“Felicia.”
The name cut from my throat like a command, slicing through the noise of the Full Moon Festival. The air stilled for a moment. She froze, clutching the boys’ hands tighter—two small figures tucked at her sides like shadows.
I didn’t wait for permission. I moved, cutting across the crowd, ignoring the stares. I wasn’t thinking, not really. Just following the pounding in my chest. The suspicion I could no longer quiet.
“We need to talk. Now.”
She turned slowly, spine straightening like a blade being drawn. Her steel-gray eyes met mine, just as cold and unwavering as I remembered. Gods, she looked the same. Strong. Beautiful. Untouchable. But I wasn’t looking at her. Not really.
I was looking at the two boys standing behind her.
My breath hitched.
Same green eyes. Same dark lashes. Same guarded wariness I’d seen in the mirror every day since I was old enough to understand what it meant to be born into a legacy you didn’t ask for.
“I have nothing to say to you, Damien.” Her voice was tight, clipped. “Excuse me.”
She tried to step around me, but I moved into her path. Towering over her. Blocking her exit. I didn’t care how it looked. I wasn’t letting her walk away again. Not this time.
“Don’t play games with me, Felicia,” I growled, eyes darting to the boys again. “Who are they?”
Her jaw clenched. She stepped forward, shielding them with her body. “They’re none of your business.”
“The hell they aren’t,” I hissed, low and sharp. “Those boys… they look exactly like me.”
She didn’t answer right away. Her grip tightened on the smaller boy’s hand. Max, I realized. His name was Max. And the other one—Danny. I’d heard the whispers. I’d dismissed them. Lied to myself.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Damien,” she said. Calm. Too calm. “The world doesn’t revolve around you. Not every child with green eyes belongs to you.”
I stepped closer, fists tightening at my sides. “Don’t lie to me.”
She looked away.
I saw it. The crack.
Her voice wavered, just a hair. The air between us grew electric with tension, but she kept her chin high. Always proud. Always guarded.
“Come on, boys,” she murmured, starting to move. “Let’s go find Uncle Orion.”
I reached out without thinking, grabbing her wrist. Not hard. Just enough to stop her. Her eyes flashed up at me, fire and fury simmering behind them.
“Let me go,” she spat.
“Not until you tell me the truth.” I lowered my voice, softened the edge—but desperation crept in anyway. “Felicia… are they mine?”
She didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. But something inside her shifted. I could feel it.
She ripped her arm free and straightened. Her voice dropped to ice. “No. They’re not.”
The words landed like a punch to the gut. My breath stalled.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I don’t care what you believe.” Her voice cracked now. Just a little. Enough. “You lost the right to ask anything five years ago.”
The boys flinched as her voice rose, and she immediately crouched beside them, brushing Max’s hair back gently.
“It’s okay, babies,” she whispered. “He’s not mad. He’s just… confused.”
“Mommy, why is he mad?” Max asked in that small, curious voice. My heart twisted.
“I’m not mad,” I said softly, kneeling to their level. “Just surprised.”
Max looked up at me. Those eyes. Gods, they could unravel me.
“What’s your name, little one?”
“…Max.”
I turned to the other. “And you?”
“…Danny.”
Their voices—so different, but both familiar in ways I couldn’t explain. A lump lodged in my throat as I looked between them.
Felicia stepped between us again, shoulders squared like she was preparing for war. “Enough, Damien. Leave them alone.”
I stood slowly. I wasn’t done. Not even close.
“You think I don’t hear the whispers?” I said, my voice low and cutting. “You think I didn’t notice the names? Danny. Max. You didn’t even bother to hide it.”
“I didn’t owe you anything,” she snapped. “And I still don’t.”
The wall she’d built around herself trembled, but she held it. She always had. But I saw the shimmer of pain behind her words. The choices. The loneliness.
“You forfeited the right to know anything about me or my children the day you let me walk out that door.”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came. Just the weight of everything I’d missed. Everything I could never take back.
She turned then, pulling the boys along with her, guiding them into the crowd. I didn’t follow. I couldn’t. I stood there, jaw tight, watching them vanish into the moonlight.
Later that night, I paced near the bonfire long after the music had faded. The scent of smoke clung to my clothes, but it was the sound of their laughter—my sons’ laughter—that haunted me.
Then I saw it.
A small jacket, slung over the edge of a bench.
I picked it up, frowning. Soft, worn, a little too thin for the weather. I meant to return it. But something slipped from the pocket as I lifted it.
A folded piece of paper. I crouched and picked it up, unfolding it slowly.
Crayon lines. Bright, messy colors. A family of wolves.
Two small wolves. One slightly bigger, labeled Mommy.
And one large, fierce-looking wolf with green eyes and broad shoulders… labeled Daddy.
The drawing slipped from my fingers as the full weight of it hit me.
They knew.