The Luna He Threw Away
He looked down at Eleanor, small and still, four days old.
“And then a very serious woman walked into a tavern in Liraeth,” he said, the faintest thread of disbelief in his voice, “and by the third Tuesday I’d already broken a promise I made to her grandmother. And now…” He swallowed. “Now I’m sitting here, in a drawing room in the Free Cities, in the middle of the night, staring at the first new Lycan blood in four hundred years.”
His voice faltered.
“I don’t know how to be this, Ariadne. I know how to be an ending. That, I understand. But no one ever taught me how to be a beginning. I don’t know what I’m meant to be anymore.”