The Café

The café on 47th Street was small and unremarkable. Faded yellow walls, mismatched chairs, the smell of burnt coffee and stale pastries. It was the kind of place where no one asked questions and no one remembered your face.

Derek had chosen it well.

I arrived at 12:05, five minutes late on purpose. I didn't want him to think I was eager. The truth was, my stomach had been in knots since I woke up in Alistair's bed that morning.

He had let me sleep in. When I opened my eyes, he was already dressed, sitting on the edge of the mattress, watching me.

"You talk in your sleep," he had said.

"What did I say?"

"My name." He had kissed my forehead. "And something about blue paint."

I had blushed, pushed him away, and rushed to get ready.

Now, standing outside the café, I took a deep breath and glanced across the street. Alistair's black SUV was parked there, windows tinted, engine running. He had argued with me for twenty minutes before agreeing to wait outside.

"Thirty minutes," he had said. "Not a second more."

"Thirty minutes," I had agreed.

I pushed open the café door.

Derek was already there. He sat in the back corner, facing the door, a cup of coffee untouched in front of him. He looked nervous. His leg bounced under the table, and his hands were wrapped around the cup like it was a lifeline.

When he saw me, relief flooded his face.

"You came."

"You said you had information."

"I do." He gestured to the chair across from him. "Please. Sit."

I sat. I didn't order anything.

"Talk."

Derek took a breath. "Lydia is meeting with Viktor tomorrow night. At an abandoned warehouse in Brooklyn. She doesn't know I followed her last week. I have the address."

My pulse quickened. "What are they planning?"

"An attack on Blackwood Industries. Something to do with a curse—a witch, I think. Viktor wants to weaken Alistair before making a move on his territory." Derek leaned forward. "If Alistair loses his wolf, even temporarily, Viktor could kill him."

"Why are you telling me this?"

Derek's jaw tightened. "Because I'm tired of being a pawn. Lydia doesn't love me. She never did. She married me to get close to Alistair's pack. I was just... convenient."

"That doesn't answer my question."

He met my eyes. "I still care about you, Clara. I know I have no right. I know I destroyed any chance of you looking at me with anything but disgust. But I don't want to see you hurt. And if Viktor succeeds, you will be hurt. Alistair too."

"So you're doing this out of the goodness of your heart?"

"I'm doing this because it's the right thing." He pushed a folded piece of paper across the table. "The address. The time. Everything I know."

I took the paper. My fingers were trembling.

"What else?"

Derek hesitated. "There's something else. Something about you."

My blood went cold. "What about me?"

"Lydia said—" He glanced around, then lowered his voice. "She said you're not just an Omega. She said your mother was... different. That she had a power. A power that was passed down to you."

My mother. A power.

I know what you are.

"What kind of power?" I whispered.

"I don't know exactly. Something about strengthening packs. A 'Hidden Luna,' she called it." Derek's expression was troubled. "Clara, if that's true, Viktor will want you. Not just to hurt Alistair, but to use you. A wolf who can strengthen any pack she joins? That's a weapon."

I sat back, my mind reeling.

A Hidden Luna. The words from my outline—my own outline—echoed in my head. But that was just fiction. That was just a story I had planned.

Wasn't it?

"How do I find out if it's true?" I asked.

"There's a witch. An old one, not connected to Viktor. She lives in the Catskills. If anyone can tell you the truth about your bloodline, she can." Derek wrote another address on a napkin and pushed it toward me. "Her name is Morwen."

I took the napkin. "Why are you helping me like this?"

"Because I owe you." His voice cracked. "Because every night I lie next to Lydia, I think about the look on your face when I rejected you. The way your eyes broke. I can't undo what I did, but I can try to keep you safe."

I looked at him—really looked. The man across from me was not the same arrogant Alpha who had called me worthless. He was tired. Broken. Desperate for redemption.

I didn't forgive him. I wasn't sure I ever could.

But I believed him.

"Thank you," I said. It wasn't forgiveness. It was acknowledgment.

Derek nodded. "Be careful, Clara. Lydia isn't stupid. If she finds out I told you about the meeting, she'll—"

The café door opened.

Lydia walked in.

---

Time stopped.

She stood in the doorway, her eyes scanning the room. When she saw us—Derek and me, hunched over a table, exchanging pieces of paper—her face went through a series of transformations. Surprise. Confusion. And then, cold, terrible fury.

"Derek," she said sweetly. Too sweet. "What a surprise."

Derek shot to his feet. "Lydia. I can explain—"

"Can you?" She walked toward us, her heels clicking on the linoleum. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're meeting with your ex-mate behind my back. Sharing secrets. Plotting."

"I was just—"

"Don't." Her voice sharpened. "Don't lie to me."

I stood too, tucking the paper and napkin into my pocket. "He wasn't plotting. He was warning me about you."

Lydia's eyes snapped to me. "Warning you?"

"About Viktor. About the attack tomorrow night. About the witch and the curse." I lifted my chin. "I know everything, Lydia."

Her composure cracked—just for a second. Then she smiled. "Do you? Do you really?"

"I know you're working with Viktor. I know you want to destroy Alistair. And I know you've been lying to Derek since the day you married him."

Lydia laughed—a sharp, ugly sound. "Poor, stupid Clara. Still thinking she matters. Still thinking anyone cares about her."

"She matters to me." Derek stepped between us. "And I'm done letting you manipulate me."

"Manipulate?" Lydia's eyes glittered. "I saved you, Derek. I gave you status, power, a future. Without me, you're nothing. Just a failed Alpha who rejected his only chance at happiness."

"I'd rather be nothing than be yours."

She slapped him.

The sound echoed through the café. A few customers looked up, then quickly looked away. No one wanted to get involved.

Derek didn't react. He just stood there, his cheek reddening, his eyes fixed on Lydia.

"We're done," he said quietly. "I'm filing for divorce tomorrow."

"You'll regret this."

"I already regret everything." He turned to me. "Go, Clara. I'll handle her."

"Don't bother," Lydia hissed. "She won't make it out of the city."

Before I could ask what she meant, the café door burst open again.

Alistair.

His eyes swept the room, took in Derek's red cheek, Lydia's fury, and my pale face. In three strides, he was at my side.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"What happened?"

"Lydia happened." I grabbed his arm. "We need to leave. Now."

"Not before I deal with her." Alistair turned to Lydia, his eyes already gold. "You have ten seconds to get out of my sight before I forget you're a woman and treat you like the traitor you are."

Lydia's smile returned. "So protective. Just like with Elena. How did that work out for her?"

Alistair went rigid.

I felt the shift in him—the temperature drop, the aura pressing down. His wolf was rising, barely contained.

"Alistair," I said quietly. "She's baiting you. Don't."

"She's not worth it." Derek stepped between Alistair and Lydia. "Neither of them is worth it. Take Clara and go. I'll handle my wife."

"Your wife," Alistair said coldly, "is an enemy of my pack. If I see her again, I will treat her as such."

He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the door.

Behind us, I heard Lydia laugh.

"Run, little Omega," she called. "But you can't hide from what you are."

We burst out onto the sidewalk. Alistair pushed me into the SUV and slammed the door. He got in the driver's seat, started the engine, and peeled away from the curb.

For a block, neither of us spoke.

Then Alistair said, "What did she mean? 'What you are'?"

I pulled the paper and napkin from my pocket. "Derek told me something. Something about my mother."

"Your mother?"

"He said she had a power. A power that was passed down to me." I stared at the napkin with Morwen's address. "He called it a 'Hidden Luna.' A wolf who can strengthen any pack she joins."

Alistair's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "That's... that's not possible. Hidden Lunas are a legend. A myth."

"Apparently not."

He was silent for a long moment. Then he said, "Where's the address on that napkin?"

"The Catskills. An old witch named Morwen."

"Then that's where we're going."

"Now?"

"Now." He glanced at me. "If Viktor finds out what you are before we do, he'll hunt you. And I won't let that happen."

I looked out the window, watching the city blur past.

A Hidden Luna. A weapon. A myth made real.

And somewhere in Brooklyn, Lydia and Viktor were planning an attack.

The clock was ticking.

---

We drove for two hours.

The city gave way to suburbs, then to rolling hills, then to dense forest. The GPS led us down winding roads that seemed to go nowhere. Twice, we almost missed a turn.

Alistair didn't speak much. His jaw was tight, his eyes fixed on the road. But every few minutes, he would reach over and touch my hand, as if checking that I was still there.

Finally, the GPS announced: "You have arrived."

We were in front of a crumbling farmhouse, its porch sagging, its windows dark. Vines crawled up the walls, and the yard was overgrown with weeds. It looked abandoned.

But smoke curled from the chimney.

"This is it," I said.

"Stay behind me." Alistair got out and walked to the front door. He knocked—three sharp raps.

The door creaked open.

An old woman stood there, her skin like parchment, her hair white and wild. Her eyes were pale blue—almost colorless—and they seemed to look through me rather than at me.

"I've been expecting you," she said. "Both of you. Come in."