They never knew whether they were friend or food. We followed the petite human down a long corridor flanked by framed photos of smiling children—a psychological ruse to soften whoever walked down it. When we reached a heavy, steel-plated door, she unlocked it and let us in. A maze of cribs stretched out before us. “And these are rare bloods?” I asked. “All of them?” “Why, of course they are,” a voice answered from the far end of the room. “As rare as one can be without being inhuman—though some more rare than others.” I glanced down the row as an older woman stepped out from the shadows. The moment her scent hit the air, my skin prickled. It was teasing, maddeningly familiar. I’d spent the last few months drowning my sorrows in human beds while Helara was gone, but this woman wasn't one of them. Yet, those eyes... there was something…idential in them. And an unmistakable edge of bitter judgment in them as well. “And you are?” I demanded. “The overseer of these wonderful little miracles,” she replied, her smile entirely flat. “I understand you’re the King of Moonvallow.” “I am.” She stared, her gaze carrying a weight that felt dangerously close to recognition. “And you’d like a rare blood? Forgive me, but… you don’t intend to e*****e or eat one? I hear that they are a delicacy for your kind.” She was right. They were. My wolf stirred, baring its teeth. “If I did, would you be capable of doing something about it?” Silence stretched between us, thick and brittle. She averted her gaze, though her jaw remained tight. “I fear I’d be quite incapable, King Pierce. But surely you understand my concern. They are innocent.” “Yes, they are,” I said, stepping closer, refusing to let her shrink away or dictate the terms of this room. “I am not here to kill a baby. Only to raise one.” She studied me for a long moment before pivoting away. “As a matter of fact, I do have something else in mind.” Behind me, Gideon leaned in, his voice a low tease. “You into older human ladies now, Alpha?” “Quiet,” I muttered, though my eyes remained locked on the overseer’s back as she led us deeper into the nursery. She stopped at a crib on the far end, looking down with a small, sullen smile. “A shame how humans discard their young. Your kind revere your children as much as your elders. Mine lacks that clarity.” “Children are the future in every form of life,” I said. “I agree,” she murmured, stepping aside. I looked down into the crib, and the breath stalled entirely in my chest. Thick, jet-black hair framed a face the color of rich brown sugar, catching an undertone of firelight orange. But it was her eyes—wide, luminous, and startlingly golden-yellow—that made the blood rush in my ears. “And you’re sure this one is human?” I asked, my voice dropping. “This is a human orphanage, is it not?” she countered smoothly. “This room carries a charm by your people to mask their scent, but it doesn't work fully with her. Because she is special.” “What i***t gave this child up?” I muttered. “Clearly someone who couldn't care for her,” the overseer snapped, a sudden, protective spike of venom in her tone. She looked right up into my eyes. “She needs more protection than this place can offer. Who better than the King of the territory?” I glanced back at Gideon, whose face was etched with sudden, sharp caution. I looked back down at the infant. The baby reached out a tiny hand, wrapping her small fingers around my index finger. A jolt went straight to my chest. “This little one will be our downfall,” Rhadan rumbled deep in my consciousness. “She’s just a human, Rha,” I told him, though the tightening grip on my finger said otherwise. “What’s the worst that could happen?”