The Alpha’s Greatest Enemy: Return of the Bastard Luna 2

The scent of roasted meat and warm winter milk filled Ember Hall, steady and familiar. I sat at the long table with my mate and our children, the rest of the pack a low murmur of voices and clinking plates around us.

Kaelen had Bella in his lap, dark hair falling into his eyes as he tore a piece of meat into smaller bites for her. The same hands that commanded the Blackthorne pack and the hockey team on the ice looked almost gentle now. Pine-and-winter wrapped around both of them. Our daughter owned him completely, and the pack had learned not to question it.

Bram sat on my other side, small but already carrying his father’s fierce eyes and strong jaw. He ate with quiet focus, manners better than most of the warriors in the hall.

Under the table Kaelen’s hand settled on my thigh, warm and possessive. A silent reminder that we were still here, still standing, after everything. He pushed a glass of warmed milk toward me.

“Drink.”

I did. The shadows under my eyes had not fully faded, and he still watched for them.

Bella held up a piece of egg her father had just peeled. “Mommy. This is for you.”

I leaned down and took it from her fingers. The simple food tasted better than anything the kitchens could make. I ruffled her hair and missed the smear of yolk on my lip.

Kaelen noticed. He reached for a cloth, leaned in, and wiped my mouth with quiet care. His scent closed around me like a second skin. Heat flickered low in my belly at the public claim, even though we had agreed long ago to show the pack a united front. Bella giggled between us, delighted.

The heavy iron doors opened. Charles Frost stepped into the hall.

I stopped mid-chew. “Why is Mr. Frost here?”

He offered a polite smile that never reached his eyes. “I’m here to see Miss Nightbane.”

Kaelen's hand tightened once on my thigh, then relaxed. Bram looked up from his plate with perfect manners.

Charles’s gaze locked onto the boy. He leaned down slightly. “Is your name Bram?”

“Yes,” our son answered. “Bram Nightbane. You can call me Bram.”

Charles froze. Color drained from his face. He looked from the boy to Kaelen and back again, scent spiking with pure, bewildered shock.

“Bram Nightbane?” His voice carried through the sudden silence of the hall. “Why does the boy carry his mother’s pack name… instead of the Blackthorne name?”

The entire table went still.

“It is quite interesting.”

Charles Frost’s smile warmed as he watched my son, eyes bright and friendly on his handsome face. “Bram. A fine name. It means new beginning—renewal, like the first cold breath of morning after a long run. Did your Alpha father choose it?”

“No,” Bram answered without hesitation. “My mommy gave it to me.”

The pup sensed nothing of the calculation behind the soft words. He was still too young to know how wolves used sweetness to lower a guard.