Page 11 of Lycan Prince's Secret Baby

Tearing through my own churning emotions, I wrenched Leah through the doorway, my grip firm on her wrist as I stepped out into the night.

“Let’s go,” I commanded, urgency threading through my voice. A fierceness threaded through me as I tugged her on through the darkness, needing to get her away from there.

Her delicate frame stumbled to keep up with my determined strides, and I could feel the heat radiating from her skin—wild and intoxicating. But amid my determination, I became suddenly aware of how forceful I was being, realizing I was practically dragging her.

“Slow down!” she protested, the rush of her breath mingling with the night air. The undercurrent of her defiance only made my heart race faster and my blood heat.

The crunch of pine cones and needles echoed in the stillness as we hurried away from the Blood Moon quarters. The scent of damp earth filled my lungs—fresh and grounding. As we navigated the familiar path, I slowed my pace and allowed Leah a moment’s reprieve. Her chest heaved as she fought to catch her breath; I scented perspiration glistening along her brow and stole a glance at her—strands of her fiery hair clung to her flushed cheeks.

“Just, catch your breath,” I murmured gruffly, my tone softening involuntarily. The icy resolve I had maintained began to thaw just a fraction in the face of her vulnerability.

As we passed the pine trees separating the Blood Moon quarters and Moonlight, I slowed our steps even more. The blanket of stars above shone clearer here, unobscured by the light pollution of the Moonlight compound. I eased my grip on her wrist, and the wind shifted, carrying a hint of Leah’s floral scent—a sweet blend of wildflowers that ignited something primal in me. She was a flame, radiant and dangerous, lighting up the void in me I hadn’t realized existed.

Leah’s rigid shoulders relaxed slightly, and we continued, our footsteps falling more softly. I didn’t look at her, but something in me gradually uncoiled as I savored the contact of my hand around her wrist as I led her onward.

Approaching my home, the familiar outline of the two-story cabin loomed in the moonlight. Hesitation washed over me. How should I handle this? I pushed the front door open to thedark foyer, and it was only then that I finally released her wrist. Instinctively, she clenched her fists, tilting her chin defiantly. That fiery spirit of hers burned brightly.

“What’s going to happen now?” she demanded, her voice steady despite the vulnerability that lingered beneath her bravado—a quality I admired but felt compelled to temper.

“Go to bed, Leah,” I managed to grind out, my throat tight with conflicting emotions. I turned down the hall to my study, wishing for just a moment to break the mounting tension between us. Relief washed over me as her swift steps sounded on the stairs, and she retreated to the attic.

I slumped against the wall outside my study, closing my eyes and pressing the heels of my hands into them. What the hell was happening to me? My heart raced as I forced myself to confront what I’d witnessed tonight.

The sorrowful children nibbling on my half-eaten scraps and the frail elderly couple huddled under threadbare blankets loomed in my mind. I could see how their eyes had filled with fear at the sight of me and how the children had hidden beneath their blankets. I imagined my mother standing before me, her compassionate gaze piercing mine. She would have fought fang and claw to ensure every Blood Moon had the basic dignity and rights to life that they deserved—rights that every shifter deserved.

I had once believed all Blood Moons were deceitful, allowing my past to cloud my judgment. However, witnessing the suffering of the innocent shifted something within me. They were trapped in a servitude my pack and my father had imposed upon them. Memories of my mother’s violent death at the hands of theBlood Moon Pack washed over me—bitter and sharp—but they couldn’t silence her words:“Change begins with empathy, my son.”

Standing here, grappling with this truth, I came to an unsettling realization: my hatred—the very anger that had driven my quest for revenge—would not bring her peace, nor would it end the cycle of suffering. If I allowed this injustice to persist, I would be no better than those who had silenced her. My mother had envisioned a world where Blood Moons and Moonlights could thrive side by side, and it was time to honor that vision. I felt the seed of change unfurling. With a newfound clarity, I understood that my mother could finally be at peace if I could pull my pack from its oppressive ways and guide them toward a harmonious coexistence with the Blood Moons.

Another surge of truth crashed over me as I realized Leah had only been wearing gray overalls and a linen shirt tonight. What were the chances that she didn’t own anything warmer than that? The thick, warm jacket slung over my shoulders felt like chains.

I can no longer stand back. I need to act.

Without further hesitation, I headed out of the house. I made my way straight to my assistant Mark’s home, knocking on the door a few times before a light flickered on inside.

A few minutes later, Mark poked his head around the door, his expression bleary. “What’s wrong?” he mumbled, sleep heavy in his voice, his tousled brown hair sticking up wildly.

“I need to know how our food distribution works and who oversees that process,” I said.

After blinking away his grogginess, a flicker of recognition crossed Mark’s face, his brow furrowing. “Most people count sheep, not spreadsheets,” he quipped in his usual deadpan manner, but I couldn’t afford to laugh.

“I’m serious, Mark. There’s a massive miscarriage of justice happening in our pack. I need answers—like, now.” The gravity of my words settled between us.

Mark stepped aside. “I guess you’d better come in then.” He gestured me into the small kitchen, which felt cramped as I paced.

Once inside, I wasted no time. “We need to discuss the distribution of food to the Blood Moon Pack,” I said flatly.

Mark glanced at me, his intense brown eyes assessing me for several long moments. “You’ve seen something, haven’t you?”

“I was there tonight,” I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper. “At the Blood Moon quarters. These people are starving, Mark, children and the elderly. It’s inhumane.”

“Elder Sam is responsible for their rations.” Mark’s expression lost its guardedness.

Anger bristled through me. I thought of that self-righteous elder. “He’s skimming off the top, isn’t he?”

Mark nodded grimly. “Food allocation was set by Reginald, but Sam has been steadily decreasing their rations over the last three years. Things have slipped through the cracks and into Sam’s pocket, and everyone knows it.”

I took in the fact that my father, Reginald, had set the amount of rations the Blood Moon Pack received. My father had becomeso focused on hunting down the Blood Moon rebels to avenge my mother that he’d relinquished the pack’s running to a lesser shifter.

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