Wildborn

Sanctuary

The doors to the Umbral Dawn Pack House swung open with a slow, deliberate creak, revealing a grand hall that exhaled the weight of centuries. Bri stepped inside and froze, her breath catching in her throat. The exterior had been formidable, but this, this was something else entirely.

A vast foyer spread out before them, its floors a sea of white marble that shimmered faintly under golden lanterns suspended in crystal orbs. The air held the faint scent of old books, polished stone, and something distinctly herbal. Tall Romanesque columns lined the walls, carved with celestial symbols and ancient runes. Along the far end of the hall, twin staircases spiraled upward, their banisters inlaid with golden thread.

Bri's gaze traveled to the vaulted ceiling where a mosaic of the moon in its various phases stretched above them like a frozen sky. Between the phases, wolves danced in arcs of starlight and shadow, and in the center a depiction of what looked like the origin of Romulus himself with the she-wolf Selene; A Child of the First Howl. It felt holy.

The decor was a marriage of old world and new. Sleek lighting met hand-chiseled stone, minimalist accents against priceless relics. Ancient Roman busts stood atop pedestals, each marked with names she recognized from her grandmother’s bedtime stories: Romulus, Faunus, Diana. Between them hung tapestries and oil paintings; some from the early colonial Americas, others clearly transported from Italy itself. Swords, shields, and armor lined one wall, positioned like a shrine to both war and memory. A map of the known werewolf territories, hand-painted and gilded, stretched across an entire panel of the west wall.

Luna Isabella and Seraphina led the way, gliding with effortless grace.

"This way," Isabella said, her voice as calm as ever. "The East Wing has been prepared."

They walked through corridors that curved and split like the veins of a living tree. Every few doors revealed glints of grandeur: a music chamber, a library, what looked like a training hall. Omega wolves moved quietly through the halls, nodding respectfully as they passed. Some carried linens, others trays of food or crates of fresh herbs. Somewhere beneath their feet, the distinct sounds of a bustling kitchen reached up to greet them; knives chopping, water boiling, the low hum of conversation.

Eventually, Luna Isabella stopped in front of a heavy oak door.

"This is your apartment," she said gently. "It has three bedrooms, a common living and dining area, and a small kitchen if you prefer to prepare your own meals."

Seraphina stepped forward, her gaze soft. "For now, we'll bring your meals to you. We know you need time to rest ... and to grieve."

Luna Isabella turned to Riona. "Alpha Marcos will wish to speak with you tomorrow."

Seraphina added, looking at Bri, "And I’ll arrange time for you to meet with our Beta, Antonio. He oversees the pack's Lunebrook Academy admissions. Term starts in two weeks."

Bri nodded mutely, her thoughts a swirl.

Her grandmother moved quickly to help Lena settle into one of the rooms. Bri hovered in the hall for a moment, then opened a nearby door.

The room was beautiful. A bed draped in woven blankets sat against one wall, while a wide arched window looked out over the mountains. There was a desk, a nightstand, a walk-in closet, and an ensuite bathroom, more elaborate than home, but comforting in its simplicity compared to the grandeur of other parts of the house.

She closed the door softly behind her.

And let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

Dropping her bag at the foot of the bed, she crawled beneath the blankets. The tension broke all at once.

She'd cried. A physical response only. She hadn’t let herself feel yet. Not really.

Not for David. Not for Cale.

It started as a single tear, the kind you blink away. But then it became something deeper, a sob building in her throat, threatening to choke her. She turned her face into the pillow and let the grief take her.

David had come into their lives eight years ago. A Wildborn with no Kindred left other than his son, he had shown up about a year after one of the most fragile moments of their lives, losing her father. He hadn’t been her dad by blood, but he had been a steady, warm presence. He didn’t try to replace anyone. He just loved them all.

He loved her mother fiercely; second chance chosen mates. Their bond had been one of mutual respect and unmistakable in its strength. He had a quiet way about him; strong hands and a gentle voice. He never raised it unless he had to. And he never needed to.

He had taken to Bri and Lena like he’d been waiting for daughters his whole life. He taught Bri how to bait a hook and had been the one to put a basketball in her hands. He’d helped her with science homework and made cocoa so they could watch game tape after late-night basketball practices. He had called her "kiddo" in a voice that made her believe everything would be okay as long as he was there.

And Cale.

Cale had been eighteen. Quiet, observant. An introvert who found solace in small things—books, sketchpads, afternoons on the porch. He hadn’t been Bri’s brother by blood either, but it had never mattered. He had always been there. At her games. At her birthdays. Making Lena laugh until she caught the hiccups.

He had shifted for the first time on his eighteenth birthday, just three months ago. She remembered his smile afterward. Like something had clicked into place.

And now they were both gone.

Two lights snuffed out.

And with their absence, the security of their home was gone as well. Four female Wildborn, two of them too young to shift, and three, the first direct descendent of Remus. Exposed. Vulnerable. It was no wonder they had to run.

But running meant leaving more than walls and woods behind. Seraphina was right, Bri needed to grieve; to mourn her kindred and the lives lost, but also the life she had believed she was building. The future that had once felt steady. The possibilities now shattered before they ever had the chance to bloom. The friends she would not say goodbye to. The fragile, unspoken almost of relationships that would never get the chance to become anything more. Alec.

She cried until her chest ached. Until her hands clenched into fists beneath the pillow.

She didn’t even remember falling asleep.

When Bri woke, the sky outside her window was lavender and gray. Twilight. But which day?

She sat up slowly, her limbs heavy. Her body felt like it had been sunk by river stones, and she was paralyzed in a dreamless sleep.

She reached for her phone out of instinct, and her fingers brushed an empty nightstand.

Then she remembered.

The phones. All the electronics. They had left them behind on the kitchen counter of the house they’d abandoned.

There was no going back. Not even to retrieve the pieces of their digital lives.

She would have to start over. New phone. New identity. Not even a need to wipe the old social media clean.

She pulled on her hoodie and opened her door. The common area was dimly lit by wall sconces and smelled faintly of rosemary. Her mother sat on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, staring out the window. At the fire in the fireplace. At nothing.

"Hey," Bri said softly.

Her mother looked up. Smiled, but only with her mouth. "Hey, baby. You sleep?"

"I think so. For like a year."

Her mom gave a small, tired laugh.

Bri sat beside her. "How are you …?"

Her mother hesitated. "We just keep going, day by day. That’s what we do."

Bri nodded. But inside, she felt it.

She’s unraveling, Eira whispered.

Her wolf? asked Bri.

Gale is silent. Not gone. Just... deep. Healing. Isolated.

Bri swallowed.

When things went wrong, when life demanded grit or patience or hard decisions, her mom had a way of drifting. Retreating into her own feelings. Making the crisis about how it affected her, and only her. She wasn’t cruel. Just… untethered. Flighty. Easily overwhelmed. Responsibility slid from her shoulders like water.

And somehow, it always landed on Bri’s.

Bri had learned early how to read a room, how to anticipate the next problem before it spiraled. She made the lists. She smoothed the conversations. She handled the practical things while her mother oscillated between denial and panic.

Her stepdad tried to anchor things, steady, dependable, stepping in where he could. Her stepbrother brought levity, distraction, normalcy. Grandma had been the real spine of it all, sharp-eyed and capable.

But when it came down to it, her mother often leaned on Bri in ways that blurred lines. Confiding too much. Expecting too much. Letting her daughter fill spaces a mother should have held herself.

Bri hadn’t so much grown up early as she had been drafted into it.

And now, watching her mother fracture again, she felt that old, familiar shift inside her; the instinct to step forward. To hold. To manage.

Even while she was breaking too.

Before Bri could respond, her mother sighed listlessly and then said, "Oh. Seraphina stopped by. She left something for you, and said something about meeting with the Beta tomorrow."

She motioned to the counter where there was a thick folder.

It was navy blue, embossed with a silver crest.

Bri stared at it. The emblem gleamed in the low light: a wolf encircled by the phases of the moon, framed by olive branches and a laurel crown.

At the bottom, the Latin words Sapientia Lunae, Fortitudo Sanguinis.

Wisdom of the moon. Strength of the blood.

Lunebrook Academy.

She ran her fingers over the seal.

She felt something deep within Eira stir.