A Siren's Calling

The storm outside roared like a beast, rattling the windows of the old cabin, but it was nothing compared to the storm inside. Mirrabella lay on the worn mattress, soaked in sweat, her body twisting with pain. Each contraction crashed through her like a wave of fire, unforgiving and wild. Her cries echoed through the wooden beams, swallowed by the wind howling outside. She was terrified. There was no hospital. No nurses. No doctor. Just the two of them, tucked away in a remote cabin deep in the woods, where no roads reached and no mortal dared to crawl. The baby had come early. Too early. They hadn’t been ready. “Luca-” Her voice cracked. Her eyes, wild with fear, locked onto his. “I’m here.” He was already at her side, kneeling on the floor beside the bed, his hands shaking as they brushed her tangled hair from her face. “I’ve got you, Mira. I’m not going anywhere.” She whimpered as another contraction ripped through her. Her nails dug into his forearm, and he welcomed the pain. He would take all of it if he could. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she sobbed. “I’m so scared.” “I know,” he said softly, leaning in to kiss her sweat-damp forehead. “But you’re not alone. We can do this. Together.” Blood stained the blankets. The fire in the hearth cast flickering shadows on the walls, dancing like ghosts. The little table nearby held everything he could find: boiled water, clean towels, a knife sterilized in flame. His hands were clumsy, desperate. His heart pounded like thunder. Hours passed like a fever dream. She screamed. She cried. She nearly passed out. And he never left her side. Then came a moment of stillness. “Luca-” Her voice was hoarse. “I need to push.” He scrambled into place, trying to remember everything he'd read, every video he’d watched in panic the night before when the first signs had shown. “Okay,” he breathed. “Okay. I’ve got you, love. When you're ready.” She bore down with a guttural cry, the pain consuming her. Again. And again. And then... A sound. Small, thin, but sharp enough to cut through the haze. A cry. Luca's hands trembled as he lifted the tiny, wriggling body from between her legs, the cord still connecting them. He wrapped the baby in a towel, his breath hitching, eyes wide with disbelief and awe. “It’s… it’s a girl,” he whispered. Mirrabella collapsed back onto the bed, sobbing. Not from pain this time, but from relief, from wonder, from the unbearable weight of love. He brought the baby to her chest, and for the first time that night, silence fell. A peaceful, sacred silence broken only by the soft sounds of new life. Mirrabella held her daughter close, her body broken and aching, her soul trembling. Luca sat beside her, one arm around them both, tears in his eyes. Alone in the cabin, lit by firelight and storm flashes, the three of them breathed together. And somehow, that was enough. *** The wind shrieked outside like a warning, rattling the walls of the old cabin. Flames in the hearth flickered violently, casting trembling shadows across the room. Mirrabella had just begun to drift, the newborn girl pressed close to her chest, when the door slammed open with a bang loud enough to shake the walls. A massive figure stumbled inside, soaked to the bone, wild-eyed and breathing hard. Mud clung to his boots. His bare arms were streaked with blood-not his own. “Elias,” Luca growled, already on his feet, eyes narrowing. The beta wolf’s chest heaved. “They found you,” he gasped. “They’re coming. You don’t have time, Alpha.” For a heartbeat, everything stopped. Then Luca turned, locking eyes with Mirrabella. Her face had gone pale. “No… No, they can’t-” “They can. They have,” Elias said, stepping forward. “They’re less than an hour behind me. I led them off the ridge, but it won’t hold them long.” Luca’s jaw clenched. He crossed the room and knelt by the bed, his hand resting over Mirrabella’s. His voice shook despite his effort to stay calm. “We always knew this might happen,” he said quietly. She stared at him, shaking her head. “Luca, no. Please… Not now. She’s just been born. She needs us.” “She needs to live,” he said, voice thick with grief. “And if they find her, they’ll never let her grow old enough to even know who she is.” The baby whimpered softly in her sleep, cradled against her mother’s chest. Mirrabella looked down at the tiny girl—red-cheeked, warm, innocent—and felt her heart crack open. “She won’t remember us,” she whispered. “No,” Luca said, tears slipping silently down his cheeks. “But she’ll be alive. And safe. That’s what matters.” Elias stood frozen, staring at them both. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice hoarse. Mirrabella kissed the baby’s forehead, breathing her in like it would be the last time. “Promise us,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Raise her as a human. No wolfs. No sirens. Nothing.” “No shifting,” Luca added. “Keep her hidden. She can’t know what she is. Not until she’s old enough to fight it.” Elias hesitated-then stepped forward, gently taking the small bundle into his arms. The baby stirred but didn’t cry, her little fingers curling around a piece of Elias’s shirt. “I swear it,” he said, voice like a vow etched in stone. “She’ll be safe. I’ll protect her with my life.” Mirrabella let out a sound that was half a sob, half a breathless prayer. Luca held her tightly for one final moment, pressing his forehead against hers. Then he stood, turned to Elias, and said, “Run.” The beta wolf nodded once and vanished back into the storm, the child held close to his chest, vanishing into the dark like a ghost. Luca turned to the door, pulling off his shirt. Muscles rippled, and his body began to shift—the Alpha rising from within, bones stretching, fur sprouting. Mirrabella forced herself to sit up despite the agony still wracking her body. Her hands trembled, but her voice was steel. “If they want our daughter,” she spat, eyes burning, “they’ll have to kill us first.” And outside, the wind howled like the gods themselves were mourning. Their baby was gone. But for now, she was safe.