Chapter 3

Blood from my face dripped onto the hardwood floor as I crawled on my hands and knees, ignoring the searing pain across my cheek. My fingers frantically searched every corner, every shadow, every crack between the floorboards.

"Where are they?" I whispered desperately. "Please, they have to be here somewhere."

Those tiny white teeth were all I had left of my son. Five precious baby teeth that he'd proudly given me over the years, each one carefully wrapped in tissue paper and stored in that wooden box.

"Mommy, look! The tooth fairy is going to come tonight!" he'd said just six months ago when his last molar came loose. Instead of leaving it under his pillow, he'd insisted I keep it with the others.

"So we can always be together, even when I'm grown up," he'd explained with the innocent wisdom only children possess.

Now four of those teeth lay scattered somewhere in this room, and one had been ground to powder under Ethan's careless foot.

I found one near the couch leg, another behind the armchair. But the third and fourth remained missing, lost in the chaos of children's tears and adult cruelty.

My hands shook as I clutched the two teeth I'd recovered. Such tiny things to carry so much love, so much memory.

My son was dead, murdered by his own father's negligence, and I couldn't even keep his final gifts safe.

The pain that had been building in my chest for weeks finally found its voice. I threw back my head and released a sound that came from the deepest part of my soul—a howl that carried all the grief, rage, and heartbreak of a mother who'd lost everything.

It echoed through the house, raw and primal and utterly heartbroken.

"Oh, for crying out loud," Damon's voice cut through my anguish like a blade. "What theatrical performance is this supposed to be?"

I looked up at him through tears, still clutching those two precious teeth.

Serena stood beside him, her hand possessively on his arm. The satisfaction in her eyes was barely concealed now that she'd gotten what she wanted.

"Damon," she said in that sickeningly sweet voice, "I think she's having some kind of breakdown. Maybe she's upset because she sees how much you care about me and the children now?"

"Is that it, Aria?" Damon's voice dripped with disgust. "All this drama because you're jealous? Because you can't stand that I have other people in my life who actually matter?"

"You like being the center of attention so much? You like crying and making scenes?" He gestured dismissively at my tear-stained face. "Then go ahead! Cry all you want! See if anyone cares!"

My throat closed up. How could I explain that these weren't tears of jealousy but of devastating loss? How could I make him understand that our son was gone forever?

"You know what your problem is, Aria? You can't even raise a child properly. Look at yourself—on the floor like an animal, making those disgusting noises."

Damon pulled Serena and her children closer, creating a perfect tableau of family happiness.

"From now on, our son will be raised by Serena. At least she knows how to behave like a civilized person instead of some wild beast."

Our son. He kept talking about our son as if the boy was still alive. As if he hadn't died screaming in agony while his father played house with another woman.

"Stop embarrassing me in front of my guests," Damon continued coldly. "This is their home now."

I looked around at what had once been our family home. The furniture I'd chosen, the pictures I'd hung, the warm colors I'd painted to make it welcoming for our son. Now it felt like a stranger's house.

Everything was wrong. Everything was broken. And no one cared except me.

I struggled to my feet, my legs shaky from emotional exhaustion. From the chain around my neck, I pulled out the small silver pendant that marked my identity within the pack hierarchy.

Few people knew what it really meant. Even fewer knew about the bloodline it represented.

I moved to the desk in the corner and pulled out a piece of paper. My hands trembled as I picked up the pen.

"I am Aria Blackwood," I wrote carefully. "Elder Magnus, someone has murdered a Child of the Moon. The signs were there from birth—the silver eyes, the crescent birthmark, the unusual strength. My son carried the old blood, and now he is dead by silver poisoning in a cage of torment."

I paused, letting the full weight of those words sink in. The Council of Elders had been waiting decades for another Child of the Moon to be born. They believed such a child would bring great fortune to our people.

Instead, that child had been killed by his own father out of jealousy and rage.

"Justice must be served," I finished writing. "The old laws demand it."

I folded the letter carefully and walked to the bookshelf. Behind the largest volume was a hidden compartment that connected to the pack's messenger system. Within hours, this letter would reach the Elder Council.

They would come. And when they did, Damon would learn the true cost of his actions.

I began gathering my son's belongings—his clothes, his toys, the blanket he'd slept with every night. Each item felt like holding a piece of his soul.

When I opened the bedroom door to leave, I found Serena standing in the middle of the living room, hands on her hips, surveying everything like a conquering queen.

"Finally packing up your junk?" she said with a cold smile. "Honestly, Aria, your decorating taste is absolutely horrible. All these warm colors and family photos—so nauseating and sentimental."

She gestured around dismissively. "Don't worry, I'll have this place redecorated properly once you're gone. Somewhere more... sophisticated. More fitting for an Alpha's real family."

I didn't take the bait. I had bigger concerns than her petty insults.

But as I walked toward the front door, Serena suddenly let out a sharp gasp.

I turned just in time to see her slap herself hard across the face, hard enough to leave a red handprint on her cheek.

Before I could react, she threw herself sideways into the coffee table. The corner caught her forehead, opening up a gash that immediately began bleeding.

"Damon!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. "Help me! She's trying to kill me!"

Footsteps thundered down the stairs. Damon appeared like an avenging angel, his eyes blazing with protective fury.

"What the hell happened?" he demanded, rushing to Serena's side.

"She attacked me!" Serena sobbed, pointing a shaking finger at me. "I was just trying to help her pack, and she went crazy! She said I didn't deserve to live in her house!"

"Aria!" Damon's voice was pure rage. "Didn't I warn you what would happen if you touched her again?"

"I never—"

"Are you looking for death?" His Alpha power rolled off him in waves, making my knees buckle.

Even I couldn't withstand the full force of an enraged Alpha. His backhand caught me across the jaw, sending me flying into the wall. I crashed to the floor, my ribs screaming in protest.

Blood filled my mouth. I could taste copper and feel something loose in my jaw.

"Mommy! Mommy!" Ethan and his sister came running from their room, their faces full of manufactured terror.

"It's that evil woman again!" the little girl shrieked, pointing at me with dramatic flair. "First she hurt Ethan, now she hurt you!"

"Why won't she just die?" Ethan added with shocking viciousness for a six-year-old. "Why doesn't she just go away and die so we can be happy?"

The casual cruelty in their young voices was somehow worse than Damon's violence. These children had been taught to hate me, trained to see me as their enemy.

Damon watched the whole scene with cold satisfaction. Only after his "children" had finished their performance did he speak.

"Now, now," he said mildly. "She's still your stepmother. You shouldn't talk to family that way."

Family. What a joke. Did a woman who'd lost her own child even deserve that title anymore?

"Damon," I said quietly, spitting blood onto his clean floor. "You killed our son. Do you want to kill me too?"

His face twisted with annoyance. "Stop with the ridiculous lies. You're fine, aren't you? Standing right here, breathing, talking. And our son is perfectly safe upstairs."

He truly believed it. Or maybe he just needed to believe it to live with himself.

I said nothing more. There was no point. I picked up my bag and headed for the door.

But Serena's children weren't finished with their show. They rushed at me like little animals, clawing and biting at my arms.

"Don't let her leave!" Ethan screamed. "She'll come back and hurt us!"

In the chaos of their attack, papers scattered from my bag across the floor.

One sheet of paper landed face-up right at Damon's feet.

Ethan's sister picked it up, her young voice reading the words aloud with perfect clarity.

"Peaceful Rest Cemetery... Payment for burial plot... For: Lucas Blackwood..."

Her voice trailed off as she realized what she was reading.

The room went completely silent.

Damon's eyes locked onto me with an intensity that made my blood freeze.

"Aria," he said slowly, his voice deadly quiet. "Who died?"