Chapter 2 COLD AND EMPTY

Seraphina's POV

"Dad! Where are you?" A familiar voice shattered the silence of the hallway.

Every head turned toward the source of the sound. When Celeste appeared, my heart sank-her golden hair streamed behind her, and her cheeks were flushed from running. Tears welled in her eyes, but even grief couldn't dull her beauty.

She brushed past me, just as she had ten years ago, without even a glance.

Almost instinctively, I turned to Kieran. His mouth hung open as he stared at Celeste, as if she were a dream he was terrified to wake from. The raw yearning in his eyes answered the question that had haunted me for a decade-his heart had never belonged to me.

"Tell me I'm not too late," Celeste pleaded, her voice breaking. I saw my mother shake her head beside Ethan.

"Oh, God." Celeste's sob tore through the air, and her body went limp.

Kieran moved faster than any wolf should. He caught her before she hit the ground, clutching her tightly in his arms. My mother and brother joined them, folding into an embrace-a perfect picture of a grieving family. A picture I had never been part of.

Whenever Celeste appeared, I vanished. I couldn't keep pretending that I still belonged with them, that I was still Kieran's Luna. I had to do something.

I opened the car door and slid inside. I'd thought my father's death might ease the distance between us, but all it did was give them someone new to blame. None of them had ever bothered to uncover what really happened ten years ago.

I exhaled. I couldn't leave Daniel home alone for too long. He was nine now, but it was still dangerous-he was Kieran's heir, and rogues might seize any chance to strike.

I pressed down on the gas pedal. When I got home, I immediately went to check on Daniel-but to my surprise, he was already awake.

Light spilled out from beneath his door. When I pushed it open, I found my nine-year-old son curled up, his knees drawn tightly to his chest like a fortress against the world.

"Mom?" he asked anxiously. "Why didn't Dad come back with you?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat and sat down beside his race-car-shaped bed. "Your dad's helping your uncle with some things. I was just worried you'd wake up looking for us-like now."

"Sweetheart, did you have a bad dream?" I asked, running my hand through his hair.

He bit his lip, uneasy. "Grandpa Edward... something happened to him, didn't it?"

It felt like the air was sucked from my lungs. How could I tell this bright-eyed boy that the man who taught him to track deer just last summer was gone? I stroked his pajama-covered knees gently. "Honey, something happened tonight. Grandpa was hurt-"

"He's dead." Daniel's whisper carried an eerie certainty. "Our bond... broke."

My hand froze. He was only nine-he shouldn't be able to feel the severing of a wolf bond. Yet he had. The sensitivity I'd prayed for his whole life had awakened in him.

Relief and awe mingled in my chest-he wouldn't be like me. He wouldn't bear the shame of being an Alpha's defective child, a wolf whose beast never woke.

"Come here, my brave boy." I pulled him into my arms, breathing in the scent of maple syrup and innocent sweat. No matter how much I regretted that disastrous Blood Moon Hunt, I would never regret the miracle it brought me.

Daniel was the only pure thing in my life-the only heart that loved me without condition.

As I draped his blanket, patterned with little spaceships, over his shoulders, he gazed up at me with eyes so deep and soulful-Kieran's eyes in miniature.

"You and Dad will always be here, right?"

I knew his fear-that we'd vanish like his grandfather. I hurried to reassure him. "Of course, honey. Mommy's not going anywhere," I promised, pressing a kiss to his furrowed brow. "Daddy and I love you more than anything," I whispered. "That will never change."

"I know." Daniel drew back, looking at me. "But I don't want to be a burden to you."

"What? Daniel, why would you say that?" I asked, alarmed. "You're not-"

"No, Mom." Daniel interrupted, his voice steady. "I know things aren't good between you and Dad. Tonight was hard for you... and he still didn't come home with you."

I wanted to explain, but he didn't give me the chance. "You can get divorced, Mom."

My mouth fell open. Of course Daniel knew there were problems between Kieran and me. We'd tried to act perfect in public, but children could always sense the truth.

"Mom, you've already decided, haven't you?" Daniel said softly.

I didn't hide it. I nodded. He was nine now-honesty might make him feel safer. "If I do this... will you hate me for it?"

"No!" Daniel said quickly. "Lots of kids at school have divorced parents. Their parents still love them. I bet you and Dad will still love me too."

"You just said so yourself, right?" he added.

I pulled him into my arms again. "Of course, sweetheart. That will never change."

"Do it, Mom. I want you to be happy," Daniel said firmly.

"Of course I will," I promised. He was already getting drowsy. I soothed him until he fell asleep once more.

When I left Daniel's room, I went to the study, downloaded a divorce agreement, and decided I needed a little alcohol.

The kitchen's fluorescent light buzzed overhead as I rummaged through the fridge. Bottles clinked together-then froze mid-motion when the front door clicked open.

Kieran. He was home.

I'd expected him to stay at the hospital all night-comforting her, reconnecting. But since he was here, now was as good a time as any to talk.

He moved through the dim house like a shadow, his broad shoulders nearly filling the kitchen doorway. Moonlight outlined the sharp planes of his face. His gaze swept over me-empty. Always empty.

The fridge hummed between us as he reached past me. The scent of cedar and rain enveloped me, sharp and intoxicating, before he pulled away and twisted open a bottle of water.

"Do you... want something to eat?" I asked. "You missed dinner."

Nothing. Only the sound of his throat working as he swallowed, muscles tightening beneath his stubble-stubble I'd never been allowed to touch. The clatter of plastic hitting the recycling bin made me flinch.

He leaned against the counter, head bowed, like Atlas bearing the weight of the world. I'd seen this performance for ten years-talking to a ghost in my own home.

But tonight, I refused to fade into silence.

"Since you're not tired, your mind must be clear," I said, meeting his eyes.

"What?" he asked, impatient, confused.

"Let's get divorced," I said calmly.