Like his father

Like his father


The first real snow of the season blanketed Mount Pleasant in a quiet, shimmering white. It softened the world, hid the harsh edges, and made everything look peaceful—at least from the outside.

Inside the packhouse, peace was the last thing anyone felt.

A sharp cry split the morning air, rattling the picture frames along the hallway.

I froze halfway to the nursery. “Not again.”

Behind me, Kevin groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face. “That was definitely Rowan. Or… maybe River.”

Kelvin snorted. “No, that was Rowan. River cries in short bursts. Rowan likes to announce to the entire mountain that he’s upset.”

“Like his father,” Kevin murmured, glaring at his twin.

Kelvin rolled his eyes dramatically. “Oh please—”

Another wail echoed, this one loud enough to shake the ceiling light.

“Okay, that’s River,” Kevin corrected quickly.

I pushed open the nursery door—and nearly slipped.

The floor sparkled.

Sparkled.

Silver dust floated through the air like snowflakes, glittering and shifting in lazy spirals. The crib glowed faintly. More annoyingly, all of the stuffed animals were floating in slow circles above it.

The babies were both screaming their tiny heads off.

“Oh for the love of—” I slapped my hand over my mouth. “Rowan. River. Stop doing… whatever this is!”

Kevin stepped in behind me, looked around, and sighed. “Phenomenal. They’re levitating toys again.”

Kelvin followed, eyebrows high. “At least it’s just toys this time. Yesterday, Rowan levitated the entire changing table and nearly dropped it on my foot.”

“They’re babies,” I reminded them, though even I heard the strain in my voice. “They don’t know they’re doing it.”

River hiccupped, the silver glow around his crib pulsing.

Rowan gave a mighty newborn wail, and the mobile above him spun like a tornado.

Kevin stepped forward with the confidence of a father who deeply loved his kids but had emotionally accepted he was powerless against them. “Okay, Rowan, buddy, please stop trying to summon spirits or open a portal or whatever this is.”

The toys dropped.

All at once.

Clattering loudly and making River start crying again.

I moved fast, scooping River into my arms while Kelvin lifted Rowan. The kids quieted instantly, their glowing little eyes blinking up at us—Rowan with pale gold, River with icy moon-silver.

Every time I saw them, my heart swelled in ways I didn’t have words for.

Even when they were terrifying.

“You know,” Kelvin said as Rowan yawned against his chest, “I thought the first three months would be the hardest.”

Kevin nodded. “They were.”

“So why,” Kelvin continued, “does month four feel worse?”

I exhaled slowly. “Because their powers are getting stronger.”

And they were.

Rowan had inherited Kelvin’s fire—the raw, aggressive, protective alpha energy. River had inherited Kevin’s precision, his calm, his control. But both of them had inherited something else too:

The moon’s legacy.

Combined.

That part scared everyone.

Including me.

We carried the twins downstairs to the main common room, where a roaring fire already blazed. The elders were meeting today, and the packhouse buzzed with tension over it.

River cooed, reaching for the flames. The fire pulsed in response, flaring brighter.

Kevin pulled him back quickly. “No. Absolutely not. No more making the fire bigger.”

Rowan reached toward the hearth too—and the flames bent toward him.

Kelvin cursed under his breath. “Wonderful. They’re talking to fire now.”

“They’re not talking to fire,” I said, though I wasn’t sure. “They’re… drawn to energy. Elemental energy. Lunar energy.”

“Which is everything,” Kevin replied flatly.

Before I could answer, Mara—the eldest elder—approached. She was tall, stern, and usually kind. Today she looked troubled.

“Luna,” she greeted me gently. “May we speak?”

Kevin stiffened instantly. “Anything you need to say, say it here.”

Mara’s eyes flicked to the twins. “The council wants to discuss their… manifestations.”

Kelvin stepped behind me as if shielding us. “They’re babies.”

“Yes,” Mara said carefully. “But they are not ordinary babies.”

River blinked, and every candle in the room flared brighter.

Rowan laughed and the flames jumped higher.

Mara’s lips pressed thin. “You see? The mountain responds to them. The entire land is waking.”

Something cold slid down my spine.

“Waking for what?” I whispered.

Mara hesitated. “We’re not certain.”

Kevin moved closer to her, voice low but no longer polite. “What are you saying?”

“That the twins’ power… may attract others.”

Kelvin growled.

Mara kept her voice calm. “Not rogues. Not exactly.” She looked at me. “Old forces. Forgotten ones. Wolf lines that vanished. Packs that died out. You must understand—when power reappears after centuries, it does not go unnoticed.”

I swallowed hard.

I’d known this. Deep down.

But hearing it aloud twisted my stomach.

Kevin exhaled slowly, the way he did when he didn’t want to yell. “So what do you want us to do? Hide them? Lock them away?”

“Never,” Mara said quickly. “They are your heirs. Our future. But… we may need protection. Allies.”

Kelvin’s jaw clenched. “We don’t need outsiders.”

“Kel,” I murmured, touching his arm. “Maybe we do.”

Before he could argue, the front doors slammed open.

A warrior rushed in, breathless. “Alpha! Luna! You need to see this!”

We exchanged quick glances and followed him outside.

At the base of Mount Pleasant, a group of strangers stood beneath the falling snow. Not rogues—the scent was wrong. They were wolves, but old wolves, carrying symbols carved in bone and obsidian.

Their leader stepped forward, tall and broad-shouldered, his eyes a deep forest green.

“I am Thorne,” he called up to us. “Alpha of the Shadowcrest Pack.”

Shadowcrest.

A name from stories. A pack believed to have died out generations ago.

“Why are you here?” Kevin demanded.

Thorne’s gaze drifted to where I held River, Kelvin holding Rowan beside me.

“We felt their power,” he said simply. “The moonborn children.”

River whimpered softly.

Rowan curled his tiny hand around Kelvin’s shirt.

Kevin’s muscles tensed. “Stay exactly where you are.”

Thorne bowed his head slightly. “We did not come to fight. We came to pledge allegiance.”

The air went still.

Kelvin blinked. “What?”

Thorne lifted his head, expression earnest. “The prophecy spoke of them—the twin sons of the Heart, born of twin alphas. The ones who would unite the fractured wolfkind.”

“I am not—” I started.

“Heart,” Thorne said quietly, “you don’t need the title. The mountain marked you long before your children were born.”

My chest tightened painfully.

Behind Thorne, his wolves knelt—one by one—bowing in the snow.

Kevin’s voice dropped to a whisper. “This… is impossible.”

Mara stepped out from behind us. “Shadowcrest returning… it changes everything.”

Kelvin looked at Kevin. Kevin looked at me.

The twins squirmed in our arms, unaware of the tension they’d caused simply by existing.

I took a shaky breath. “Why now? Why come here?”

Thorne’s voice softened. “Because more packs will come. Some seeking alliance. Others seeking power. And others still… seeking to take.”

Kevin snarled. “Let them try.”

“No,” Thorne said quietly. “They will not challenge you. They will challenge them.”

His gaze fell on Rowan and River.

“They will try to steal the moonborn.”

I clutched River closer.

Kelvin shifted Rowan protectively against his chest.

Kevin stepped forward, eyes full alpha gold. “Over my dead body.”

Thorne bowed again. “Then let us help you protect them.”

The rest of the Shadowcrest wolves lifted their heads—eyes glowing, unified, ancient.

The air felt charged. Heavy. Full of a destiny none of us had asked for.

The snow swirled faster around us, the wind rising in a strange rhythmic pulse—almost like a heartbeat.

Rowan giggled.

River reached toward the newcomers, not frightened but curious.

I felt their power shift—brighten—flare.

And far above us, the clouds parted, revealing the pale ghost of the moon, visible even in daylight.

Mara whispered, “The moon answers them.”

For the first time since my sons were born, I understood something clearly:

This wasn’t a story about surviving anymore.

It was about preparing.

Because something was coming.

Something bigger than prophecies.

Bigger than old packs.

Bigger than any of us.

And my children—my tiny, glowing, unstoppable babies—were at the heart of it.