THE REBORN OF THE ANCESTRAL WOLF

Magic in a wolf is a war

**SILAS POV THAT SAME NIGHT**

The house was way too quiet after the revelation.

Phina was now upstairs with the boy, while Mara had been tucked safely into my room.

My face remained expressionless, but my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

It wasn’t fear.

Not exactly.

It was something deeper—something I couldn’t put into words.

I couldn’t sit still. Questions piled up in my head faster than I could answer them.

A werewolf with magic… How is that even possible?

Then I remembered what my wife had said.

Her words echoed in my head.

I needed answers. And I needed them now.

So I went down into the basement.

**INSIDE THE BASEMENT**

One lamp hung on the wall, while another swayed in my left hand as I made my way through the basement, weaving between shelves crowded with junk I’d collected over more than ten years.

Pack records. Rogue bounties.

Books I’d stolen, bought, found half-burned, and pulled from the ashes.

I didn’t turn on the big light.

Then I found the first book, Crescent Lineages.

I opened it, expecting to find something useful, but there was nothing—just names. Names of Alphas and Betas. No spells. No magic. Nothing that could explain what I was looking for.

I moved on to the second book, Witch Laws, and began reading again.

Then one line caught my attention.

“Werewolves and witches do not breed.”

I read it aloud, my eyes narrowing as I continued.

“The blood rejects any such union, for the child dies.”

I froze.

For some reason, those words felt more important than they should have.

I clenched my jaw so tightly it began to ache.

Anger burned inside me. I threw the book across the room, watching it slam against the wall before falling to the floor.

Then I noticed a third journal.

No name.

Only a number stamped across its worn leather cover:

1887.

Curiosity got the better of me.

I picked it up and began to read.

**Blood moon birth. Wolf father. Witch mother.

Three children, but only one lived.

It called lightning whenever it cried.

The pack killed it at four because they were afraid.**

My stomach dropped.

My face went still.

I kept reading because it felt like I was finally getting somewhere close to the answer.

Then I found another note, scrawled in the margin in a different ink.

Magic in a wolf is not a gift.

It is a war.

Every pack will want it.

Every rogue will kill it.

I slammed the book shut when realization hit me.

Phina was upstairs.

Blue light spilled beneath the door, meaning she was conjuring magic.

I could feel it from inside the basement.

Seems like she was reinforcing the protection around the house.

“Guess that was a must.” He sighed, placing a hand against his temples.

My face was tired, anger etched into every line.

I’d spent years killing rogues.

Tracking them.

Burning their camps.

Hunting them down until there was nowhere left for them to hide.

And the very thing they would kill for—

the thing they had hunted for years—

was sleeping peacefully in my wife’s embrace.

I grabbed a blade.

Not to use.

Just to hold. To keep it close.

The weight steadied me.

I thought about the boy’s face.

Dirty cute and still asleep.

Earlier, his little hand had wrapped around my thumb like I was his safe place.

My face broke for half a second.

Then it went dead serious again.

I couldn’t change what he was.

But I could change what happened next.

No more research.

No more books.

No more hiding behind questions I already knew I couldn’t answer.

From tonight on, I train hard.

I hide our tracks.

And if anyone comes near us, I make sure they never get the chance to hurt him.

I’d gone downstairs looking for answers about werewolves and magic.

I came back upstairs with something far more dangerous.

A son.

And now I had to keep him alive.

**KAEL'S POV**

It was past midnight when the summons came from the Luna.

My brows furrowed.

She never calls us this late.

The little war room we had set up was lit by candles, their flames low. Maps covered the table, with red pins scattered everywhere.

A quick look at the Luna's face showed me how exhausted she was. Her eyes were red and swollen from lack of sleep. She hadn't slept well after the tragedy.

“Kael,” she called, her voice barely above a whisper, heavy with weariness.

“Yes, Luna,” I hastily replied, my face looking ready and focused.

“Take Joren, Maris, and Tomas with you.”

She laid four fingers on the map.

“Move to the North Ridge. Follow the trails carefully.”

Her face remained tight and expressionless.

“That’s where Silas Vale was last spotted. That’s where my son was taken.”

Joren shifted, anger flashing in his eyes.

Maris kept her eyes down, her face sad and gloomy.

“I can’t leave the territory,” Lyra said. “Not with Kade’s rogues still moving around.”

She looked at the others.

“So you guys go.

“You find him.

“You bring him home.”

She looked at me with those blue eyes, tired but still fierce and firm.

Her face was breaking, but she was holding herself together.

“Please, Kael.”

She moved closer and held my hands.

“Bring me Milo.”

I nodded once.

I glanced at the others before heading out into the woods.

**THE SEARCH**

We left before dawn.

Four of us.

No talking.

Snow covered the ground, which was good for tracks but bad for scent. I paused at the river, studying the trees on either side before giving the orders.

“We split at the river,” I said. “Joren and Maris, you both sweep east.”

Then I glanced at Tomas.

“You’re with me. We go west.”

A moment later, we shifted completely into our wolf forms and took off, noses to the ground, searching.

We found nothing.

Only old rogue camps, cold fire pits, and the carcass of a dead deer.

Then we found the burned cabin.

We stopped and shifted back into human form.

Ashes covered the ground. Bones were scattered among the ruins—some far too small, others far too large to be his.

Tomas kicked what remained of the wall, anger flashing across his face.

“This is the work of a witch,” he growled.

His fists clenched at his sides.

“No scent. No trail. Nothing.”

I stood in the doorway.

Closed my eyes.

And tried to imagine him.

One year old.

Small enough to fit in someone's arms.

My face remained stone-cold, but inside, my chest felt like it was caving in.

We searched around until dusk.

Then, with no answers and no trail to follow, for a long time we decided to turn back.

**THE RETURN**

We came through the gates at night, looking exhausted.

Lyra was waiting.

Alone.

No guards.

Just her and her little daughter, Ada, clinging tightly to her mother.

For half a second, hope flickered across Lyra’s face.

Then she saw us.

Empty-handed.

She didn’t cry.

Lunas weren’t supposed to.

Not in front of their pack.

But I could see it anyway—the pain breaking her from the inside.

Her face simply went still.

“Anything?” she asked.

“No, Luna,” I said quietly. “Not a trace.”

She nodded once.

Then she turned and walked back inside, her daughter still wrapped tightly around her.

Joren swore under his breath.

Maris put a hand on my arm.

Thomas just stood there, his face unreadable.

And me?

I felt ashamed.

Guilty.

The Luna had sent four of her best wolves to find her son, and we had come back with nothing but snow on our clothes and failure weighing heavily on our shoulders.

We had searched every ridge.

Every trail.

Every ruined cabin.

Every dark corner of the forest where a wolf could disappear.

But the woods had kept Milo.

And the Luna went to bed alone, as she had every night since her son vanished.