A Dance to Calm the Storm

FABIAN

I watched as my father dabbed at the blood streaming from his temple. The wound wasn't deep, but I could see from the tension in his shoulders that his pride was wounded far worse than his flesh.

"Dad, are you really okay?" I asked, stepping closer to him.

He glanced around at the murmuring crowd before meeting my gaze with a reassuring smile. "Nothing that won't heal in an hour, son," he said quietly. "But maybe hold off on the 'Dad' in public until your mother and I have had a chance to explain things."

"Sorry," I muttered, feeling heat rush to my face. "It just came out."

Mom was standing a few feet away, her posture rigid as she listened to her father—my grandfather, the Moonstone Alpha—speaking in low, urgent tones with the pack warriors who'd arrived with news of the rogue attack.

"...at least six of them, spotted near the eastern border," one warrior was saying.

"Any casualties?" Grandfather demanded.

"None reported yet, but they've crossed into pack territory."