“Shut up.”
“I'm just saying, if you're going to have a sexual awakening with the Alpha, maybe wait until you're not surrounded by wolves with supernatural hearing and smell.” He patted my shoulder with mock sympathy. “At least you put on a good show.”
“I hate you.”
“No you don't.” He squeezed my arm, and his voice softened. “For what it's worth, Dad? I'm glad. You deserve to want things. Even if it's complicated as hell.”
I looked at my son—this man who'd become impossibly wise, who'd survived death and come back different, who looked at me with his mother's understanding eyes—and felt something crack in my chest.
“I don't know what I'm doing,” I admitted quietly.
“Nobody does. That's kind of the point.” Nate glanced back at Daniel, who was watching us with an intensity that made my skin prickle.
I drank water I didn't taste and tried to ignore the cooling evidence of what we'd done soaking into fabric I'd have to burn before I could think about this rationally.
Rafe stoodat the tree line, fifty yards from where Nate was helping Gideon pack up training supplies. Just standing there. Watching. His expression was pleasant, neutral, but something about his posture made my instincts scream.
I started walking before I'd decided to, cutting across the grounds toward where Rafe stood. He noticed me coming, and his face shifted into a smile that was too polite, too practiced, like an expression he'd learned to wear instead of one that came naturally.
“Michael.” His voice was warm, friendly. “Good to see you. Heard you joined training today.”
“Yeah.” I stopped a few feet away, studied him with the same attention I gave numbers that didn't add up. “What are you doing out here?”
“Just getting some air. Cabin fever's real.” He gestured vaguely at the pack grounds. “Everyone seems capable. It's impressive, watching them work together.”
His eyes drifted back to Nate, and something about the way he looked at my son made cold settle in my gut.
“Nate's talented,” Rafe continued. “That druid magic. I've never seen anything like it.” He paused. “Must be strange for you. Having a son who's more than human now.”
“He's still my son.” The words came out harder than intended. “The magic doesn't change that.”
“Of course not.” Rafe's smile didn't waver. “I didn't mean anything by it. Just observing.”
The moon had started to rise, painting everything in silver. And when that light hit Rafe's exposed forearm, I saw it.
Just for a second. A flash of something that looked like a scar, except it wasn't random tissue damage. It was deliberate. Geometric. A symbol burned or carved into his skin, hidden beneath something that looked like glamour, like magic designed to conceal.
Then Rafe shifted, the moonlight changed angles, and it was gone.
“You alright?” Rafe asked, and his voice carried concern that might have been genuine or might have been performance. “You look like you've seen something.”
“Fine.” I forced my expression neutral. “Just tired.”
“Understandable. Training's exhausting.” He glanced back toward the pack house. “I should probably head in. Don't want to worry Daniel.”
The casual way he said Daniel's name made something possessive twist in my chest. Like he had claim to familiarity, to closeness, to spaces that should have been private.
“Yeah,” I said. “You do that.”
Rafe walked away, movements fluid and graceful, the picture of a wolf recovering from near-death. But I stood there in the gathering dark, feeling that symbol burned into my memory, knowing I'd seen something important.
10
STRAYS REMEMBER
DANIEL
Rafe was on his knees in the grass, surrounded by cubs.
