Rebirth of the Broken Luna A Second Chance at Luna's Heart novel Chapter 440

Chapter 440

XENOIS

Ollie settled into the corner with what looked like a deck of cards and some kind of notebook. Riley and Lake joined him,

the three of them immediately absorbed in whatever activity they’d been working on.

“What are they doing?” I asked suspiciously.

“Learning valuable life skills,” my father said vaguely. “Don’t worry about it.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

“It’s not meant to be reassuring,” my mother said. “It’s meant to be vague enough that you can’t technically complain

about anything specific. Now, what’s the problem? We heard groaning and frustration from downstairs and decided to

investigate.”

“The problem,” I said, “is that we’re trying to build a coalition to counter Jerome’s conspiracy, and eight of the alphas

we’ve contacted have refused to cooperate. They’d rather maintain traditional isolation than work together for mutual

defense.”

My mother and father exchanged glances-one of those wordless communications that came from decades of marriage.

“Which eight?” my father asked.

Rivers rattled off the names. My parents’ expressions shifted from curious to knowing.

“Oh, those idiots,” my mother said dismissively. “They were idiots forty years ago and apparently they’re still idiots. Some

things never change.”

“You know them?” Zade asked.

“We fought with most of them during the territorial wars,” my father explained. “Not ‘with’ as in alongside. ‘With’ as in

against. They were on the traditionalist side, opposing any kind of integration or cooperation between different supernatural

factions.”

“So they’ve been rigid and prejudiced for decades,” I said. “That’s not helpful information. It just confirms what we already

knew.”

“But their parents weren’t idiots,” my mother said thoughtfully. “Their parents were the ones who originally forged

alliances during the wars. The ones who understood that survival sometimes meant cooperation even when it was

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uncomfortable.”

“Their parents are probably dead by now, Marcus pointed out. “These are people in their fifties and sixties. Their parents

would be in their eighties or nineties.”

Actually, my father said, ‘most of them are still alive. Werewolves have good longevity. And the elder generation-the ones who actually fought in the wars and remember what real threats look like-they tend to be more pragmatic than their

children.”

I saw where this was going and immediately shook my head. “No. Absolutely not. We’re not bringing retired alphas into

this. They’ve earned their retirement. We can’t ask them to-”

‘You’re not asking them, my mother interrupted. “We are. Samuel and I have connections with the old guard. Relationships built during the wars, alliances that haven’t completely dissolved despite decades of peace. If we call them,

they’ll listen.”

“And if they tell their stubborn children to stop being idiots and join the coalition, those children will have to choose

between defying their parents or swallowing their pride,” my father added.

“That’s manipulation, Lumina said.

“That’s strategy, my mother corrected. “There’s a difference.”

“Not much of one,” Lyn muttered.

“Enough of one,” my mother insisted. She turned to me with an expression that was equal parts determination and

mischief. “Give us the list. Samuel and I will make calls. By the end of the day, those eight holdouts will be cooperating.

“You can’t promise that,” I protested.

“Watch us,” my father said.

Before I could stop them, my mother had grabbed Rivers’ tablet and was scrolling through the contact information. My

father pulled out his own phone-ancient by modern standards but apparently still functional-and started dialing.

*This is a terrible idea,’ I said to no one in particular.

“Probably, Zade agreed. “But I’m curious to see if it works.”

My mother’s call connected first. I watched her face transform into something politely aggressive-the expression I’d seen

her use during pack politics when she wanted something and wasn’t taking no for an answer.

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“Helena? This is Silvia Blackwood. Yes, I know it’s been years. I’ve been meaning to call. How’s your arthritis? Still

terrible? I have an excellent cream recommendation. But that’s not why I’m calling.”

She paused, listening, then continued with perfect pleasantness that somehow carried an undercurrent of absolute

authority.

“I understand your son Morrison refused to join a coalition my son is organizing. Yes, the one about defending against

coordinated attacks from traditionalist extremists. I know you and I had our differences during the wars, Helena, but we both

understand the value of survival over pride.”

Another pause. I could hear a woman’s voice on the other end, tinny through the phone speaker, but couldn’t make out

words.

I’m not asking you to betray your principles, my mother said. “I’m asking you to remind your son that being alpha means

protecting your pack, even when it’s uncomfortable. Even when it means working with people you don’t particularly like. You

remember the Cascade Massacre, don’t you? When Alpha Torres refused to coordinate with neighboring packs because of

pride?

Her voice dropped, becoming softer but somehow more cutting.

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