Marked by Fate

One year later…

Time hasn’t healed anything.

The vision Baylee saw still clings to the back of my mind like a shadow I can’t shake. It creeps in when things go quiet, when the laughter fades, when I blink too long. Some days, it suffocates me.

So I don’t let things go quiet.

I bury myself in work.

I wrap myself in the chaos of motherhood—the scraped knees, the spilled cereal, the 2 a.m. feedings. Each moment with the kids keeps my hands full, my mind distracted, my heart too busy to break.

Baylee and Caden have become different people—or maybe they’ve just grown into the versions of themselves the world demanded. Their training is relentless. Sweat clings to them like armor. They move like they’ve lived through battles far older than their years, eyes sharp, backs straight, always watching for danger that hasn’t yet arrived. They spar like they’re trying to out-bleed each other, but it’s love at the core. A desperate, aching love that won’t let the other fall behind.

May is our oddball little star. Seven going on seventy. She does everything by the book—except for the shoes. She despises them. Her stubborn bare feet slap against cold tile like they have something to prove, and no one bothers arguing anymore.

Ryan is her shadow. Caden’s old habits reborn. Wherever May goes, Ryan follows, with that wide-eyed devotion boys reserve for girls who steal their whole world before they even understand it. The four of them—May, Baylee, Ryan, Caden—they orbit each other like moons refusing to fall.

Craig trails behind them, always present, always impatient. He rolls his eyes more than he speaks. The girls push his buttons. The boys push back harder. But they all belong to each other in their own jagged, clashing way.

The younger ones—Noah and Sophie—have found their rhythm. They toddle in sync, laugh in tandem, breathe like they share the same lungs. Keagen, just a few months behind them, clings to Drake’s leg like it’s home base. A daddy’s girl through and through.

Drake leans over a mountain of paperwork, pen tapping in rhythm with the clock on the wall. Simon lounges on the couch nearby, thumbs flying across his phone like he’s texting the fate of the world. The room hums with a quiet tension, held together by unspoken things.

Then—three sharp knocks. Both men freeze. Heads lift. Eyes lock on the door.

“Come in,” I call, the words half-swallowed as I scribble my name across the final page and shove it into the drawer like it might explode if I leave it out any longer.

The door creaks open, and Caron peeks in with a sugary smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. I smile back and wave her in. She steps inside, smooth and confident, with Vincent shadowing her like a loyal beast. He doesn’t bother smiling. He just drops into the seat across from me like he owns the space.

“I made this for you,” he says, pulling a bottle from his coat like a magician with a final trick. The glass glints, filled with a liquid so blue it looks unnatural—too bright, too still.

I raise an eyebrow as I take it, fingers brushing against his for a second too long. Suspicion tugs at my gut. I set it on the desk between us, eyeing it like it might bite.

Behind him, Vincent casts a look over his shoulder—sharp, narrowed—at Simon. A grunt follows, low and disapproving. Vincent doesn’t bother hiding it. He doesn’t like Simon. He doesn’t trust him. And frankly, he doesn’t care if anyone notices.

I hide a smile behind my hand. For all his blunt edges, Vincent has turned into something solid. Protective. Fierce. Pack.

“Simon, go grab a coffee,” I say, not unkindly. I point to the door. “I’ll call when I need you.”

He sighs like a teenager, rolls his eyes with flair, and slinks out of the room.

Over the past year, we’ve formed an uneasy kind of friendship, built on long shifts and silent understanding. I trust him. But not everyone does—and poor Simon wears their doubt like a second skin.

As the door clicks shut, Vincent puts a finger to his lips, then slides from his chair and cracks the door open. He sticks his head out, scanning the hallway like he’s expecting snipers.

I chuckle. His paranoia has grown almost endearing.

Drake rises, comes to me in two strides, and lifts me off my chair like I weigh nothing. He drops into his seat with me on his lap, one arm curling around my waist, his lips brushing my temple.

Vincent closes the door and sinks back into his chair with a grunt. “Coast is clear. Still don’t understand why you keep that guy around. Something off about him.”

Caron groans and throws her hands up. “If Luna trusts him, then so should you!”

I ignore the bickering and turn to Drake, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth. He grins against my lips.

“I love you,” I whisper.

“Mmmm,” he murmurs, kissing me again. “I love you too. Now… what is this stuff?” He nods toward the bottle, still glowing on the desk like it holds some alien magic.

I frown and pick it up. “It kind of looks like antifreeze.”

I twist the cap and bring it to my nose—and instantly regret it. The stench slaps me in the throat like a physical blow. My eyes water. Gag reflex kicks in.

“Oh heavens—what the hell is that?!” I choke, shoving it toward Drake like it’s cursed.

He sniffs it and instantly recoils. “Nope. That’s a hard no.” He clamps the lid shut, face twisted in disgust.

“It’s to make Luna stronger,” Caron says casually, like we didn’t just gag on her science project. “Stronger than the last poison we gave you, actually.”

Vincent smirks while Caron stretches, her fingers stained a violent blue from whatever alchemy she’s been up to.

“If any of the men you interview are using magic to hide their feelings, this will cut through it. You’ll see through the illusion. And if there’s magic nearby, you’ll feel it. Instantly,” she adds, rubbing her eyes. “Also, it’ll boost your strength. You and your wolf.”

I shudder and stick out my tongue. “Do I really have to drink it?”

“Just a mouthful,” Vincent says, pointing at the bottle. “I made extra. Use it every day—or at least until your full power activates. Then your instincts will take over, and you won’t need it anymore.”

Caron nods. “It’s an advanced gift. You’ll need to practice with it. But this will help, at least for now.”