Laughter echoed through the clearing, vibrant and alive as wolves danced beneath the Full Moon. Children howled with joy, elders clinked glasses, and the scent of roasted meats filled the air. But for me, it all rang hollow.
My father had ordered me to attend in his place—again. Said it was good optics, good politics. As always. I was the Alpha’s son, after all. A stand-in, a symbol. Never the man they actually wanted.
I stood on the fringe of the festivities, arms crossed, watching the blur of celebration from a distance. My eyes found him easily—Alpha Orion. Broad shoulders, steady presence, always the center of attention. My father trusted him more than he ever trusted me.
Then she appeared.
A woman at Orion’s side. Ethereal. She rose like she’d been waiting just for that moment. When she leaned in, their eyes met with something electric, something ancient.
I didn’t need to be told. I felt it.
Mate bond.
Lucky bastard.
“Of course,” I muttered, turning away. That coil of bitterness in my chest tightened. I wanted to be happy for him—really, I did. But my envy was a gnawing thing, and it had teeth.
The noise, the laughter, the warmth—they pressed in too close. I needed space. I made my way toward the edge of the clearing, toward the woods where the silence waited.
The cold air struck me the moment I stepped beneath the trees, biting at my skin and sobering my thoughts. I inhaled deeply, the sharpness grounding me, trying to quiet the storm in my chest.
I wasn’t ready to go back yet. Not to my father’s house, not to the expectations. I needed something normal. A drink of water, maybe. A few minutes alone.
I turned down the path toward the restrooms, my boots crunching softly on the gravel. But as I rounded the corner, I slammed into something small and warm.
“Whoa—” I reached out instinctively, catching the figure before it tumbled. “Hey, easy.”
I looked down.
A child. A boy. No more than four years old. He blinked up at me with wide, curious eyes and messy golden-brown curls. There was dirt smudged on his cheek, laughter still clinging to the edge of his smile.
“You okay, little man?” I asked, crouching to his level.
Then I saw his eyes.
My breath hitched.
Green. Deep green. My green.
His face—his face—it was a mirror of mine. My jawline, my brows, even the way he tilted his head. I stared, frozen, as realization swept through me like a storm surge.
Before I could find my voice, another child barreled into view.
“Danny! Mommy said we can’t go out yet!”
Another boy. And gods, he looked just the same. A little taller, maybe. But those same eyes. Same features. Like two halves of a whole.
My heart stuttered in my chest.
Twins.
My twins.
“What the hell…” I whispered, staring between them. “Who—who are you?”
The words felt small. Useless.
Then, from the shadows beyond the children, a figure emerged.