“I’m Caleb,” he said. His voice was less thunderous. “Caleb Bellemore.”
The world tilted.
For a moment, I didn’t hear anything else.
Bellemore.
My name.
My father’s name.
My grandfather’s.
A thousand fragmented memories crashed into me all at once. My dad’s quiet smile whenever Stonewick came up inconversation. The way he’d always gone still when shifters were mentioned, like he’d learned long ago not to expect much from that part of his history. The stories, half-told, carefully trimmed, about Malore and his ridiculous expectations. I clung to the painful stories about my dad not fitting a mold that my grandfather wanted.
I couldn’t forget that Malore Bellemore turned his back on his own son because he didn’t want to lead, didn’t want to dominate, didn’t want to be the kind of alpha the clan demanded. Because he was a bulldog.
And now here I was, standing on the Academy steps, staring at another Bellemore from the same clan.
One who very muchdidfit the mold.
My chest tightened painfully as Caleb watched my face with something like recognition flickering across his own.
“You didn’t know,” he said quietly.
It wasn’t a question.
I swallowed. “I… knew my dad was a shifter,” I managed. “I knew about the clan. Of course, Malore had to be an alpha somewhere. I just—” My voice faltered, and I hated that it did. “I never really thought about the fact that there were… others still out there.”
A family I’d never met.
A family that might not want me, and I might not want it.
Keegan shifted slightly, close but not intervening, his silence a steady anchor.
“You have a large family,” Caleb said. “Most of us are scattered and fractured. But we’re still connected by blood and name.”
The wordfracturedechoed unpleasantly.
“And Malore?” I asked before I could stop myself.
A flicker crossed Caleb’s expression—something complicated and guarded.
“Malore was my uncle.”
There it was.
The final piece clicked into place with a dull, aching certainty.
“So you knew my grandfather,” I said.
“Yes.”
“And my father.”
“Yes.”
My hands curled into fists at my sides. Anger flared hot and sharp, braided tightly with grief.
