Chapter 1
Ronan
“Rogue!”
Samantha’s sharp voice sliced through the thunderous chaos of the Moonfang Arena. She stood on the far boards, arm waving like a signal flag in a storm.
Samantha handled marketing under Ward, our pack’s no-nonsense general manager. I powered across the ice on powerful strides, my skates carving deep gouges into the frozen surface.
The scent of cold steel, sweat, and raw shifter energy hung thick in the air. My wolf hummed just beneath my skin, I reached her in seconds. “Ward wants to see you. Now.”
A chill raced down my spine, raising the fine hairs on my neck. Nothing good came from a mid-practice summons. Ward didn’t call captains in unless blood was about to spill—trades, discipline, or worse.
Early in the season, the Moonfang Wolves were still finding our rhythm in the Shifter Hockey League. As team captain and starting defenseman, I’d been solid. Pack bonds tight. Rookies in line, but perfection was a myth in this brutal game of fangs and fury.
I shed my helmet and pads near the tunnel, slapping skate guards on before heading upstairs. The arena’s lower levels buzzed with the usual post-drill noise—clashing sticks, growls, and laughter—but my wolf paced restlessly. Something felt off.
Ward’s office door stood open. The man himself sat like a granite cliff behind his desk, mid-50s, built like an enforcer who’d never lost a territory scrap. His brow furrowed deep enough to cast shadows. Across from him sat an older woman with neat gray-streaked hair in a bun, dark blazer, and pencil skirt. Her scent screamed bureaucracy—human, but familiar with pack matters. Pack Protective Services, probably.
“Come in,” Ward boomed, voice commanding as ever. Even as a grown alpha wolf, stepping into that room made me feel like a yearling caught marking the wrong tree.
I took the seat beside the woman, bracing my broad shoulders. My wolf stayed coiled, ready.
“Ronan Blackthorn?” she asked, turning toward me. Bags shadowed her eyes, but her gaze held sympathy. Sympathy? Had someone died?
“Yes?”
“Mr. Blackthorn, do you know Cedar Miller?”
My stomach twisted. Cedar—a fiery she-wolf bartender from a few heat cycles back.
Casual encounters at the Howling Moon tavern near the arena. No strings, just mutual relief during the off-seasons. She’d sworn the suppressants were solid.
“Yes, of course. Haven’t seen her in years. Is she alright?”
“She’s fine. Mostly. She’s landed in legal trouble with the human authorities, and she’s relinquished her parental rights. She asked that you be contacted.” The woman—Mrs. Washington, according to the badge—paused. “You’re listed as the sire on the birth records.”
The world narrowed to a pinpoint. Parental rights? Sire? My wolf surged forward with a silent howl that rattled my ribs. Pup.
Mrs. Washington reached behind the desk and pulled forward a car seat. Inside slept the most beautiful little wolf pup I’d ever seen.
Dirty-blonde fluff matching my own hair, a tiny button nose that twitched in sleep, and when her eyes fluttered open for a heartbeat, forest-green irises like mine stared back.
A faint pup scent—milk, innocence, and wild moonlit fur—wrapped around my heart like silver chains.
I sat stunned, mind reeling. Cedar never mentioned a pregnancy. We’d kept it light, no commitments. A distraction like a mate or pup could shatter a player’s focus in this league, where rival packs sniffed for weakness. But here she was—my daughter.
Mrs. Washington slid papers across the desk. Signatures blurred. Ward and she spoke in low tones about the transfer of custody, support protocols for shifter athletes, and mandatory pack evaluations. I heard none of it. My wolf was fixated on the tiny miracle in the car seat, instincts roaring to protect, to claim, to provide.
Fuck, I was a sire. And I knew jack shit about raising a pup, my own pack history offered no guide. My sire had been a lone-wolf trucker, hauling freight across territories, drowning in moonshine when home.
He’d ruled with snarls and disappointment—grades never high enough, rooms never clean enough, my sister Amanda never strong enough in his eyes. Mom held us together, but we all sighed in relief when his rig growled away for weeks. Peaceful howls. Real pack laughter.
Uncle Elias, a sharp shifter council lawyer, had funded my hockey path. Without his support, a dominant wolf like me might never have clawed into the Moonfang Wolves. I owed him everything, yet here I was, repeating the cycle of absent sires differently.
Mrs. Washington handed me her card with a shoulder pat. “Go down to the pack daycare. They can recommend support. You can’t raise a pup alone with your schedule, Alpha Blackthorn.”
Ward clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder as she left. “Handle this, Rogue. The pack needs your head in the game. The season's young.”
I nodded numbly, lifting the car seat like it was fragile glass. Annie—her name, according to the papers stirred but stayed asleep. Her weight felt impossibly light and world-crushing.
The pack daycare occupied a bright wing off the arena’s family facilities. Moonfang Wolves boasted top-tier support for mated players, though few used it. I rarely paid it in mind before today.
Bursting through the door, car seat in hand, my wolf zeroed in on her instantly.
“You!”
A woman jumped, mid-diaper change with another pup. She turned, and her scent hit me like a full-moon shift—warm vanilla, fresh pine, and something soothing that calmed my beast’s frenzy. Mousey brown hair in a practical bun, large doe eyes, curves that promised softness amid the storm. Human, but with a latent spark that made my wolf sit up and whine.
“I need you!” The words tore out raw. My green eyes locked on her alone.
She blinked, finishing the change with steady hands before setting the pup down. “Mr. Blackthorn?”
“I have a pup!” I shoved the car seat forward, voice edged with panic.
“I can see that,” she replied, washing her hands. Her voice was steady, a balm. “Congratulations?”
“I can’t have a pup!” The admission slipped out, frantic.
She quirked a lip, drying her hands. “Pretty sure biology disagrees, but let’s get you seated.”
She guided me to a glider chair that creaked under my massive frame. Comically small, but I sank in, wolf instincts urging me closer to her calm. She took the car seat gently, rocking it as she fetched water from a mini-fridge. The room held only a handful of pups and two staff. Intimate. Perfect for what I needed.
“Tell me what’s going on,” she said, squatting in front of me. Her eyes met mine, and something in my chest cracked open.
I spilled everything—the office summons, Cedar, the sudden sire claim, sole custody, the travel hell of an 82-game shifter league season where full-moon games turned brutal. Rival packs circling. Pack house shared with Kai and Declan—my bonded brothers on the ice.
She listened without judgment, her scent weaving peace into my chaos. “So, thirty minutes ago, you became a single sire to a pup you never knew about.”
“Yes.” Relief flooded me. “I need a nanny, you. I’ll pay triple whatever you make. Move in with us. Kai and Declan will adjust.”
Her cheeks flushed, but she glanced at her boss, Margaret, who nodded encouragingly. Triple salary would help her finish a degree in shifter pediatric behavior. Opportunity for both.
“I’m Lila,” she said finally, smiling as she patted my knee. “We’ll make this work, Ronan.”
When Annie stirred with a tiny yip, Lila cooed effortlessly, and my wolf preened. This human had walked into our den unannounced and already tamed the storm.
We gathered the basics, Margaret approved her immediate transfer, and headed out. As I carried the car seat, Lila beside me, her presence felt like a pack, like fate under the moon.
The arena lights faded behind us as we stepped into the Silverpine city dusk, my wolf howled internally, a pup, a nanny. Whatever came next—rival challenges, full-moon urges, or the undeniable pull toward Lila, I would protect what was mine.