Chapter 2
1031 Words
Aurora's POV
My mind nearly went blank. How dare she?
Then Noah burst into tears at the same time. He was only five, but he understood exactly what those words meant.
I step up, between him and Eileen.
"Get out of this room."
A flicker crosses Eileen's face—amusement, almost.
"What exactly is wrong with what I said?" She tilts her head, unhurried. “I'll be the new Luna of the Redmoon pack soon enough. That's just a fact.” Something smooths in her expression then, voice softening into something that even sounds reasonable.
"And don't flatter yourself—you think I want to be stepmother to a five-year-old? If Logan wasn't too attached to let go, if his mother hadn't made it a condition—" She takes one measured step toward me. “Frankly, if you took the boy and left, that would suit me just fine.”
I press my palms over Noah's ears before she finishes the sentence.
Both hands, firm. He's still crying against my side, his fingers twisted in my sleeve. My heart hammers. But my voice tries to suppress the tremor rising inside me.
"I extend you respect because you're Logan's fated mate, and because the Redmoon pack and Blue Valley have a long history of goodwill between them. That's the only reason." I hold her gaze and don't blink.
“Watch your words. Especially in front of my son. Keep talking like this and I will exercise my authority as Luna and have you escorted out of this pack.”
Eileen's chin lifts a fraction—the smallest recalibration. This proud heiress seemed not to believe I would really dare to do it.
“Beta Aiden.”
A beat. Then footsteps in the corridor, measured and deliberate, right outside the door.
Something changes in Eileen's posture.
A creak from the landing above. Logan stands at the top of the stairs in a bathrobe, one hand on the rail, grey eyes scanning the room. The line of his jaw is hard.
“What is going on?”
His gaze goes to Eileen first. “Go and rest. I'll come.”Then, without changing his expression: “The Luna and I have things to discuss.”
Eileen holds her ground for one more second. She looks around the room—the balloons, the banner, the untouched cake at the center of the table—and something flickers at the corner of her mouth. A short exhale. Almost a laugh.
She looks at me last. One sharp, deliberate look. The kind that isn't meant to wound so much as to remind you of your place.
She turns and walks out.
The sound of her heels fades down the corridor. I look up.
Logan's back is already to me, hand dropping from the rail.
“Logan—”
Nothing. He doesn't turn.
I let it go.
I sink to the floor with Noah and hold him until his breathing slows, until the hiccups taper to silence and his weight goes slack against me. He's five and exhausted and he doesn't have a word yet for what tonight did to him. That might be the only mercy any of this has to offer.
After he's asleep, I sit with the quiet and let myself know what I've been putting off knowing.
Without a mind link, everything between Logan and me has always lived in the gap between words. I don't have a wolf—no thread to tie to his, no way to sync the way everyone else in this pack can do without thinking. So I gave him everything I had a name for instead: three years of running Redmoon until it doubled in size, until it had alliances and territory and a seat in the regional organization. Useful, I told myself. Useful was enough.
I used to ask him to mark me, like the true mate does. He always had a reason not to. Pack matters. Bad timing. I stopped asking eventually—but I never stopped knowing what the deflections meant.
Maybe he resents me for these years. Maybe the coldness is just grief that accumulated in the space where a real bond would have been.
If it's true, so why did he marry me?
He proposed. He came to me and built this with me and I believed it meant something. Why do that, if he already knew what he was waiting for?
I turned the question over in my mind again and again, but never found an answer. Maybe never.
I look at Noah's face.
“Okay,” I think. “Okay.”
His family gave me everything. If stepping aside is what it costs, I'll do it. That decision isn't hard. My son is the hard part. The shape of everything after is the hard part.
I carry him to the couch and settle him carefully. Then I cross to the foot of the stairs.
I knock on his door. His expression doesn't shift when he sees me.
“I won't get in the way,” I sigh, “Between you and Eileen. I mean that. But Noah needs time. He can't just wake up one morning and have everything rearranged. Whatever happens—it has to be slow. It has to be safe for him.”
A pause. His eyes move to Noah on the couch, then back to me.
“You're overthinking this,” he says.
“I'm—”
“You're still the Luna of the Redmoon pack.” His voice doesn't waver. “That doesn't change. That's not going to change.”
I stare at him. “Then what about Eileen? You've always wanted—”
“I'll sort it out.”
“Logan—”
“I dealt with pack business all day.” He looks away—toward the window, nowhere—and his tone closes like a door. “I'm exhausted, and I have to be up early. I'll sleep here tonight. No point disturbing you and Noah.' A beat. 'Take him back to the Luna suite and get some rest.”
He lies down on the couch. Turns his back to me, again.
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