Dawn creeps through the tall windows of Darius's office like it's trying not to disturb the chaos brewing inside. The golden light slides across parchment maps and glowing rune-etched crystal tokens that hover just above the polished oak table. The room hums faintly with pack magic...warded, shielded, and gently vibrating with the intensity of whispered plans and raw emotion.
Cassandra curls into the oversized armchair by the window, wrapped in a chunky knit blanket, the colour of storm clouds. One hand grips a steaming mug of chamomile, moonroot, and ginger tea...a brew Grace swears by, though it tastes like something scraped off a forest floor. The other hand rests over her stomach, where the twins offer a lazy flutter in response to the early light. It's like they know something big is coming.
Something dangerous.
Something necessary.
She sips the tea, forcing it down. The nausea makes a half-hearted attempt to revolt before settling again. Temporary truce.
Darius paces near her, muscles coiled tight under a black long-sleeved shirt, his jaw working as he scans the strategy board. Maps flicker from one configuration to the next: Crescent Moon territory, High Moon's fortress, hidden paths marked in shimmering white lines. The most recent layout shows a blinking green trail cutting straight through the shadowed woods...an extraction route confirmed just hours ago by Luke's contact.
He pauses and glances at her. Their eyes meet, and the ghost of a smile touches his lips...soft, familiar, anchoring.
"We're ready," he says, voice low and sure. "Luke's contact confirmed the route. If everything goes according to plan, Abby and John will be back with us by tomorrow night."
Cassandra nods slowly, trying not to jostle her stomach. "Good. Because I swear, if I spend one more morning wrapped around the toilet, I'm declaring war on the universe."
"You already did that," Darius says with a grin, "when you threw your pillow at the moon last night and called it a nosy stalker."
She snorts into her tea. "It was judging me."
"I think it was just...being a moon."
"Still judging."
Across the room, Michael and Lexie are locked in a heated...but whisper-shouted...argument over the strength of a distraction charm. Lexie, hair braided but still tangled in places, flutters a hand dramatically. "It needs to be subtle but brilliant. Like me."
Michael rolls his eyes. "Lex, your last 'subtle' spell made all the guard uniforms turn into frilly aprons. With bows."
"I said brilliant, not boring."
Nearby, Sasha lowers herself carefully into a chair, balancing a tray of ginger biscuits, lemon drops, and what might be an entire tea garden. Her eyes are bloodshot but defiant. "Don't mind me. Just fighting a war with my bladder and a toddler-sized gremlin growing in my womb."
Aidan follows, dragging a hot water bottle and muttering something about back pain and betrayal. He sits, sighs, winces, then groans. "Why does everything in my life now revolve around snacks and pain?"
"Because you knocked up an Alpha's sister," Lexie says sweetly. "This is karma."
Sasha throws a biscuit at her. "Don't joke. I cried over a broken nail this morning and then threatened to hex our pantry because it was 'too smug.'"
Michael blinks. "What does that even mean?"
"I don't know!" Sasha wails, clutching her tea like it holds the meaning of life.
Darius watches the exchange like a man silently calculating whether it's too late to build a secret bunker under the packhouse.
Cassandra murmurs, "If this keeps up, we'll need to send Aidan and Michael on a hormone retreat. Preferably somewhere remote. Like Mars."
"Or the bottom of the lake," Darius says. "With snacks."
"Emergency snacks," Lexie corrects. "Clearly labelled. With emojis."
The plan for the rescue is simple...on paper. Mira, a shadow witch with a sarcastic streak and loyalty to Luke, will lead a team of elite scouts cloaked in illusion and silence. They'll sneak into High Moon territory during the upcoming lunar eclipse, when even the night itself will be blind, and slip Abby and John out under the cover of literal darkness.
Simple. Elegant. Terrifying.
Cassandra leans back in the chair and exhales. The twins flutter again, and she places her hand over her belly. Darius notices and moves closer, crouching beside her and gently resting his hand over hers.
"They're strong," he says softly.
"They're stubborn," she corrects. "I wonder where they get it from."
He smirks. "Probably from their incredibly patient, emotionally stable father."
She raises an eyebrow.
He relents immediately. "Fine. From their fireball of a mother who will probably win arguments even during labour."
"Damn right I will."
They laugh softly, and for a moment, the weight of everything lifts.
Later, Cassandra finds Darius standing on the balcony, shoulders tense, eyes on the horizon where the sky starts to bleed pink and violet.
"You okay?" she asks, stepping beside him.
"You look like you haven't slept."
He shakes his head but doesn't look away from the woods beyond. "Can't. Not until we get Abby and John back for you."
She slips her arms around his waist and rests her head on his chest. "We'll get them back. Then we'll deal with everything else."
He kisses the top of her head. "Promise me you'll still love me when I'm a wreck covered in baby spit-up and fear."
She snorts. "Only if you promise to rub my feet and feed me cake without asking questions."
"Done."
Inside, the pack explodes into its usual, barely managed chaos.
Michael has wrapped himself in what looks like six blankets and is clutching a water bottle like a weapon. Lexie is dangling peppermint candies in front of his nose. "Come on. Smell them. They help nausea."
"I'm not even pregnant!" he wails.
"Proximity suffering. It's contagious."
Aidan limps in again, holding a list Sasha made at two a.m. that reads: 1. Pickles. 2. More pickles. 3. Lavender milkshake. 4. Apologize.
"For what?" Michael asks.
"I don't know," Aidan replies. "But I've learned it's safer to just apologize in advance."
Darius enters with an energy drink and a haunted expression.
"I'm creating a survival guide," he mutters. "Step one: always carry snacks. Step two: never argue with a pregnant wolf."
"Step three?" Michael asks.
"Don't die."
Grace and Luke glide through the mayhem like seasoned generals in a battlefield of baby hormones. Grace hands Lexie a cup of glowing water. "Hydration. Also, this one reduces fire spells accidentally triggered by mood swings."
Lexie stares at it. "That's a thing?"
"Oh yes," Grace says mildly. "Ask your mate about the bathroom curtains."
Michael shivers. "We don't talk about that day."
Luke claps Aidan on the back. "You're doing good, son. Hang in there."
"I live in fear," Aidan whispers.
"As you should," Luke replies.
As dusk falls, the pack gathers under the rising moon. Its pale light stretches across the land, tinged crimson at the edges...the eclipse beginning.
Cassandra and Darius stand at the front, fingers laced tightly together.
They don't speak, but their bond pulses steady and bright, a silent promise between two warriors, two lovers, two soon-to-be parents.
Behind them, the extraction team melts into the trees. Mira, veiled in shadow magic, nods once before vanishing.
The wait begins.
Back inside the packhouse, time warps and twists. Anxiety coils like a living thing. Lexie hums and paces. Michael eats half a block of cheese. Sasha rewrites the baby name list for the fifteenth time. Aidan stares into the fireplace like it holds answers to life, the universe, and how to survive emotional werewolves.
Then...movement.
The front door creaks.
Silhouettes slip through.
Mira leads them...pale, weary, triumphant.
Behind her: Abby. John.
Safe.
The room erupts.
Cassandra bolts forward, tears spilling down her cheeks as she throws her arms around Abby. "You're here. You're okay."
Abby clutches her back. "We made it. Barely."
John nods, face grim but relieved. "It was close."
Cassandra's belly flutters in response. The twins know. They always know.
That night, long after the relief settles and the pack quiets, Cassandra and Darius steal a moment alone on a balcony of the packhouse, watching the eclipse fade into starlight.
She leans her head on his shoulder. "We did it."
He presses a kiss to her temple. "Together."
He kisses her again...softly, reverently...then lowers to kiss her belly.
"For them," he whispers. "For everything still to come."
Around them, the Crescent Moon Pack breathes as one...strong, scarred, but never broken.
And above, the moon watches, no longer judging...just shining.