Chapter 2: The Boy with the Silver Eyes

 

Calla’s POV

The thermometer beeped again. 104.3°F.

I tightened my hold around Asher’s tiny body, praying for the fever to break. He whimpered lowly against my chest, his silver lashes were damp with sweat and his skin looked flush red like a dying sun. My arms were beginning to ache from holding him all night, but I didn’t dare let go. Never. Not when his breathing was so uneven. Not when the world had already tried to take everything from me once.

“Miss Rivers?” A nurse appeared at the doorway, her tone apologetic. “Dr. Hanley will see you now.”

I nodded, adjusting Asher’s weight on my hip as I followed her through the hallways that reeked of antiseptic and too much silence that unsettled my nerves even more. My sneakers squeaked against the tiled floor. My pulse was thundering hard in my ears.

Asher had always run hot. Since birth. But never like this.

He stirred weakly. “Mama?”

“I’m here, baby,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You’re okay. We’re gonna fix this, alright? Just stay with me.”

He blinked up at me with eyes that mirrored my worst mistake.

Silver. Like his father’s.

Dr. Hanley looked up as I walked in, a deep frown taking over his usually pleasant face. “Calla. Sit.”

I took my seat on the chair opposite him, trying not to shake Asher. He was so small. Too small. His fingers gripped weakly into my hoodie, like he was holding on for dear life.

The doctor rubbed his temple before sliding a thick file across the desk. “I ran the bloodwork twice. Your son’s cells aren’t reacting to standard antivirals or immune boosters. His body’s attacking itself.”

“What does that mean?” My throat felt like sandpaper.

“It’s genetic. His immune system isn’t built like a normal child’s. His blood is… different.”

The way he said it made something cold slide down my spine. “Different how?”

“I can’t say for certain,” he admitted. “But it resembles some of the cases I’ve consulted on—cases tied to non-human gene markers.”

I went still.

“You said you adopted Asher?”

I flinched. Lie. One of many. “Yes.”

“Well, if his biological parents carried any… rare blood traits, it could explain why he’s not responding to treatment. I’d like to refer you to a supernatural specialist. Quiet. Discreet. Off the books.”

Panic bloomed in my chest like a thousand needles.

“I don’t—” My voice cracked. “I don’t want him involved in that world.”

“I understand. But Calla…” He leaned forward, eyes serious. “Your son’s running out of time.”

The specialist looked more like a librarian than a supernatural expert—round glasses, messy bun, sleeves inked with tiny runes I recognized all too well. I almost walked out.

She didn’t bother with small talk.

“I need a blood sample,” she said briskly. “And a strand of his hair.”

Asher stirred on the exam table, eyes glassy with exhaustion. He didn’t cry when she pricked his finger. He didn’t even flinch. He just looked at me. Trusting me.

That was the worst part.

Fifteen minutes later, she returned.

“You were right to be worried,” she said calmly, as if she weren’t about to drop a bomb on the center of my world. “Your son carries Alpha DNA. Strong lineage. Dominant strain.”

I swallowed hard. “What’s wrong with him?”

“His system is rejecting human medicine because it’s not designed for his biology. His condition is hereditary—linked to a rare Alpha gene that sometimes flares in mixed-blood children. Especially when they inherit strength without balance.”

“Balance?” I echoed.

She tapped her temple. “Magic. His wolf. His bloodline. Something’s fighting to emerge before his body is ready.”

I went cold. “What’s the cure?”

She hesitated. “Alpha blood.”

I stared at her. “He is Alpha-blooded.”

“Yes. But he needs more. A direct transfusion. From the source.”

My stomach dropped.

“From his father?”

She nodded. “Specifically—someone from the Blackthorne line.”

I laughed. It sounded cracked and brittle, like broken glass. “No.”

“Calla—”

“I said no!” I stood too fast, nearly tripping over the stool. Asher whimpered, and I scooped him into my arms like he was the last thing tethering me to earth. “We’re done here.”

“You need to understand—”

“I said I’m not going back!” My voice snapped, louder than I meant. “I am never setting foot near that pack again. Ever.”

Her eyes softened, but her words didn’t. “Then you better start saying goodbye.”

I didn’t remember leaving the building.

I just remember the weight of him in my arms, heavier than it had ever been. His breathing was shallow. His little lips trembled.

We made it to the apartment. I laid him on the couch. He whimpered. Then he jerked. His body convulsed once. Then again. A soft choking noise left his mouth.

No.

No no no.

“Asher!” I dropped to my knees. “Baby, look at me. Stay with me, baby—”

He seized again. My hands shook as I tried to stabilize his head, to hold his limbs—

I had to call 911.

But they wouldn’t help.

They couldn’t help.

He needed Alpha blood.

He needed him.

And gods help me, I swore I would never beg that monster for anything again.

Not after he forgot me.

Not after he let them erase me like I was a ghost.

Not after I nearly died in the ruins of the life we built.

But Asher…

Asher was all I had left. The only good thing I’d ever done. The only reason I still breathed. And now he was slipping through my fingers because of my pride. My fear.

I sank beside the couch, burying my face in his tiny chest, feeling the faintest beat of his heart against my cheek.

“Okay,” I whispered. “Okay, baby. I hear you.”

A tear slid down my cheek, soaking into his shirt. My hands trembled as I reached for my phone.

The number still existed. A private line only pack alphas used. One I’d kept buried at the bottom of my notes app under fake names and codes. One I swore I’d never touch again.

But I touched it.

My voice shook as I left the message. “My name is Calla Rivers. I need to speak to Alpha Rowan Blackthorne. It’s urgent. Life or death. Tell him… tell him it’s about a child. And tell him to come alone.”

I stayed up that night, watching over Asher.

Every rise and fall of his chest felt like a countdown.

I hadn’t seen Rowan since the night of the coup. The night they tried to kill him. The night he forgot everything—including me.

They told him I was dead.

And he believed them.

He let them bury me in silence. No search. No questions. No fight.

I wanted to hate him. Sometimes I did.

But none of that mattered now.

Because Asher was sick.

And no one else could save him.

I pressed a kiss to his damp forehead and whispered into the dark.

“For you, baby…”

“I’ll face the monster who forgot me.”